Several new phrases have entered the media language this week-end spawned by the actions of two of our enduring entertainers, who are occasionally celebrated in this blog (and if you can’t guess their identities the image above is a clue to both of them!).
First new expression; to forsyth off. It means to disappear or not turn up without explanation. It’s what happens when high-profile Saturday night entertainers reach the radio gaga stage in their lives and, despite being paid a small fortune, cannot manage to read around 20 lines on an autocue over a single hour one night a week sustained over more than two week-ends. And it just happened to occur again on this evening’s SCD. Un-be-liev- a-ble darling. It’s beyond a joke; in fact it’s beyond credibility. This has led to two further phrases, the first being who the brucing hell? This is an expression of incredulity eg as when used in a sentence like just who the brucing hell are all these people who still think Sir BF is a top entertainer because either they or mad or I am, and I’m the sanest person I know. The second phrase is more derivative, it sums up the views of every man and most women under the age of 70 that I know, who universally scream at every non-appearance, incoherently-delivered joke and stumblebum gaff YOY can’t Winky do it instead?
The second entertainer doesn’t disappear enough sadly but you still feel compelled to exclaim Poof! whenever he appears. Yes it’s Cliff the stiff and he was a key guest on the Graham Norton Show last night which could have been sub-titled a chat with the fairy cakes. Mary Berry, sweet and old and wrinkly. Lord Lloyd Webber, creepy old and wrinkly. Daniel Ratcliffe, little and creepy and with the gayest hair-style I’ve seen outside of the senior boys common room at Eton. Then there was Cliff singing a song from his 100th album called Fabulous which just sounded like Elvis’ Don’t Be Cruel, to me. Then he joined the others on the sofa for the chat with Graham which spawned the new expression talking Richard. This is the conversational manner of the sad prick who can only talk about himself and his delusional belief that he remains a hunk and relevant. Watching the little rug rat (and that is a desperate syrup now perched on his head) talk again – see earlier posting – about the ‘pressure’ of having to deliver a stud muffin calendar for his legion of female admirers is like watching Lord Lloyd Webber coming out and saying he hates the theatre life and really wants to run off and join a band of redneck lumberjacks. It’s just talking Richard and Cliff is fluent in it.
The final expression is bachelorboydumb, a term to explain how some self-absorbed celebrities completely fail to spot when another member of the sparkly jacket community like Graham Norton is gently and amusingly extracting the gay piss out of you and your many ‘lady’ admirers. Ah priceless.