Tabloid newspapers often publish pictures of attractive famous, semi-famous, infamous, someone we have never heard of women in skimpy outfits. No problems so far.
But would they please stop putting a quote from "an onlooker". Yesterday's News of the World's gossip column had a pic of Desperate Housewives star Nicollette Sheridan in a bikini. "An onlooker said: 'None of the guys could take their eyes off Nicollette.'" No, they didn't. We all know these are made-up so please stop insulting our intelligence.
Monday, 31 December 2007
Give us a chance to enjoy Christmas...
Timeline: Essex, 27 December 2007, 16.30GMT - a branch of Woolworth's.
On the shelves: Cadbury's Creme Eggs with the slogan "Easter comes early this year".
Not that bloody early - we haven't seen off Christmas yet!
On the shelves: Cadbury's Creme Eggs with the slogan "Easter comes early this year".
Not that bloody early - we haven't seen off Christmas yet!
Wednesday, 19 December 2007
Radio wonderful's publicity stunt...
So Radio 1 has backed down in its ban of the word "faggot" in The Pogues's Fairytale of New York and will now play the song unedited.
Hurrah for people power.
Or just a publicity stunt for an ailing radio station?
Hurrah for people power.
Or just a publicity stunt for an ailing radio station?
Monday, 17 December 2007
Vicky won't go solo...
So the tiresome Spice Girls are back performing in London after a gap of not enough years.
The group play a series of gigs at the Millennium Dome and all of them do a solo number in the show. Well, I say all of them. Actually, four of them do a solo number. Can you guess which Spice Girl doesn't sing solo?
I'll give you a few clues.
1) It's the one with the really bad skin.
2) It's the one with the bunions.
3) It's the one who admits that she can't dance or carry a tune in a bucket.
4) It's the one who has yet to have a solo number one.
Yes, that's right - it's Vicky Beckham (Adams as was).
The group play a series of gigs at the Millennium Dome and all of them do a solo number in the show. Well, I say all of them. Actually, four of them do a solo number. Can you guess which Spice Girl doesn't sing solo?
I'll give you a few clues.
1) It's the one with the really bad skin.
2) It's the one with the bunions.
3) It's the one who admits that she can't dance or carry a tune in a bucket.
4) It's the one who has yet to have a solo number one.
Yes, that's right - it's Vicky Beckham (Adams as was).
X doesn't mark Leon's spot...
On Saturday night Leon Jackson won the fourth series of The X Factor. He beat off a challenge from hot favourite Rhydian Roberts and my personal faves brother-sister combo Same Difference.
There is only one problem with Leon - he can't actually sing in tune. This might not be a problem for a punk singer but it does seriously hamper a career as a jazz singer which is apparently what he wants.
UPDATE: Vote-rigging aside (even ITV could not be that stupid), it's good to see a goodly number of others agreeing with me that Leon can't sing.
There is only one problem with Leon - he can't actually sing in tune. This might not be a problem for a punk singer but it does seriously hamper a career as a jazz singer which is apparently what he wants.
UPDATE: Vote-rigging aside (even ITV could not be that stupid), it's good to see a goodly number of others agreeing with me that Leon can't sing.
Wading through the forests of nonsense...
I buy lots of books - many from amazon.
When you sign in to the site, amazon will provide a list of recommendations - books, DVDs, CDs, what-have-you that its computers think will be of interest to you.
I think someone need to have a look at its algorithms.
Today I have received the following recommendations:
TV Cream's Toys: Presents You Pestered Your Parents for
Recommended because you purchased James Robertson Justice: What's the Bleeding-Time?
Spirit ~ Leona Lewis
Recommended because you said you owned The Arsenal Miscellany
Billy Connolly Live - Was It Something I Said?
Recommended because you said you owned The Ireland Rugby Miscellany
Gavin And Stacey : Complete BBC Series 1 [2007]
Recommended because you said you owned The Wales Rugby Miscellany
Why Is Yawning Contagious?: Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About the Human Body, and Some Things You'd Rather Not by Francesca Gould
Recommended because you purchased I Never Knew That About Wales
When you sign in to the site, amazon will provide a list of recommendations - books, DVDs, CDs, what-have-you that its computers think will be of interest to you.
I think someone need to have a look at its algorithms.
Today I have received the following recommendations:
TV Cream's Toys: Presents You Pestered Your Parents for
Recommended because you purchased James Robertson Justice: What's the Bleeding-Time?
Spirit ~ Leona Lewis
Recommended because you said you owned The Arsenal Miscellany
Billy Connolly Live - Was It Something I Said?
Recommended because you said you owned The Ireland Rugby Miscellany
Gavin And Stacey : Complete BBC Series 1 [2007]
Recommended because you said you owned The Wales Rugby Miscellany
Why Is Yawning Contagious?: Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About the Human Body, and Some Things You'd Rather Not by Francesca Gould
Recommended because you purchased I Never Knew That About Wales
Friday, 14 December 2007
Another victory for justice...
Two months ago, I posted a blog about some young thugs who killed a husband and father in front of his son.
Yesterday, the convictions were overturned and the vermin freed. The court said that it could not be sure that the boys were responsible for pensioner Ernest Norton's death even they threw stones at him because he had heart problems.
Surely, his health problems were exacerbated by having stones thrown at him, being jeered and spat at? Who exacerbated those problems? The thugs throwing the stones. Therefore, they were responsible. Their convictions should stand.
Who would bet against those boys not ending up back in prison in the future?
Yesterday, the convictions were overturned and the vermin freed. The court said that it could not be sure that the boys were responsible for pensioner Ernest Norton's death even they threw stones at him because he had heart problems.
Surely, his health problems were exacerbated by having stones thrown at him, being jeered and spat at? Who exacerbated those problems? The thugs throwing the stones. Therefore, they were responsible. Their convictions should stand.
