I’m not sure what’s worse – the coronavirus or ‘Mrs Brown’s Boys’. One makes me scared for humanity and the other is a life threatening virus. It sure is a topsy-turvy world. Let’s see what we can do with them. For a start if you’re going to make a virus sound nasty then you […]Read More Mexican beer virus v Mrs Brown’s Boys.
The scene: darkness dropped hours ago and there is still much of the evening yet untested. A thin, steady straggle of unfortunately dressed characters filter into a damp church hall, the exterior sparsely lit by two bargain basement, and therefore insufficient security lights; insurance for the off chance there will ever be a day that […]Read More Burns Baby Burns.
Is it just me but does Davos seems like a very unattractive name – somewhere between a disabled Doctor Who villain, a Greek pimp and an industrial bleach – for anywhere, let alone a Swiss skiing resort. I’ve been skiing myself, quite a few times (no need for applause), so I feel I am abundantly […]Read More Dumb Donald’s Rump Pumps And Little Greta’s Hump.
It is, I would say, something of a welcome wonder that Sophie Ellis-Bextor has lasted so long. She must be admired for her survival skills and an ability to pop up just when you think she’s disappeared for the last time. Her popularity is not entirely inexplicable but it is still quite some task to […]Read More It must be a guilty pleasure.
Just a quickie. Puff, puff. Pant, pant. Ding, dong. Who wants a bong? Go on, take a bong, you’ll feel better for it. A bong means different things to different people but it’s quite refreshing to have the word bouncing around the lower echelons of the news today. We’ve had pretty much a solid […]Read More Out with a bong.
January is my 12th favourite month. If there were 43 months in a year then January would be my 58th favourite. That perverse group of optimists and life coaches who say January should be a celebration of renewal and rejuvenation and revitalisation are chock full of shit and are probably already back on the crystal […]Read More The joy of Janus.
Well I guess it was coming, sooner or later. I actually thought they couldn’t get any more self-centred but off they go again, Mrs and Mr Sussex, splashing their seaside caricature faces across the papers and websites, smiling outside as they seethe with resentment within; a confused kind of resentment that only the spoiled rotten […]Read More What a pair of tossers.
Those in the business usually say that The Golden Globe Awards is where the film awards season really kicks into gear. Perhaps what they mean is that it’s the first awards ceremony that both the public and the film industry simultaneously almost care about. He may not be everybody’s cuppa but personally my sole highlight […]Read More Everyone has their Pryce.
Very few people can seem to mean so much to so many for so little reason than the Geordie flutter monkey Cheryl Cole. It might be me, I may have missed something, so please could someone tell me how she became something that rather alarmingly resembles a national treasure. I should be fair and acknowledge […]Read More On fake national treasures.
Welcome to two thousand and twenty. 2020. Twenny twenny. We’ve come a long way since God got Mary up the duff but I sense we’ve reached the apex (not sure when, probably the summer of 1976) and now we’re sliding down the other side like those fat Boy Scouts on Jimmy’s rollercoaster. Where once there […]Read More We need someone up front.