You know that bloke who killed all those people 20 years ago, yeah?
You know his wife, right?
You know her guinea pig?
This, according to the Sun, is the biggest story in Britain today.
I mean, seriously. What about the canoe guy? What about Diana and Dodi? What about that nice bachelor man who gave all that money to that nice Mr Brown? About these pressing issues the Sun cares not one jot.
The country has truly gone to hell in a hand-cart, and to be honest it wasn’t even much of a hand-cart. The country has gone to hell in a wheelbarrow.
OK, I admit it, I didn’t die back in September. That whole canoe thing was just a ruse. I’ve been hiding out in Central America and I would have gotten away with it too if I hadn’t foolishly put a photo of myself holding my passport and driving licence on the website Look, It’s Me! I’m Here! In Panama!.com. It’s always the little things you overlook.
Turns out that in September I offended a group of Icelandic fundamentalists with my cheap fisting gag. Icelandic fundamentalists are a lot like Islamic fundamentalists but with warmer coats and a fanatical hatred of Kerry Katona. They did some digging and found that I’d recently named my pet cat Björk and after that it was just non-stop hate mail, effigy burning, flaxen-haired trawlermen outside the house demanding my death – you know the sort of thing.
In a last-ditch attempt to placate them I renamed the cat Atomic Kitten and that’s when the shit really hit the fan. Should I have known about the Kerry Katona thing? In retrospect, yeah, perhaps I should. Call me naive if you like – I just thought it was a nice name for a cat. In the end I felt I had no option but to stage my own death, cash in on the life insurance, go to Panama and buy a couple of yachts. Honestly, it’s been a living nightmare.
But now I find myself back in the UK and I’ll say one thing for British prisons: they know how to keep a man safe from Icelandic fundamentalism. I could get used to it in here.
Just one final note for my next-door neighbour (whose identity is obviously best not revealed for her own sake): please tell Atomic Kitten I forgive her for all the trouble she’s caused and I’m not dead after all. And make sure you do it that way round: get her feeling guilty first and then hopefully you can slip the not dead thing in “under the radar” as it were. I know one day she’ll understand.
There was some fellow from Iceland on Radio 4 tonight going on about fisting quotas. Apparently there’s been too much fisting in the North Sea which has led to concerns that within as little as 10 years there will be no more fisting at all. It will just be impossible to fist.
Took me a while to realise he was talking about fishing. Honestly, they should teach them to speak properly before they let them on the radio. I’m having trouble sleeping now.
Of all the acres of newsprint marking the death of Pavarotti I can’t find a single one that mentions the great man’s passion for elephants.
Let me be the first to rectify that situation.
A top UK judge made this astonishing pronouncement today, as pictured here by the BBC. He claims Q-Tips are a valuable source of protein and should be “force-fed to every man, woman and child in Britain”, along with beef brains and lead paint from China which apparently are “good for the backbone”.
See, this is how it goes with judges. One day they’re telling you you can’t do 90 in a built-up area, then it’s no murdering on week days, and before you know it’s all gone to their heads and they’re meddling in areas they know nothing about. These things should be left to experts such as Jamie Oliver and Ainsley Harriott.
The country’s gone to the dogs. I no more want an overpaid drag queen in a bad wig to tell me what to eat than I would seek legal advice from Gillian McKeith.
I’ve decided not to go to the Diana thing today. The official line is that it “could divert attention from the purpose of the occasion”. The truth is that I couldn’t stand the woman and her kids keep staring at me every time I go for their dad’s crotch. It’s so humiliating.
I know one day the world will accept me, but until then I feel I’m best off stopping home, drinking gin and watching Cash In The Attic.
“If I come to power, then we can really fuck things up over there,” warns Cameron.
I didn’t actually read the whole article, but I’m sure that’s the gist of it.
The cricket crisis continues to roll on.
The Orange team continue to deny that they purposefully littered the crease with England cricketers. Captain Michael Orange said, “Yeah, y’know, the lads like England players, so I suppose they might have had one or two in their pockets which could have fallen out near the wicket, but deliberately? Come off it!” This despite the footage above which clearly shows fielder Kevin Orange about to drop a Michael Vaughn, a knowing wink on his face.