Who would bet against those boys not ending up back in prison in the future?
Monday, 10 December 2007
Another ridiculous fashion...
I admit I am somewhat behind the times - a less furry Uncle Bulgaria if you will. I have recently seen a number of black chaps wearing coats with what looked like the make-up mirrors ladies have in compacts attached to the collar.
Apparently, it's a new fashion and is a goggle jacket - an item of clothing that zips up covering the face so that the wearer views the world via the aforementioned goggles, not make-up mirrors.
Some have said that the jacket makes the wearer look threatening. Ridiculous is probably the adjective I would have chosen albeit no more daft than wearing your trousers halfway over your buttocks.
Is there any real difference between these jackets that cover the face and muslims who walk around with their faces covered? How long before someone is arrested for wearing one and a shopping centre bans them?
We have a tradition in this country of being able to see people's faces - long may it continue.
Apparently, it's a new fashion and is a goggle jacket - an item of clothing that zips up covering the face so that the wearer views the world via the aforementioned goggles, not make-up mirrors.
Some have said that the jacket makes the wearer look threatening. Ridiculous is probably the adjective I would have chosen albeit no more daft than wearing your trousers halfway over your buttocks.
Is there any real difference between these jackets that cover the face and muslims who walk around with their faces covered? How long before someone is arrested for wearing one and a shopping centre bans them?
We have a tradition in this country of being able to see people's faces - long may it continue.
Food for thought...
We are constantly told that we are a wealthy nation and compared to many we obviously are.
Yet I don't remember supermarkets having special food for poor people - there was no Tesco Value, Asda No Frills or Sainsbury's Basic.
Yet I don't remember supermarkets having special food for poor people - there was no Tesco Value, Asda No Frills or Sainsbury's Basic.
Friday, 7 December 2007
Vicky does care...
At last - Vicky Beckham comes clean.
In an interview with the American edition of Elle, she says: "It became very obvious from the start that I was never going to be the best singer or the best dancer or the best actress. You know, I've never been that good at anything, to be completely honest."
You will find no one to disagree with you there, Vic.
However, she goes on to make one statement that I think is not quite as honest as the above. She says: "I don't give a fuck what anybody thinks."
I think she cares very much what people think - or she wouldn't have put on such a ridiculous front in the aftermath of her husband's affair with Rebecca Loos, all that rictus grinning and togetherness on the ski slopes.
Or was that just to protect the earning potential of Brand Beckham?
In an interview with the American edition of Elle, she says: "It became very obvious from the start that I was never going to be the best singer or the best dancer or the best actress. You know, I've never been that good at anything, to be completely honest."
You will find no one to disagree with you there, Vic.
However, she goes on to make one statement that I think is not quite as honest as the above. She says: "I don't give a fuck what anybody thinks."
I think she cares very much what people think - or she wouldn't have put on such a ridiculous front in the aftermath of her husband's affair with Rebecca Loos, all that rictus grinning and togetherness on the ski slopes.
Or was that just to protect the earning potential of Brand Beckham?
Wednesday, 5 December 2007
Liz is Fuller herself
If you are an insomniac or an avid reader of gossip magazines you may have heard of Liz Fuller - she is the stunning blonde who hosts one of those late-night shows on Channel4 in which people ring in to solve some bizarre puzzle at 75p a minute.
She made the news on 2 June 2004 when hosting Auction World (no, me neither) and dumped Paul McKenna live on air. (The hypnotist says that the relationship was already over. "It's the funniest end to a fling I've ever had," he said. "We only went out for a couple of months and the break-up has been more significant than the relationship.")
Anyway, Liz, 32 this month, has grandly announced that she and two friends will be sleeping rough to highlight the charity Crisis.
She says: "We are always seen at fabulous parties. (Are you?) I want people to see us experiencing the rough and tough. (Why?) I come from a farming background in Wales, so it shouldn't be too much of a shock. If you have a celebrity profile you have an obligation to give something back. Not everybody has a good time over Christmas. My mother is a committee member of Save The Children, so charity is in my blood."
They say that they are looking for a TV crew to film the event. Wouldn't it be much simpler and less pretentious just to give a night's pay to Crisis rather than going through all this rigmarole? Ah, but then you wouldn't get all that lovely publicity and more invites to "fabulous parties"?
She made the news on 2 June 2004 when hosting Auction World (no, me neither) and dumped Paul McKenna live on air. (The hypnotist says that the relationship was already over. "It's the funniest end to a fling I've ever had," he said. "We only went out for a couple of months and the break-up has been more significant than the relationship.")
Anyway, Liz, 32 this month, has grandly announced that she and two friends will be sleeping rough to highlight the charity Crisis.
She says: "We are always seen at fabulous parties. (Are you?) I want people to see us experiencing the rough and tough. (Why?) I come from a farming background in Wales, so it shouldn't be too much of a shock. If you have a celebrity profile you have an obligation to give something back. Not everybody has a good time over Christmas. My mother is a committee member of Save The Children, so charity is in my blood."
They say that they are looking for a TV crew to film the event. Wouldn't it be much simpler and less pretentious just to give a night's pay to Crisis rather than going through all this rigmarole? Ah, but then you wouldn't get all that lovely publicity and more invites to "fabulous parties"?
Friday, 30 November 2007
Gemma the jungle thick chick...
In today's Sun television common, the brilliant Ally Ross writes of former Hollyoaks star Gemma Atkinson's appearance on I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here!: "[Her] last act in camp was taking part in that maths test. 'Forty-seven minus 20 is...(long pause) ...17.' So not only is she traumatically boring, we've discovered she's thick as well."
Just to confirm Ally's diagnosis, Gemma gave an interview to the Daily Star in which she said she feared that her breasts would disappear because she had lost a stone while in the jungle. Er, Gemma, love, your breasts are fake - you have implants. They are not going to shrink no matter how much weight you lose...
