|
blog rants
things that have been getting on my tits lately, when before I didn't really notice
______________________________________________________________________________________
|
| BEST UK BLOG: epidemic of standing tortoises hits London tube |
top tips for tube travellers
Those middle aged
blokes with smart suits on, that then wear rucksacks on their backs making them look like a munchkin, and students taking
the sum total of their belongings around on their back - here's some advice. You take up twice the space of normal people
and you are in effect the shape of a standing tortoise – ACT ACCORDINGLY and pay twice the tube fare, because not only
do you take up acres of space, you get on everyone's nerves. Also, I know the weather's hot, but can older men please
not wear lycra cycling shorts, it puts me off my morning skinny latte.
OVERHEARD GOSSIP ON THE TUBE
|
| BEST UK BLOG: hold on love I need to find me vacuum pump |
|
| BEST UK BLOG: over 50? you need help with sex |
the
joy of (elderley) sex Drugs, teenage pregnancy, obesity, rundown streets,
public transport - how do you decide how to prioritise public spending. It’s a tough one - so it’s good to see
Manchester City Council taking these things seriously and using our money wisely. They have just spent £8,000 on a lovely
48 page guide to sex for the over 50s. When it comes to making love, most people like to think they've got the hang of
it by the time they hit 50, but MCC thinks we need urgent help in the bedroom. Witness these marvellous photographs. Amongst their top
tips (and I promise this is true) is the classic; “try a new love-making position
every night for a week and burn
970 calories. Do it for a month and use up 4,780 calories. Who needs a bicycle!” and the very helpful; “vacuum
pumps are available to aid erection problems.” Tory MP Ann Widdecombe commented that; “I think this guide is an
incredible waste of money. If someone hasn't learnt how to have sex by the time they have turned 50 then a booklet is
certainly not going to help.” And she should know.
|
| BEST UK BLOG: friday night at Grmisby General |
cheeky
vimtos replaced by hand gel A Dorset prison has removed all hand gel after a prisoner drank it and got
hammered, and no, I haven’t made that up. It originally installed the alcohol based anti-bacterial gel to combat the
spread of swine flu. They have now removed it, because as their spokesman said “you don’t want drunk prisoners
running around the prison”. Quite. Apparently the same thing has happened in a hospital in Bournemouth, but they’ve now removed the hand cleaning gel from reception
areas in a bid to stop visitors drinking it.
I suppose with the credit crunch, the girls have cottoned on to the fact that they can
turn up with their mates to A&E, watch hospital tele for the evening and get drunk for free. Do you think they bring their
own peanuts?
BANGKOK POST WARNS “HAND GEL POSES FIRE RISK”
the Queen “smells of trees”
It’s official. We all sort
of knew that Peter Andre was a little bit dim, but now we know he’s bonkers too. Oh yes he is. If you were being interviewed
by Heat magazine about a new perfume you had just launched, even if you were
ridiculously tired or drunk or drugged or bored or even in the first stages of Alzheimer’s (delete as applicable), would
you ever say this (and I quote): “I
saw a dog with three legs. It was walking with another dog, but it looked to have more of a proper walk than the dog with
four legs. And I thought; “does that dog need that other leg?” I’m really confused because that dog looked
more comfortable than the dog with four legs. It had this kind of hip-hop walk about it – more of a swagger about it.” If you wondered if this was
taken out of context, I don’t think you’ll find any excuses there. He wasn’t asked for his thoughts
on Crufts or his ex-wife for example. He was talking about his favourite smells and when asked what the Queen’s scent
would be, he said: “She would smell of trees, a very woody smell. The bottle would be blue,
like her blue blood, and the lid would look like a woody tree, or like one of her hats.” The interviewer kindly typed
in brackets afterwards – (he means her crown).
