Well I figured it would only be fair to tell you about Bitches-on-the-Sofa, the sister village to Buttcrack Fullerfurze, which is home to all the annoying women I see in public life. It’s a strange little place, attractive in parts but you sense there’s been lots of cosmetic work done in a vain attempt to keep all the front facades looking fresh. It’s not a large place with just 3 main roads – Catty Lane, Dopey Drive and Needy Street.
It’s an odd title for a posting I grant you but I promise you it’s a real place. In my imagination. A place where annoying tv people with big egos, scant GCSE’s, weird personalities, a misguided sense of their sexual appeal (and occasionally hazy sexuality) and a strange style sense all live. Continue reading
I’ve written in the past about the use of celebrities in tv ads and admitted that we did the same thing at Cellnet, which became O2, in using Joan Collins and John Cleese in two really great ads…and Nigel Mansell and Brian Clough in some pretty wooden ones. I was also in the marketing team at BT, though well-removed from the decision-making process, when it was agreed to use S Club 7 to front their use-the-phone-more ads. I still shudder at the memory whilst Bob Hoskins is probably still spinning in his grave. It would have been good to walk…away from that deal. Continue reading
Oh baby Jesus I’ve just watched the BBC’s latest attempt to showcase celebrities doing stuff outside their comfort zone. Entitled Tumble it features a bunch of C-listers doing tumbling and simple gymnastic stuff. It’s like Splash! but not as scary or fascinating, which makes it about as much fun as anal warts. It is beyond dire. It’s diarrhoea.
Back in the Middle Ages, and long before the officers on Operation Yewtree knocked on the door, I can remember Jimmy Tarbuck cracking a line about how amusing it would have been if the actress Kitty Fisher had got married to the C&W singer Conway Twitty as she’d have to endure a married life being called Kitty Twitty. Oh how we laughed.
I need to admit it; I have an unusual interest. It’s nothing too creepy, I like to look at and admire things that are just a little bit wrong or not terribly good. Simple things like enjoying the images of a carefree Carl Vorderman emerging from the ITV studios in a bodycon dress that’s just a teeny bit too tight or the way Paul Scholes tackled. Possibly the greatest midfielder England has ever produced with the ball at his feet, but a complete lummox when it came to trying to take the ball from the feet of others. If he could have tackled like Booby Moore he would be regarded as better than Pele. Unfortunately his tackling prowess was closer to Brian Moore’s. But to watch him scythe down an opponent a good two minutes after the guy had passed the ball to a team-mate was a source of sheer joy to me. He turned contact clumsiness into an art form and he’d cap it with a show of utter disbelief whenever he was pulled up by some short-sighted referee and shown a very rare yellow card. Ah priceless.
So here’s the tweet from Wayne confirming the new member of the Rooney clan, Klay, brother of course to young Kai. Krikey that’s one kooky moniker for a kid don’t you think? How on earth did they kome up with that krazy Khristian name? Do you think they may like watching ‘Keeping up with the Kardashians’ a banal US tv show about a family all seemingly christened with names beginning with the letter K (apart from the son who’s called Rob, of course)? What other explanation is there?