Just to confirm Ally's diagnosis, Gemma gave an interview to the Daily Star in which she said she feared that her breasts would disappear because she had lost a stone while in the jungle. Er, Gemma, love, your breasts are fake - you have implants. They are not going to shrink no matter how much weight you lose...
Tuesday, 13 November 2007
Critics are half right on Amy
Commentators have recently compared singer Amy Winehouse and husband Blake Fielder-Civil to dead junkies Sid Vicious and Nancy Spungen.
This misses one important point. Both Vicious and Spungen were talentless wastes of space. Amy Winehouse is a remarkably talented young lady - only her skanky husband is the waste of space.
Memo to Sunday Mirror's "distinctive new voice" Fiona McIntosh: It's Fielder-Civil, not Civil-Fielder as you wrote in your debut column.
This misses one important point. Both Vicious and Spungen were talentless wastes of space. Amy Winehouse is a remarkably talented young lady - only her skanky husband is the waste of space.
Memo to Sunday Mirror's "distinctive new voice" Fiona McIntosh: It's Fielder-Civil, not Civil-Fielder as you wrote in your debut column.
Friday, 19 October 2007
Thugs murder a good man
Five boys, some as young as 12, were given custodial sentences today for stoning to death pensioner Ernest Norton as he played cricket with his son, James.
Amazingly, some were as young as 10 when they began pelting Mr Norton with stones and pieces of wood. He died of a heart attack after being struck twice on the head and face with stones, one rock the size of half a brick shattered his cheekbone. He died in front of his son.
The judge Warwick McKinnon described it as "a vicious, unprovoked attack". He told them: "Your behaviour was utterly disgraceful and criminally irresponsible. No sentence I can pass can restore the human life so needlessly taken by this mindless display of violence."
All the boys, who were found guilty of manslaughter in August, were given two years' detention. They are now appealing against their conviction.
Of course they are and some sappy social worker will say that they behaved in this appalling way because they were deprived. And no doubt in the borstal they will have access to the internet, computer games, television and pool tables.
Detective Chief Inspector Clive Heys said the case was a tragedy for Norton's family and for the boys themselves. "They will have a stain on their characters for the rest of their life," he said.
Who gives a toss about the boys? They had a choice in their actions. Mr Norton did not. He leaves a widow and a son and daughter.
The thugs will be out in probably a year or less. Does DCI Heys really believe it is a tragedy for them? Why is he even giving them a moment's thought? They are where they belong - behind bars.
They are not responsible for Mr Norton's manslaughter - they murdered him and should not be allowed out until they are very old men.
Amazingly, some were as young as 10 when they began pelting Mr Norton with stones and pieces of wood. He died of a heart attack after being struck twice on the head and face with stones, one rock the size of half a brick shattered his cheekbone. He died in front of his son.
The judge Warwick McKinnon described it as "a vicious, unprovoked attack". He told them: "Your behaviour was utterly disgraceful and criminally irresponsible. No sentence I can pass can restore the human life so needlessly taken by this mindless display of violence."
All the boys, who were found guilty of manslaughter in August, were given two years' detention. They are now appealing against their conviction.
Of course they are and some sappy social worker will say that they behaved in this appalling way because they were deprived. And no doubt in the borstal they will have access to the internet, computer games, television and pool tables.
Detective Chief Inspector Clive Heys said the case was a tragedy for Norton's family and for the boys themselves. "They will have a stain on their characters for the rest of their life," he said.
Who gives a toss about the boys? They had a choice in their actions. Mr Norton did not. He leaves a widow and a son and daughter.
The thugs will be out in probably a year or less. Does DCI Heys really believe it is a tragedy for them? Why is he even giving them a moment's thought? They are where they belong - behind bars.
They are not responsible for Mr Norton's manslaughter - they murdered him and should not be allowed out until they are very old men.
Wednesday, 17 October 2007
The mother is always the last to know...
On Monday the Daily Express ran a feature about parents who spend a fortune on beauty treatments for their children.
One of the children featured was 12-year-old James Liley from Worthing, West Sussex. His mother, Sharon, spends £3,600 a year on skincare products for him.
Among her choice quotes:
“James’s passion for pampering started when he was about five. He’d use all my face creams, body lotions and shampoos… now he won’t leave the house unless his skin is glowing and his hair is perfectly coiffured. Every day he uses GHD hair straighteners, which cost over £100, and loves to use Toni & Guy’s Bed Head styling products.
“He has manicures and pedicures as well as a massage every week, too.Every month I spend about £300 on James’s beauty regime because he likes to use expensive moisturisers from Lancôme. But it’s obviously worth it because his skin is amazing. He rarely gets a spot and if he does he’ll cover it up with some concealer.
“James is a dancer and would like to dance professionally one day.
“His wardrobe is full of designer jeans and T-shirts from Armani and Ralph Lauren. We spend thousands every year on clothes for him because he likes to look fashionable.
“I’m very proud of how much care he takes over his appearance and I’m sure when he grows up his girlfriends will appreciate it, too.”
Something tells me that girlfriends won't be featuring very prominently in James’s life...
One of the children featured was 12-year-old James Liley from Worthing, West Sussex. His mother, Sharon, spends £3,600 a year on skincare products for him.
Among her choice quotes:
“James’s passion for pampering started when he was about five. He’d use all my face creams, body lotions and shampoos… now he won’t leave the house unless his skin is glowing and his hair is perfectly coiffured. Every day he uses GHD hair straighteners, which cost over £100, and loves to use Toni & Guy’s Bed Head styling products.
“He has manicures and pedicures as well as a massage every week, too.Every month I spend about £300 on James’s beauty regime because he likes to use expensive moisturisers from Lancôme. But it’s obviously worth it because his skin is amazing. He rarely gets a spot and if he does he’ll cover it up with some concealer.