THE JOHNNY IKON PETER ANDRE PAGE
|
| BEST UK BLOG: killer heels at the ready, girls |
if anyone carries
out a risk assessment on my shoes I swear I'll stab them When
it starts to get dark on my way home from work, and the radiators come on in the mornings, I know I need to get away for a
holiday. But it’s not just the damp cold weather creeping in, I sometimes feel I have to leave this country because
our move to a nanny state is too much to bear. The latest ridiculous plan to force your best mate to undergo a criminal records
bureau test, so they can pick little Jack up from footie practice makes me want to scream, and now the unions have decided
I can’t wear high heel shoes at work. I need to go somewhere that will trust me to be a law abiding citizen, go
into any shop and buy whatever footwear I want - and
no I don't want bloody cashback . . . more
HOW TO WEAR KILLER HEELS WITHOUT KILLING YOURSELF
|
| BEST UK BLOG: Anything we can help you with there, Daniel? |
Ronaldo banned from Alton Towers OK, so he wasn't
exactly banned, but the celebrated gay icon will no longer be able to go to the Splash Landings Hotel in Staffordshire (part
of the Alton Towers complex), for a couple of quick lengths. Britain's most popular theme park has banned Speedos and
other brands of skimpy trunks from its swimming pools. So Christiano, who has always been admired for his modesty, will no
longer be able to wear his famous red speedos when in Staffordshire. He's gutted I'm sure. Obviously I would ban him
from entering the country in any form of attire, simply because he really gets up my nose. But that aside, I'm glad they're
banning speedos because its rarely someone nice that wears them. It seems to be the preserve of men over fifty, with a range
of lumps and bumps and not just the obvious tril, and generally the overall look is more bag of walnuts than bags of style.
Officially, the management declared that skimpy trunks "are more suited to Spain than Staffordshire . . . the style itself
is not deemed public or family friendly, and therefore we are requesting that male swimmers wear more appropriate styles such
as boardshorts.” A reasonably sensible stance you might think, but then the marketing people at Alton Towers sort of
blew it by adding “the resort is also considering introducing mandatory bikini waxing for men, in a bid to prevent unsightly
hair from being on display.” So how is that going to work? Trained inspectors check
your bikini line for any stray wisps before you leave the changing rooms? Let’s
leave it there shall we? Could I just ask though, that Daniel Craig is exempt (just attached a picture so you can see my reasoning
- anything we can help you with there, Daniel?)
MEN IN SPEEDOS
|
| BEST UK BLOG: Jordan endearing herself to the public |
a Price worth paying? The media tide is definitely turning for Katie Price Jordan. I used to have a faint feeling of sympathy for
her. She has been entirely self-sufficient in building her own wealth as a woman in a modelling industry notoriously adept
at mistreating their own. Obviously she invested in gravity-defying knockers to stay (literally) in front of the competition,
but somehow, you knew that she had no misconceptions about it at all. I don’t think she has a first class honours degree
and probably doesn’t even have an O level in home economics, but she understood exactly how the media worked, and used
her honesty and earthy humour to gain maximum exposure (literally). She knew what made a good storyline for journalists and
a great pic for photographers. She exploited their ‘system’. I thought the horse riding thing where
she turned up like Barbie in front of all the Princess Anne and Lucinda Prior-Palmer lookylikies was hilarious. A class statement (literally). Having a severely handicapped
child by a father who has steadfastedly refused to help, even though he is a very rich footballer, added to my grudging admiration
for her. But since she has broken up with that Australian bloke who can’t sing very well, her supreme skills at handling
the hacks of Fleet Street and the OK-Hello-Now glossies, have completed deserted her. Whereas, the Australian bloke has got
it spot on. Snogging the face off a rough cage fighter (whatever
that is) whilst your husband goes to feed the ducks alone with your kids is a monumental PR blunder, from which
she won’t recover. My sympathy for her has completely dissolved because I’ve just realised that she always been
a tart without a heart and as false as her falsies. The best thing she could do
now is to stay OUT of the papers. Trouble is, I don’t think she knows how to.
THE MYSPACE “WE HATE JORDAN” PAGE
|
| BEST UK BLOG: the swarthy bearded Cuban aka Paul O'Grady |
do Americans ever go
anywhere? If you look at Paul O’Grady you wouldn’t automatically assume that he comes
from somewhere in the middle of the Caribbean would you? In a line up with swarthy bearded men who smoke big Havanas he would
stand out like a sore thumb. More likely to be a pal of Putin than Che Guevara. I also get the impression that he probably
drives a little white Fiat 500 and not a big winged 1950s Thunderbirds car. So how is it possible that he was held at Miami
Airport for two hours on suspicion of being an illegal Cuban alien, because he had a “funny accent” as the immigration
officials described it? Now obviously in the UK we all have our thoughts on scouse accents,
but being similar to Spaneeesh is not one of them. Honestly Americans really do need to get out more, or at
the very least watch a few re-runs of the Liver Birds.
WIKI “HOW TO TALK LIKE A SCOUSE TEENAGER”
|
| BEST UK BLOG: A bare Bear |
a Chief Scout for the people Edward, the former Old Etonian and son of Sir Michael
the prominent Tory MP (and champagne and tobacco importer), was officially named Chief Scout on the 11th July.
