If all music videos were done by Adam Buxton and based on a flimsy pun, I suspect I’d watch more MTV.
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”.
No seriously. Lembit Öpik has left Siân Lloyd for one of the Cheeky Girls.
We do know each other from two months, but didn’t actually go out together only from two weeks now.
said the Cheeky Girl.
I was going to do a picture or a joke to go with it but then I thought, why should I? Think up your own joke for a change. Go on, piss off.
Went to see the infant school Christmas play this morning. The director was clearly a classic surrealist in the tradition of Dali. Anyone who can introduce Mr Incredible and a team of scorpions into the Christmas story without so much as flinching has to be some kind of genius.
Not that I’m taking anything away from the performances, mind. The guy who played Scooby Doo really made the role his own.
Ho Ho Hobgoblin! Santa on his sleigh as re-imagined by Year 2
Irish crooner Chris de Burgh has paid 30 grand for the chest-burster from Alien. (Chris is the one at the top.)
Rumour has it that Chris has written a special version of his hit song Lady In Red for his little alien, entitled Lady in John Hurt:
Lady In John Hurt
I’ve never seen you looking so lovely as you did tonight
I’ve never seen you shine so bright
I’ve never seen so many men have to hold me down while I died
With you bursting out from inside
Then running off to hide
I have never even really noticed
How you look just like a horse’s cock with teeth
You’re beyond belief
The Lady in John Hurt is hatching in me, little freak
There’s nobody here
It’s just you and me, and-some-blokes-and-Sigourney (Weaver)
But I hardly know this beauty in my insides
I’ll never forget the way you made my chest burst open and all my blood squirt out
I didn’t say it was finished yet but it’ll be done for Christmas.
I just signed up for MySpace – not for one of their poxy horrible “blog” things, you understand, purely for experimentation purposes. Anyway, you’ve got to admire their efforts to keep the web free of colour blind people. Just imagine that – the colour blind preying on your kiddies and everything. It’s enough to make the flesh creep.
Update: It’s all a con! Celebrity colour blind Dairy-Arse is on there! I take it all back: MySpace is a nest of vipers. The colour blind are EVERYWHERE. Be vigilant.
Ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to present my latest movie. This one’s a music video entitled Do The Hood Thing (Right At The Back):
(There’s a YouTube video here that you won’t see on the RSS feed. View it on the website instead.)
Music by Nokia.
Vocals by Hannah and Lauren.
Snorting by Nicola.
Shapes by Me.
Update: At time of writing (about 5 minutes after posting the video) its two most “related” items on YouTube are entitles NIGGAZ HAVIN FUN and Booty basics #1. I think that’s what we call a result.
Apparently there are people out there who object to serving their country on so-called “moral grounds”. There are no two ways about this: these people are cowards and traitors and have no right to call themselves British.
The rest of us know what we must do for our Queen.
…then Wah Kazoo must surely be the botulism.
It’s the kazoo, played through a wah-wah pedal. Here, have a listen:
I’m currently in the simultaneous throes of a nasty cold and a dose of conjunctivitis. Call me slow, but I’ve never considered the potential of this rare combination before. I don’t know, I just seem to have had other things on my mind. Anyway, I went to see the optician this morning, during the course of which she put a drop of yellow dye in each eye. But even then the wonderful synergy of my interconnected illnesses did not occur to me. No, it wasn’t until an hour or so later that the joy was revealed to mine own eyes when, during a particularly harsh coughing fit, out slid a slippery gobbet of luminous yellow phlegm!
Luminous yellow, you hear! Not just greeny-yellow like your everyday, common-or-garden lung butter. This was Stabilo Boss yellow, and a beautiful thing it was. Sadly I disposed of it before I thought to get my camera out but I’ve included a picture of a highlighter pen to give you the gist of it. Somehow even that fails to capture it though.*
For the rest of the day I’ve had a little ditty going round my head to the tune of Food, Glorious Food:
Phlegm, luminous phlegm!
Looks rather like custard.
Pure, glittering gem!
Yellower even than mustard!
There’ll be more, I’m just getting the chorus right first. I’ve got this great vision of a stage full of urchins with their little gruel bowls, chirping away for another glimpse of the lemon-yellow slug recently coughed up by their runny-eyed master. You’ve seen Oliver!, now see Bacterial Conjunctivitis! The Musical. No, wait: The Mucusal!
Man, this is going to be huge…
* Update: it looked a lot like one of these.
In an amazing coincidence, ITV has exclusively revealed that the renowned livestock pleasurer Rebecca Loos sings like a hog being brought to climax.
Performing on ITV’s Celebrity X Factor as part of the novelty double-act Pig-Wank And Squidgy, Loos has demonstrated a voice described by some as sounding like “a pig, ill with stress, rutting furiously in a gas mask.”
The news has come as a shock to other superstar celebrities who hitherto had supposed Loos’s talents to be without bounds. Worldwide recording artiste Rowetta Satchell commented yesterday:
She’s not a star. She’s famous for something horrible… and pigs.
Asked about his partner’s unique musical ear, James Hewitt said, “Anyone for sherry?”
Wayne Rooney was not available for comment.
I’ve recently discovered Mr.Fastfinger and am still trying to work out exactly what he does. I think if you press the right buttons he teaches you how to play wibbly-wobbly guitar solos in the style of Slash or Yngwie J Malmsteen, but I haven’t made it past the Mountain of the Tapping Dwarves yet.
“The only problem other songwriters can possibly have with James Blunt,” writes Tom Robinson, “is that he’s successful.”
Tom, allow me to respond with a few words from the man himself:
From birth in a military hospital in Tidworth, to Harrow School, to Aerospace Manufacturing Engineering, to the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst, to The Household Cavalry, to Kosovo, to Buckingham Palace, to a recording studio in Los Angeles. How did James get from there to here? Only James Blunt’s hairdresser knows for certain, and either he isn’t talking or James cuts his own hair, and it’s up to you to join the dots – there are ten of them on the album.
I’m sure you can see what I’m getting at.
I was up early this morning, so I switched on the Radio 4 UK Theme to see what all the fuss was about. I did feel a slight stirring during Men of Harlech, but overall I can’t say it did much for me. I’m a Peter André man mostly.
If you’ve never heard it, I wouldn’t recommend the 5:30am route. You’ll be able to pick it up on iTunes soon enough.
A catchy little ditty about VD – once you’ve heard it, it’ll stay with you like an itch you can’t quite scratch.