“James is a dancer and would like to dance professionally one day.
“His wardrobe is full of designer jeans and T-shirts from Armani and Ralph Lauren. We spend thousands every year on clothes for him because he likes to look fashionable.
“I’m very proud of how much care he takes over his appearance and I’m sure when he grows up his girlfriends will appreciate it, too.”
Something tells me that girlfriends won't be featuring very prominently in James’s life...
Friday, 12 October 2007
How could they help?
Today the Daily Mirror reports: “Paparazzi snappers took pictures of Princess Diana’s dying moments rather than go to her aid as she lay crumpled in the back of her smashed up Mercedes, the inquest into her death heard yesterday.”
What were they supposed to do? How could they help? They are photographers not paramedics.
They should not have been taking pictures but they could not have been expected to help the medical effort.
What were they supposed to do? How could they help? They are photographers not paramedics.
They should not have been taking pictures but they could not have been expected to help the medical effort.
Stop the love-in
There are few people in the public eye now that can be described as "best-loved". In days gone by Britain's best-loved sitcom was Only Fools and Horses; best-loved magician Tommy Cooper; best-loved double act Morecambe and Wise and best-loved royal Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother.
Now people are liked rather than loved. Tolerated for a brief time until they are no longer wanted.
This doesn't stop publishers referring to "best-loved". I have already commented on Julian Clary who is not one of Britain's "best-loved entertainers" despite what his publishers may think.
Two more incidences arise. Richard Hammond is "one of Britain's best-love television presenters" and Graham McCann is apparently "Britain's best-loved showbiz writer".
This is plainly nonsense.
As with Clary, when was the last time you heard someone say, "We must watch telly tonight Richard Hammond's on"?
And Graham McCann is not "Britain's best-loved showbiz writer" for two simple reasons: one, Britain does not have a best-loved showbiz writer, and two, no one has ever heard of him.
Enough of the luvvieness.
Now people are liked rather than loved. Tolerated for a brief time until they are no longer wanted.
This doesn't stop publishers referring to "best-loved". I have already commented on Julian Clary who is not one of Britain's "best-loved entertainers" despite what his publishers may think.
Two more incidences arise. Richard Hammond is "one of Britain's best-love television presenters" and Graham McCann is apparently "Britain's best-loved showbiz writer".
This is plainly nonsense.
As with Clary, when was the last time you heard someone say, "We must watch telly tonight Richard Hammond's on"?
And Graham McCann is not "Britain's best-loved showbiz writer" for two simple reasons: one, Britain does not have a best-loved showbiz writer, and two, no one has ever heard of him.
Enough of the luvvieness.
Wednesday, 10 October 2007
Enough with the Elton John obsession
I like GQ. At the moment it is probably my favourite magazine. However, the obsession with Elton John in the November issue is wearing a little thin.
The edition celebrates the GQ Man of the Year Awards, a ceremony which was hosted by Elton John - so it is fair that he is mentioned there.
I am sure that Sir Elton is a very nice man. However, is it really necessary for Simon Kelner to tell us what "Elton and David's favourite restaurant" is during an interview with Christian Slater?
Or for Nick Foulkes to mention the singer several times in the opening paragraphs of his story about watches?
Frankly, I don't care where "Elton and David" eat. I couldn't give a monkey's about the "jeweller to the court of Sir Elton".
GQ is supposedly an aspirational mag for thirty- and fortysomethings. Sir Elton is in his sixties and rich beyond the dreams of avarice. More to the point, I believe that 90 per cent of the readers don't aspire to be like him... 
The edition celebrates the GQ Man of the Year Awards, a ceremony which was hosted by Elton John - so it is fair that he is mentioned there.
I am sure that Sir Elton is a very nice man. However, is it really necessary for Simon Kelner to tell us what "Elton and David's favourite restaurant" is during an interview with Christian Slater?
Or for Nick Foulkes to mention the singer several times in the opening paragraphs of his story about watches?
Frankly, I don't care where "Elton and David" eat. I couldn't give a monkey's about the "jeweller to the court of Sir Elton".
GQ is supposedly an aspirational mag for thirty- and fortysomethings. Sir Elton is in his sixties and rich beyond the dreams of avarice. More to the point, I believe that 90 per cent of the readers don't aspire to be like him...
Monday, 8 October 2007
The Diana bandwagon rolls on...and on
On 31 August 1997 a woman and her boyfriend were killed when the car they were in, driven by a drunk, crashed in an underground tunnel in Paris.
Neither were wearing seat belts.
On Tuesday 2 October 2007 an inquest opened into the woman's death – it is expected to last six months and cost the British taxpayer £10million.
Why is this farrago allowed to go on?
Diana, Princess of Wales died because she was not wearing a seat belt and the driver of the car she was travelling in was driving too fast. That is the beginning and end of the story.
There was no assassination plot.
There was no MI6 involvement.
Prince Philip did not authorise a murder.
Diana was not pregnant.
Can we now please move on?
Neither were wearing seat belts.
On Tuesday 2 October 2007 an inquest opened into the woman's death – it is expected to last six months and cost the British taxpayer £10million.
Why is this farrago allowed to go on?
Diana, Princess of Wales died because she was not wearing a seat belt and the driver of the car she was travelling in was driving too fast. That is the beginning and end of the story.
There was no assassination plot.
There was no MI6 involvement.
Prince Philip did not authorise a murder.
Diana was not pregnant.
Can we now please move on?
Friday, 28 September 2007
Criminal stupidity
I have several books on true crime on my shelves and a few are devoted to stupid criminals. This case takes some beating.
Stewart Monk, 28, of Ackerley Court, Ashford, Kent, who worked as an on-board trolley steward for Rail Gourmet on trains between Kent and London, admitted making 11 false bomb threats concerning Charing Cross and Ashford International stations.