You know the one. The chap nicknamed Bear whose surname is Grylls, who’s been accused of fabricating an awful lot of
his achievements. Perfect as a role model to get young lads off the streets and into wholesome
dib dib dobs. Personally
I cannot watch that ironically titled (given his upbringing) Born Survivor programme, it’s so ridiculously
exaggerated it’s impossible to believe. All that “if I don’t find shelter in the next 20 minutes I’m
likely to die of hyperthermia” stuff is hilarious. Especially when you know there's a camera man and sound bloke,
holding up one of those fluffy microphone thingies tracking his every word and movement. Will they die too? When he was exposed
as staying in a motel in Hawaii that served blueberry pancakes for breakfast and had internet access, when he claimed to be
stranded on a desert island, I can't say I was entirely surprised. Still, he does bare his bottom quite a bit which is
nice, and he is better looking than Robert Baden Powell, so maybe it's a smart appointment. After all it's
Mums that make you buy a woggle and sign up for scouts - not the kids themselves surely.
GRYLLS FAKING IT ON YOUTUBE
|
| BEST UK BLOG: "Ooooh! Look a horsey" |
the great class divide
I went to Royal Ascot last month courtesy of a lovely client, and it was great to see that the classes are as
divided as ever. I suppose in today’s so called meritocracy at least anyone across the social divide can get in (if
you’ve got sixty quid that is), though the gap between the chattering classes and the hoi polloi is still as wide as
it ever was. Chavs clashed with the haves, in a veritable car crash of spilt Pimms, fake tans and fascinators (those feathery
flowery oversized hairclips with a bit of netting that have replaced hats). In the royal enclosure there was
a very strict dress code where men had been told what they must wear, and women what they must
not. So whilst the ladies were not permitted to wear trousers or reveal bare legs, or backs, or have dress
straps less than an inch in width (metrication hasn’t hit the upper classes yet), the chaps just had to show up in a
morning suit. Much champagne was being drunk by the male elite whilst they nibbled on titbits earnestly talking racing form
- the angle of their top hats a reliable indicator of intoxication. But the women in their expensive slimline outfits and
kitten heels never ate a thing. They were pompously pleased that they were in the presence of Her Majesty, but seemed bored
and sober. Could it be that a floppy fascinator would give the game away and social disgrace would ensue? More probably, they
don’t eat or drink because it’s social and domestic suicide to stray from a size ten.
Meanwhile in the chav section it was all a bit Torremolinos. Size tens were
practically extinct and no-one was overly interested in The Racing Post. I even heard a ladette shout “oooh look a horsey”
as she dragged on a Marlboro near the parade ring. There was ample Beryl Cook skin on show, with an impressive array of tattoos
but it’s not the dress code that sets them apart from the royal enclosure types. You can always tell the female of the
chav species because they can’t stand up for long. Two races in, they were sitting on the grass legs akimbo drinking
from the necks of bottles, guffawing away between expletives. I don’t even think they knew that HM was there, but at
least they looked like they were enjoying themselves, I just wish they wouldn’t flash their knickers so much. The
lads whilst admirably attired in suits, generally wore sunglasses and were huddled in groups drinking lager and stuffing themselves
with hamburgers. They never sit down like the girls (why is that?). They looked like bouncers
waiting for their shift to finish, or were they just preparing themselves for huge amounts of earache from
their hammered missus on the way home? The organisers may think that imposing stricter dress codes will
turn the lower order, at least temporarily, into demure wannabe upper classes. But the fact is the plumbers and temps who
attended Ascot have substantial disposable income and whilst they are looked down on, they in turn do not look up. They’re
ambition is not to enter into a higher social strata, but to have more money and stay as they are. Needless to say
I didn’t win anything on the gee gees, but quietly observing the legal apartheid being
enforced by ‘the authorities’ across two wildly opposing cultures made it all worthwhile. Unmissable
but expensive.
HOW A PRAWN SALAD AT ROYAL ASCOT NEARLY KILLED ME
the elasticated waistband brigade Following the clashing of the haves and chavs at
Royal Ascot last month, it was off to the Royal Horticultural Society’s show at Tatton Park. No worries about the lower
classes and drunken behaviour here. At £21 a ticket it’s about the same price as attending a top footie match,
but it’s steadfastly middle class and middle aged, with a sedate waft of gentle bonhomie in the air. Pimms was widely
available but couldn’t see any Carling Black Label anywhere. There wasn’t
one fascinator, cleavage or even a Bolero jacket, but acres of elasticated waistbands, crumpled shorts and wobbly knees. Not
as entertainingly voyeuristic as Ascot, but probably more of a reflection of British society.
|
