It’s not been as easy as I had hoped. I’ve left it too long. It’s not as if there’s been nothing going on to write about, it’s just that I haven’t been able to pull everything together into one nice, underwhelming, moany dribble and to be honest even this is just a last ditch attempt to find a 20p piece in a pile of horse shit. Without gloves. Plus I’ve been away and I can be very lazy. The last attempt was about 10 days ago when I tried to write down my thoughts on Orlando Bloom’s cock. Not literally, though you probably could. I’ve never seen his actual willy but the image of him and the shadow of ‘it’ were splashed all over the papers and elsewhere. And it made me really happy because for all the relentless misery and torment and lies out there we, seemingly as an entire species, were able to be momentarily distracted by the image of a man with a penis the size of a genetically enhanced courgette, looking pleased with himself on a paddle board.
I also quite liked the story about Ozzy Osbourne’s sex addiction revelation. Ozzy is amongst the more ludicrous survivor/disasters to be committed to celebrity but still manages to come across as a relatively nice chap, one who is well aware of his exhaustive weaknesses. I couldn’t care less if he’s a sex addict but it made me realise I have become increasingly intolerant of his charmless wife. Sharon Osbourne used to be a hard-nut ballbreaker (most likely still is) and surely saved poor Ozzy’s permanently fractured life on more than one occasion. But since their reality show she has seen fit to thrust herself into every murky, damp crevice that crude publicity can afford. For both fame and cash she is ravenous. A crocodile in the dry season. X Factor was bad enough but her bloody awful appearance in that fucking awful MoneySupermarket advert just sealed her in the hall of lame fame for me. She also seems to be reversing in age as she adds botox to botox and stretches her used-tea-bag skin to ripping point. She resembles a rubbish version of Benjamin Button and should be stopped at any cost.
Of course the thing that’s been everywhere is the Olympics. Well not everywhere, mainly in Rio. And why not? It’s nice to look at the news and not be faced with article after article of such appalling grot: paedophiles and murderers, incompetent politicians, pesky union strikes, aggressive dogs, bad weather, good weather for bad reasons, the continued success of ninth rate musicians, Muslim clerics inciting hatred, and so on. The Olympics have been glorious though I’m not sure why every little bit of them has to be duplicated on Facebook as if we have in some way enhanced the performance or are a part of the team. We’re not, though I’m pleased that the word ‘historic’ has been grappled away from the sickly grasp of child sex offences and is now rightly attached to medal hauls. If only something could come and rescue the word ‘unprecedented’, I could die a vaguely happy man.
Finally I would like to address the family behind us on our flight back from Sicily the other day. It’s not pleasant to feel every bubble of relaxation from a holiday evaporate because of ignorance and a total lack of social skills. If you are an Irish couple (nationality irrelevant but handy for identification purposes) with two shitty, screeching kids called Rory and Kieran and sat in row 4 of an EasyJet flight from Catania to Gatwick on the 12th of August then I am sad to have to inform you that you are dreadful parents and irreparable arseholes and that your children (who also looked like a pair of pricks) have already been thoroughly ruined by your witless incompetence. If I wasn’t so polite I would have attacked you with an empty Bombay Sapphire miniature and a little tube of paprika Pringles. This is why it’s called onstupidity.com.
G B Hewitt. 17.8.2016.
Not great by a long shot. But I did give it a shot!