A stupid thing to do at the best of times but Monk made nine of the threats from his own mobile phone.
He was sent to prison for two and a half years - presumably six months for his threats and two years for being terminally stupid.
Stewart Monk, 28, of Ackerley Court, Ashford, Kent, who worked as an on-board trolley steward for Rail Gourmet on trains between Kent and London, admitted making 11 false bomb threats concerning Charing Cross and Ashford International stations.
A stupid thing to do at the best of times but Monk made nine of the threats from his own mobile phone.
He was sent to prison for two and a half years - presumably six months for his threats and two years for being terminally stupid.
Tuesday, 25 September 2007
The over-selling of Clary
Recently, I was browsing in a bookshop when I saw a new novel written by Julian Clary. Obviously, I didn't buy it – that only encourages them.
However, I was surprised that the blurb said, “Julian Clary is one of Britain’s best-loved entertainers”.
No, he’s not. He has a extremely limited appeal to a very niche market. When was the last time you heard someone say, “Oooh, we must stay in tonight (or set the TiVo) Julian Clary’s on the telly”?
However, I was surprised that the blurb said, “Julian Clary is one of Britain’s best-loved entertainers”.
No, he’s not. He has a extremely limited appeal to a very niche market. When was the last time you heard someone say, “Oooh, we must stay in tonight (or set the TiVo) Julian Clary’s on the telly”?
Monday, 24 September 2007
Sometimes prison does work...
The wife of convicted paedophile Chris Langham has said that he is being bullied and tormented in prison.
Apparently, he has been pelted with missiles, his cell has been flooded and the screws are ignoring him.
Oh dear. What a pity. Never mind.
Apparently, he has been pelted with missiles, his cell has been flooded and the screws are ignoring him.
Oh dear. What a pity. Never mind.
Sunday, 2 September 2007
Keep Arsenal English
Once again my club is on the front pages of the national newspapers for reasons that have nothing to do with football.
Former vice-chairman David Dein who was sacked in April has sold his shares in Arsenal for £75million to a Russian chap and then become chairman of the company, Red and White Holdings, set up for the shareholding.
Dein wanted the club to be taken over by the American Stan Kroenke because he believes that the club cannot compete unless there is a huge injection of cash - from a foreign buyer.
The Arsenal board has signed a memorandum agreeing not to sell until April 2008 at the earliest. Will they sell then? I hope not.
Do foreign buyers actually make any difference? Chelsea have won the premiership and the FA Cup twice each since they were bought by Roman Abramovich in 2003. It is generally agreed that the Russian oligarch has put money into the club.
On 6 February 2007 Liverpool were bought by two American businessmen, George Gillett and Tom Hicks. It is obviously too early to say if that purchase has had any positive effect on the Anfield club.
When Malcolm Glazier bought Manchester United on 12 May 2005, against the wishes of many fans, his supporters claimed that he would invest in the club. As far as I am aware that has not happened.
Back to Arsenal.
The board has invested hundreds of millions of pounds in the new Emirates Stadium. It is a long-term plan that won't see money recouped for several years. Why would they sell to a foreign businessman so that he can benefit from all their hard work? Unless he paid well over the odds, it would not make sense to them. If he did pay over the odds to compensate for future losses, it would not make sense to the business tycoon.
I hope that they don't.
Friday, 24 August 2007
The funniest piece on journalism I have read for a long time...
From: Gentleman Ranters
I knew Eric Wainwright
By Colin Dunne
Goodness knows, those 30-odd years in Fleet Street produced very little for me by way of achievement, fame or trophies. All I’ve got to show for it are a few divorce court appearances, arteries as congested as Shoe Lane, and a collection of anecdotes that can never be told. Why not? Because normal people would never believe them.
But I do have one claim to distinction of which I’m seriously proud, and it’s one that very few old Mirror men can make…
For I knew Eric Wainwright.
Oh yes, there are plenty who are familiar with the legend of Invisible Eric, the ghost of the Fourth Floor Features. But I doubt if any of them ever actually set eyes upon him. And fewer still who heard, first-hand, his explanation of why he found it necessary to wear his St James’s Street hat while seated upon the lavatory.
But I did. I knew him quite well. And his hat. And I’m glad I caught his show while it was still – just – in town.
It happened at a time in my life when I was obliged to spend Sunday mornings – and quite possibly bits of Saturday night – in the Holborn office. We do not need to go into the reasons. Some sort of domestic dislocation, I seem to recall – you know how difficult women can be. Anyway, after breakfast in the canteen, by mid-morning I’d be sitting with a coffee and the Sunday papers at my desk on the fourth-floor.
I always had it to myself. Until one morning when in bowled this dapper chap. Although clearly startled at having to share the room, he gave a jovial wave and sat down at a typewriter. The telephone rang. ‘No,’ he said, with complete conviction, ‘there’s no-one hear called Dunne.’
At this point, I thought it wise to introduce myself. He apologised for not knowing me. In fact, he didn’t seem to know anyone. ‘Who’s the features editor now?’ I said it was Bill Hagerty. ‘Is he a little blond chap with a moustache?’ I said no, he was a tallish dark chap with a clean upper lip. He nodded. ‘Bit out of touch these days,’ he said. ‘I try to keep out of the way.’
At that he was triumphantly successful. His contact with the office was his monthly visit, on a Sunday morning when the place was deserted, to do four weeks’ expenses.
A little cautiously, I said that I hadn’t seen his by-line recently. ‘No, old boy, haven’t had a piece in for six years.’ I murmured something about how upsetting it must be to have all that copy spiked. He looked at me as though I was insane. ‘Lord no, haven’t written anything for six years.’
