We’ve just returned from lunch with my sister, her partner and Mum and Dad to raise a small glass in recognition of Mum’s birthday. We ate at Prezzo’s in St Neots. It’s hard to believe that before Prezzo’s opened up the cultural highlight of St Neots was Superdrug. Oh, how times have changed. Anyway, I had a pizza the size of a steamrollered fat kid and it was lovely. Every plate was cleared and we were all secretly rather pleased with ourselves. Then we went back to my sisters to be threatened by animals and watch the snooker. On the way home ‘the wife’ insisted we drop by at a branch of Staples which she described as ‘literally just off the A1’. Needless to say this was a liberal affront to the truth but she’s still lovely, so where’s the harm.
During lunch we discussed many of the more pressing stories of the day and unless I missed it I don’t think euthanasia came up once, which is very rare. My Dad said he hadn’t yet got round to reading my blog properly but then he is retired, so I’ve no idea where he’d find the time anyway. To be honest I’m slightly relieved because, for all my nastiness, I’m quite thin-skinned and I can’t bear the thought of him scouring my feeble efforts for grammatical faux-pas whilst also not laughing. That said I’d be frightfully proud of myself if he did like it. Swings and roundabouts!
According to yesterday’s Sunday Times another person who’s secretly quite sensitive is Sir Philip Green. I couldn’t not read the article on him, because I already thought he was a queasy shit and any chance for someone to expose his sickly avarice is always worth a glance. We all agreed that he was very high up on the big list of wankers and this business with BHS has finally got him all the negative exposure everyone had hoped for. He may mix with the rich and famous (shame on you Michael Caine) but I wouldn’t swap to his sweaty boots for all the yachts and cash in the world. His every move is carefully calculated to fill his fat pockets with as much money as possible so he can then fill his life with utterly redundant toot. How much room do you need to spend £100 million on a boat?! Still, he must be pleased he managed to syphon off millions of BHS pounds to some crap account under his wife’s name; a woman blessed with the face of a shaved testicle and a tan colour the wrong side of chronic liver disease. I bet they sleep at night, but it would be nice if they could not wake up one morning soon.
Then we talked about the celebrity couple that have been putting their willies in places we probably don’t need to hear about, especially as the places they’re putting them in may belong to other famous people. It appears most people now know who one of the couples are but the story is so clouded in daft mystery that I’m starting to not care before it’s even a proper story. If it’s about who we think it’s about then he’s already earned enough respect for the other stuff he’s done. Just let the cat out of the bag and it will blow over before you know it. Blimey, I’ll look silly if the story involves a cat.
We finally discussed some chap called Sir Martin Sorrell who makes more money that you or I will ever see, unless you are Sir Philip Green and Lady Tina Green (£3.2 billion or something stupid like that, and counting). Is it just me but does ‘Lady Tina’ sound awful. It’s similar to the notion of having a Prime Minister of Great Britain and Northern Ireland called Ed. Anyway, one member of our lunch party is certainly not a fan of this Sorrell bloke and now I’ve watched a few clips I can see why. Like Green he comes across as a bully and a git, who is quite happy to defend his ludicrous wealth with rubbish arguments. He’s made his fortune at the cutting edge of advertising, which says it all really. It did occur to us all that discussing such things might be considered anti-Semitic but that’s all getting blown up out of proportion because Ken Livingstone is an arse. The race, religion, gender and sexual peccadilloes of anyone is irrelevant. It’s all about whether you’re a decent human being. Interesting fact – Sorrell and Green both got their ill-deserved knighthoods thanks to Tony Blair. There’s a trio of bell-ends for you. The bad, the worse and the abhorrent. At least Sorrell and Green don’t get paid to pretend to be honest.
Since we’re on advertising please go on Youtube and look at ‘Anchor Spreadable, Funny Little Elephant’. Proof that, just occasionally, advertisers can get it right and for this tip we owe my sister. Very well done you.
G B Hewitt. 2.3.2016
Happy Birthday for tomorrow, Mum!!