Yellow captain Zaheer Yellow has now taken his complaint to the sport’s international governing body. A spokesman today told blogrot: “The rules of cricket make it quite clear that distraction of the batting team by means of shouting, waving or laughing are not allowed. Unfortunately the rules are less clear regarding the dropping of England players on the crease.”
I just think it’s bloody childish. The umpire appears to agree.
Checkmate to Death
A scene from Bergman’s iconic The Seventh Seal. I say iconic, but I could never get into it myself. Even with all those seals it was never a patch on Happy Feet.
So now you really have
“Gone to Manchester”
(To use the old
We’ll all say nice things
About you now
And pretend you never
Set fire to that tramp.
At this difficult time, please take a moment to listen to Eminem vs. Frank Butcher.
The BBC has today decided to make a clean fist of things by issuing a list of apologies for all the other stuff it’s made up in the name of state-funded fact. The list includes:
- The “vast Inca city” discovered beneath Huddersfield by Alan Titchmarsh on Time Team was in fact a landfill site in Dewsbury, strewn with turkey bones and cheap jewellery.
- Recent reports on the Litvinenko case, purporting to show photographs of prime suspect Andrei Lugovoi, actually used library shots of Christopher Timothy from All Creatures Great and Small.
- The adventures of “time lord” Doctor Who, including a trip to the end of the universe some several trillion years in the future, were all clever fakes.
- The “Bruce Forsyth” seen presenting recent episodes of Strictly Come Dancing is a hologram. (Watch the footage carefully and you’ll see his hand doesn’t quite line up properly every time he slaps Tess Daly’s arse.) The real Bruce’s knees gave out in 1986.
- Recent footage on the Barrymore case was “sexed up” by BBC executives and contained a number of untruths. For example, Barrymore is frequently referred to as an “entertainer”.
- Despite recent statements from the BBC, the Queen is indeed a mardy old trout.
UPDATE: Christ, BBC, I was joking.
Youths ‘bored in school holidays’ reveals the BBC in yet another bit of piercing investigative journalism. However do they do it? They’re so down with the kids they must be scraping their faces on the pavement. The mind boggles at the ability of those 30-something men in ties to to connect with the adolescent zeitgeist.
It hasn’t always been this way, of course. In my day we had loads of stuff to occupy those long six weeks of the soul from July to August, including:
- Brushing up on our Spanish on Sesame Street (e.g. “¿Sabes porqué me llaman la cuenta? ¡Porque amo contar!” – I know, doesn’t work. That’s Spanish for you I’m afraid.)
- Waiting for Daley Thompson’s Decathlon to load on our ZX Spectrum
- Sticking all the stickers back on our Rubik’s Cube in the right order
- Applying tiny amounts of superglue to our friend’s sister’s doll so she had to sleep with her eyes open
- Spending a whole day talking like the Belfast Why Don’t You? gang (“Frr thos wun yu’ll need som glyee”)
- Filling our mouths with biscuit and water and then pretending to vomit on the pavement
Bored? The word hadn’t been invented.
A small boy, yesterday, shortly before he became bored and turned to terrorism.
The BBC was delighted to announce this morning that, after 114 days out of the public eye, Boris Johnson has been released back into the wild.
The people of London described the announcement as “quite terrifying”, and like being “buried alive”.
Mr Johnson’s father, who has tirelessly campaigned for his son to be sent to the Middle East and chained to a radiator, was unavailable for comment.
Timothy McGuckin, of Jamaica Plain, Massachusetts, breaks the world record for buying a telephone whilst being pulled backwards on a giant bungee cord yesterday. It’s the new sport of kings.
It’s hardly the stuff of Ancient Greece, but then they didn’t have a stupid Olympic logo either.
I was washing my hair today so unfortunately had to miss the Diana concert at Wembley. However, the BBC has delivered a typically sterling account of proceedings which I’m sure is every bit as rousing as actually being there. Why not join in the fun atmosphere of the day by seeing if you can complete the following extract:
Sir Tom Jones, Sir Elton John, Bryan Ferry, Joss Stone, Lily Allen and Duran Duran are among the eclectic line-up.
It is 10 years since…
The answer, surprisingly, is “the princess died in a car crash in Paris in August 1997”, and not “any of them sold a record”.