At this point, we need a little history. In the mid-seventies, the Mirror features department had reached its zenith with a splendid one-way employment policy: new writers were shipped in, but no old writers went out. One idle day (there were about 342 a year) I counted the number of feature writers and gave up when I passed 40. They were a mixed bunch. Former girlfriends of long-gone editors, executives who’d forgotten what they were executing, columnists who’d misplaced their columns, foreign correspondents returned home, and some people who I think just came in for the warmth. There were even one or two who wrote features. This wasn’t encouraged.
Passing the time could be a problem. Some took to the drink. Some took to adultery. Some took to both, and not always in the right order. Don Walker set up a music stand and taught himself classical guitar. Paula James made restaurant reservations. George Thaw was Scottish all over the place. Don Gomery sighed a lot. Occasionally we’d move the desks and have a badminton tournament.
Several of the writers, like Eric, became no-shows. His sports jacket – Daks, of course – was left over his chair, so that if anyone asked for him we could say he’d popped out to the bank and we would ring the number he’d left. The number, someone said, was for a drinking club in Soho in which he was a partner. We never rang it. No-one ever asked for him.
Years slipped by, and he became a sort of invisible yet indestructible folk hero. Once he put in a memo asking to be made Pub Correspondent. Tony Miles, the editor, asked someone to check with accounts to see if he was still on the staff. He was. ‘What the hell does he do?’ Someone said he spent most of his time in pubs. ‘In that case,’ said Miles, ‘he might as well have the title.’ So he achieved his ambition, and, true to the last, he never wrote a story.
Mike Molloy once called a conference which was a must-attend for writers. Bars and bedrooms all over London emptied and by the time he’d begun, the room was packed. At that point in walked this distinguished figure with his rolled umbrella and perched himself at the front. Mike was saying the new policy was to attract young readers when Eric spoke. ‘Delightful little boozer just outside Guildford,’ he said. ‘Lots of young people in there. Shall I pop down and have a look?’ A minute later he’d gone. It remained one of the great unwritten stories of our time.
Over the months, I got to know him well. With his slick of silver hair, florid face and drawing-room accent, he was of a type that even then was rapidly running out of fashion. He was – there’s no other word for it – a gent: British warm overcoat, yellow chamois gloves and tightly-furled umbrella with a whangee handle, he was clearly an ex-officer from some smart regiment. Only he wasn’t.
The story was that he was a Canadian who’d come over here with the Canadian air force and stayed on. There were rumours of military heroics. At one time he’d made a living as a cartoonist (some of his cartoons were on the walls of the Stab). Even more incredibly, he’d dressed up as a huge, ugly, half-wit woman called Cynthia who was the silent stage stooge for a northern comedian called Hylda Baker. ‘She knows, y’know’, Hylda would say, elbowing Eric in the ribs.
It was the sort of CV that could only end one way - in the Mirror features department. Long before those Sunday morning meetings, he’d built up quite a name for doing first-person pieces under the by-line Danger Man. He was terrific. He rode a motor-bike through a hoop of fire. He went into a cage full of lions armed only with a chair. He even went to the photographers’ Christmas party… no, no, that was a joke, he wasn’t that crazy.
He was what he himself would have called a genial sort of cove. Full of good spirits, full of good stories. Around noon, he would slip over the Stab, and return a couple of hours later, even fuller of good spirits. He would slump down in his chair and ring all his friends around the world. Occasionally, the odd snippet would drift over to me, and what collectors’ items they were…
‘Yerrs, still got the same old place out in Bucks. Thatched roof, y’know. Trouble is, bloody squirrels in the thatch. Gnawed through the bloody water pipe. Drips through the ceiling. Bloody nuisance. Have to wear a hat when I’m on the lav.’
With the writer’s true eye for detail, Eric knew this required further definition. ‘Y’know,’ he said, ‘the one I got at Lock’s of St James’s.’
There were stories that in his younger days he was an accomplished pub fighter. Someone who once saw him in action said he used the pub furniture like they do in cowboy films. To me he was never anything other than charming, apart from the day Roy Harris upset him. Roy, who was, I think, deputy features editor, sat in on a Sunday, and when Eric presented his expenses, he ventured a mildly casual inquiry about one item. Eric was furious. He went immediately to the Stab. He stayed longer than usual. When he came back, he was purple with, among other things, rage. He asked my advice. What was the silliest story I’d ever done? A talking dog, I said. Where was the furthest point from the office? Land’s End. With finger-jabbing anger, he typed away, took it downstairs and slammed it down in front of Roy. It was for a trip to Land’s End to interview a talking dog. It involved well over a thousand miles’ travel, several overnights, lots of entertaining and taxis. All with no bills. The final, some might have said contemptuous, item was the one that caught Roy’s eye. ‘Bone for dog - £10.’
Roy, who was not a big man, shivered in the shadow of the figure looming over him. ‘Must have been a big bone,’ he whispered weakly.
Eric slammed his hand on the desk and roared: ‘It was fucking big dog.’
Roy’s signature fairly skidded over the paper.
Someone somewhere must have let me back in, because my Sunday mornings in the office came to an end. I missed them. I missed Eric. With him, I felt as though I was catching the last act of a wonderful long-running comedy.
About a year after I left the Mirror, Don Walker rang me up. I knew it was some sort of spoof because he was trying not to laugh. Eric was leaving, he said. They were having a farewell party for him. And would I go along because I was the only person who knew what he looked like.
Just me.
Sadly, Eric isn't around any more. Any more? What am I saying?
Colin Dunne was a Daily Mirror feature writer from 1968 to 1978 when he left to freelance and write books.
I knew Eric Wainwright
By Colin Dunne
Goodness knows, those 30-odd years in Fleet Street produced very little for me by way of achievement, fame or trophies. All I’ve got to show for it are a few divorce court appearances, arteries as congested as Shoe Lane, and a collection of anecdotes that can never be told. Why not? Because normal people would never believe them.
