“Dick” Madeley, his book and other weekend stuff.

Every time I turned on the radio over the weekend I heard Richard Madeley, the fuckwit half of Richard and Judy promoting his book. If I hear Richard whining again about how his father once hit him when he was a child I’ll hit him myself.
The thing is you see, if I had been Richard’s Dad I would have hit him every day. Richard my boy, you have that effect on people. You’re a knob. Deal with it.

Staying with Richard and Judy, on tevevision over the weekend a Canadian stand-up said; “Every time I see Richard Madeley I can’t help but admire what he does. There is no way I could ever work with my Mother… Cruel but funny.

Funniest moment of the year though was on the Peter Kay extravaganza the title of which I am not even going to try to remember. A dog act was auditioning for the spoof talent show but the dog would not jump through the hoop. Other acts came and went but every couple of minutes we went back to the dog as it gazed uncomprehendingly as it’s trainer’s attempts to coax it through the hoop.

Finally the man looked closely at the animal and said to the judges; “Sorry, I’ve brought the wrong fucking dog.”

I don’t know why but it makes me laugh hysterically every time I think of it.

Who Will Relight The Olympic Flame?

The action in Beijing is starting to spread itself more thinly as events move toward their climax. As a consequence of this shortage of sport the BBC presenters are getting a tad desperate in their efforts to fill time between interesting bits of action.

Today for example they showed a little retrospective on the fate of athletes expected to win their event who, after having been chosen to ignite the Olympic torch as representative of the host nation and later had their gold medal hopes thwarted by bizarre mishaps. Was there a jinx operating? Probably not but it was good television.

This item was triggered by the unfortunate withdrawal due to injury of China’s superstar hurdler. In turn it kicked off an interesting discussion in the studio. The athlete chosen for the task is meant to be a shining example of the host nation’s youth, and embody their countries hopes, ideals and values.

Eventually the panel’s thoughts turned to who might be selected to light the flame for the 2012 Olympic pageant in London. To whom would the task of representing Britain’s finest and being the symbolic embodiment of our nation fall?

The consensus of opinion pointed towards Amy Winehouse.

The image of Amy, wearing six inch stilettos and her enormous wig as she teeters up to the giant Bunsen Burner, ciggy in mouth, lighter in one hand, bottle of Voddie in the other, out of her head on a drug cocktail that defies chemical analysis would send just the right message from Britain to the world.

We may no longer be a dominant economic or military power, a centre of scientific and technical excellence of a fine example of fairness, justice and good manners.

But we still know how to throw a party.

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The Plagiarising Psychiatrist

Consultant psychiatrist and popular television talking head Dr. Raj Presaud is on trial for plagiarism. Presaud stands accused of copying stuff from other psychiatrists published work and including it in his books as his own.

In an attempt to explain how so much of somebody else’s book appeared in his own titles Presaud blamed “computer errors.”

If he thinks computers are really that intelligent perhaps he needs to see a shrink.

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Cliff; saint or shit-for-brains? (very strong language)

A new biography of the entertainment industry’s eternal Bachelor Boy Cliff Richard fails to answer the question we have all been asking for the past 50 years but it does offer some insight into the man’s character
One story in the book tells how in the 1970s Cliff became quite excited on seeing a guitarists fuzzbox effect pedal emblazoned with the words “Big Muff.”
“Hey, what a great title for my next album,” burbled the chaste one, “I could have my face on the cover and the words Big Muff next to it.”
fortunately a sympathetic but worldly backing singer too Cliff aside and stopped him making a total cunt of himself by explaining the big muff / fuzzbox joke.
“Oh drat,” said Cliff (well he would say that’ wouldn’t he?) “is there nothing that does not have a double meaning to it these days?”
The story leave us no wiser as to whether Cliff bats for the other side or not, but it does tell us he has never seen a Carry On film.
What planet does he live on?

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Why Blair’s Books Are Pants.

The response from critics to former Prime Minister Tony Blair’s literary efforts has been on the absolute zero side of lukewarm.
Mr. Blair is certainly no Terry Pratchett. In fact he has a long way to go before he can be ranked alongside Jeffery Archer.
There are good reasons though for this verbal ineptitude as will be revealed in a book out this week. Former Downing Street aide Jonathan Powell will reveal in his memoir that “Blair used to get up at 4 a.m. and write in his underpants.

Were people so in awe of the former Prime Minister they dared no tell him it was much easier to write in a notebook?

Wott No BIble

A survey by Travelodge has found that the book most often deliberately left behind in hotel rooms is Ali Cambell’s ‘The Blair Years’, followed by ‘Don’t You Know Who I Am?’ (it’s taken me three attempts to get that title correct even though I have the paper beside me for reference, no wonder people leave it behind) by Piers Morgan and ‘A Whole New World’ by Katie (Jordan)Price.
Two burning questions:
Who buys these books in the first place?
and
Don’t the Gideon people visit hotels anymore?

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Literature Is Pants

Literature is pants, not in a colloquial sense although some “literary fiction” does have the entertainment value of limp lettuce. No, literature is literally pants, without ancient undergarments there might not be any books, comics, newspapers etc.
Were it not for the widespread adoption of underwear in the medieval period there would not have been enough rags available for the making of cheap paper. This was the development that made the inventions of Gutenberg and Caxton economically viable.
So if you though that brown tint the pages of an old book have is due to age, think again. Its really down to skidmarks on antique guzzies.

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