But I do have one claim to distinction of which I’m seriously proud, and it’s one that very few old Mirror men can make…
For I knew Eric Wainwright.
Oh yes, there are plenty who are familiar with the legend of Invisible Eric, the ghost of the Fourth Floor Features. But I doubt if any of them ever actually set eyes upon him. And fewer still who heard, first-hand, his explanation of why he found it necessary to wear his St James’s Street hat while seated upon the lavatory.
But I did. I knew him quite well. And his hat. And I’m glad I caught his show while it was still – just – in town.
It happened at a time in my life when I was obliged to spend Sunday mornings – and quite possibly bits of Saturday night – in the Holborn office. We do not need to go into the reasons. Some sort of domestic dislocation, I seem to recall – you know how difficult women can be. Anyway, after breakfast in the canteen, by mid-morning I’d be sitting with a coffee and the Sunday papers at my desk on the fourth-floor.
I always had it to myself. Until one morning when in bowled this dapper chap. Although clearly startled at having to share the room, he gave a jovial wave and sat down at a typewriter. The telephone rang. ‘No,’ he said, with complete conviction, ‘there’s no-one hear called Dunne.’
At this point, I thought it wise to introduce myself. He apologised for not knowing me. In fact, he didn’t seem to know anyone. ‘Who’s the features editor now?’ I said it was Bill Hagerty. ‘Is he a little blond chap with a moustache?’ I said no, he was a tallish dark chap with a clean upper lip. He nodded. ‘Bit out of touch these days,’ he said. ‘I try to keep out of the way.’
At that he was triumphantly successful. His contact with the office was his monthly visit, on a Sunday morning when the place was deserted, to do four weeks’ expenses.
A little cautiously, I said that I hadn’t seen his by-line recently. ‘No, old boy, haven’t had a piece in for six years.’ I murmured something about how upsetting it must be to have all that copy spiked. He looked at me as though I was insane. ‘Lord no, haven’t written anything for six years.’
At this point, we need a little history. In the mid-seventies, the Mirror features department had reached its zenith with a splendid one-way employment policy: new writers were shipped in, but no old writers went out. One idle day (there were about 342 a year) I counted the number of feature writers and gave up when I passed 40. They were a mixed bunch. Former girlfriends of long-gone editors, executives who’d forgotten what they were executing, columnists who’d misplaced their columns, foreign correspondents returned home, and some people who I think just came in for the warmth. There were even one or two who wrote features. This wasn’t encouraged.
Passing the time could be a problem. Some took to the drink. Some took to adultery. Some took to both, and not always in the right order. Don Walker set up a music stand and taught himself classical guitar. Paula James made restaurant reservations. George Thaw was Scottish all over the place. Don Gomery sighed a lot. Occasionally we’d move the desks and have a badminton tournament.
Several of the writers, like Eric, became no-shows. His sports jacket – Daks, of course – was left over his chair, so that if anyone asked for him we could say he’d popped out to the bank and we would ring the number he’d left. The number, someone said, was for a drinking club in Soho in which he was a partner. We never rang it. No-one ever asked for him.
Years slipped by, and he became a sort of invisible yet indestructible folk hero. Once he put in a memo asking to be made Pub Correspondent. Tony Miles, the editor, asked someone to check with accounts to see if he was still on the staff. He was. ‘What the hell does he do?’ Someone said he spent most of his time in pubs. ‘In that case,’ said Miles, ‘he might as well have the title.’ So he achieved his ambition, and, true to the last, he never wrote a story.
Mike Molloy once called a conference which was a must-attend for writers. Bars and bedrooms all over London emptied and by the time he’d begun, the room was packed. At that point in walked this distinguished figure with his rolled umbrella and perched himself at the front. Mike was saying the new policy was to attract young readers when Eric spoke. ‘Delightful little boozer just outside Guildford,’ he said. ‘Lots of young people in there. Shall I pop down and have a look?’ A minute later he’d gone. It remained one of the great unwritten stories of our time.
Over the months, I got to know him well. With his slick of silver hair, florid face and drawing-room accent, he was of a type that even then was rapidly running out of fashion. He was – there’s no other word for it – a gent: British warm overcoat, yellow chamois gloves and tightly-furled umbrella with a whangee handle, he was clearly an ex-officer from some smart regiment. Only he wasn’t.
The story was that he was a Canadian who’d come over here with the Canadian air force and stayed on. There were rumours of military heroics. At one time he’d made a living as a cartoonist (some of his cartoons were on the walls of the Stab). Even more incredibly, he’d dressed up as a huge, ugly, half-wit woman called Cynthia who was the silent stage stooge for a northern comedian called Hylda Baker. ‘She knows, y’know’, Hylda would say, elbowing Eric in the ribs.
It was the sort of CV that could only end one way - in the Mirror features department. Long before those Sunday morning meetings, he’d built up quite a name for doing first-person pieces under the by-line Danger Man. He was terrific. He rode a motor-bike through a hoop of fire. He went into a cage full of lions armed only with a chair. He even went to the photographers’ Christmas party… no, no, that was a joke, he wasn’t that crazy.
He was what he himself would have called a genial sort of cove. Full of good spirits, full of good stories. Around noon, he would slip over the Stab, and return a couple of hours later, even fuller of good spirits. He would slump down in his chair and ring all his friends around the world. Occasionally, the odd snippet would drift over to me, and what collectors’ items they were…
‘Yerrs, still got the same old place out in Bucks. Thatched roof, y’know. Trouble is, bloody squirrels in the thatch. Gnawed through the bloody water pipe. Drips through the ceiling. Bloody nuisance. Have to wear a hat when I’m on the lav.’
With the writer’s true eye for detail, Eric knew this required further definition. ‘Y’know,’ he said, ‘the one I got at Lock’s of St James’s.’
There were stories that in his younger days he was an accomplished pub fighter. Someone who once saw him in action said he used the pub furniture like they do in cowboy films. To me he was never anything other than charming, apart from the day Roy Harris upset him. Roy, who was, I think, deputy features editor, sat in on a Sunday, and when Eric presented his expenses, he ventured a mildly casual inquiry about one item. Eric was furious. He went immediately to the Stab. He stayed longer than usual. When he came back, he was purple with, among other things, rage. He asked my advice. What was the silliest story I’d ever done? A talking dog, I said. Where was the furthest point from the office? Land’s End. With finger-jabbing anger, he typed away, took it downstairs and slammed it down in front of Roy. It was for a trip to Land’s End to interview a talking dog. It involved well over a thousand miles’ travel, several overnights, lots of entertaining and taxis. All with no bills. The final, some might have said contemptuous, item was the one that caught Roy’s eye. ‘Bone for dog - £10.’
Roy, who was not a big man, shivered in the shadow of the figure looming over him. ‘Must have been a big bone,’ he whispered weakly.
Eric slammed his hand on the desk and roared: ‘It was fucking big dog.’
Roy’s signature fairly skidded over the paper.
Someone somewhere must have let me back in, because my Sunday mornings in the office came to an end. I missed them. I missed Eric. With him, I felt as though I was catching the last act of a wonderful long-running comedy.
About a year after I left the Mirror, Don Walker rang me up. I knew it was some sort of spoof because he was trying not to laugh. Eric was leaving, he said. They were having a farewell party for him. And would I go along because I was the only person who knew what he looked like.
Just me.
Sadly, Eric isn't around any more. Any more? What am I saying?
Colin Dunne was a Daily Mirror feature writer from 1968 to 1978 when he left to freelance and write books.
Thursday, 23 August 2007
Talking about MY generation
In the pantheon of rock'n'roll there are some incredible moments: Jimi Hendrix setting fire to his guitar, Keith Moon driving a Rolls Royce into a swimming pool, Jim Morrison exposing himself on stage to name but three that immediately spring to mind.
On Tuesday night the Rolling Stones played the Millennium Dome. During the course of the gig Keith Richards lit a cigarette on stage, followed by Ron Wood.
A member of the audience said, "It was a great rock'n'roll moment."
No, it wasn't it was a man who is a year short of being a pensioner lighting a fag. If whichever idiot who made the quote really does think that was a great rock'n'roll moment, he needs to get out more or stay in and read more books about the history of rock'n'roll.
On Tuesday night the Rolling Stones played the Millennium Dome. During the course of the gig Keith Richards lit a cigarette on stage, followed by Ron Wood.
A member of the audience said, "It was a great rock'n'roll moment."
No, it wasn't it was a man who is a year short of being a pensioner lighting a fag. If whichever idiot who made the quote really does think that was a great rock'n'roll moment, he needs to get out more or stay in and read more books about the history of rock'n'roll.
Monday, 13 August 2007
Wake up and have a laugh... it's free - for now
I believe in almost total free speech - as long as what you say doesn't incite violence or destruction of property, then as far as I am concerned you can say what you like.
Unfortunately, my belief is one held by an increasingly small number of people. It seems the worst thing that anyone can do these days is "give offence" - as nebulous a phrase as it is possible to conceive.
The latest to fall foul of "giving offence" is David Pratt of Cambridge who is facing an £80 fine for wearing a T-shirt (bought in Los Angeles by Mr Pratt's wife) bearing the slogan "Don't piss me off! I am running out of places to hide the bodies".
After an official complaint was made to the council, street wardens told Mr Pratt his T-shirt could cause offence or incite violence. He faces an on-the-spot fine from the police if he wears it again.
Using offensive, abusive, or insulting language is a criminal offence under Section 5 of the Public Order Act, even if it's printed on a T-shirt.
"It is not necessary for someone to have made an official complaint for the police to act, they just have to think it might offend a hypothetical third party, says criminal solicitor Louise Christian.
Please tell me how this could incite violence? The T-shirt did not advocate killing all Spurs supporters, for example.
A man was fined for wearing a T-shirt that said "Bollocks to Blair" - again under the Public Order Act. How? Is anyone suggesting that the T-shirt might incite someone to send/give/donate bollocks to Blair?
The T-shirts are meant to be a joke and it is about time society woke up and found again its sense of humour. No one ever died from laughter (well, apart from that man who did. He had a heart attack in 1975 while watching an episode of The Goodies about the martial art of Ecky Thump.)
Unfortunately, my belief is one held by an increasingly small number of people. It seems the worst thing that anyone can do these days is "give offence" - as nebulous a phrase as it is possible to conceive.
The latest to fall foul of "giving offence" is David Pratt of Cambridge who is facing an £80 fine for wearing a T-shirt (bought in Los Angeles by Mr Pratt's wife) bearing the slogan "Don't piss me off! I am running out of places to hide the bodies".
After an official complaint was made to the council, street wardens told Mr Pratt his T-shirt could cause offence or incite violence. He faces an on-the-spot fine from the police if he wears it again.
Using offensive, abusive, or insulting language is a criminal offence under Section 5 of the Public Order Act, even if it's printed on a T-shirt.
"It is not necessary for someone to have made an official complaint for the police to act, they just have to think it might offend a hypothetical third party, says criminal solicitor Louise Christian.
Please tell me how this could incite violence? The T-shirt did not advocate killing all Spurs supporters, for example.
A man was fined for wearing a T-shirt that said "Bollocks to Blair" - again under the Public Order Act. How? Is anyone suggesting that the T-shirt might incite someone to send/give/donate bollocks to Blair?
The T-shirts are meant to be a joke and it is about time society woke up and found again its sense of humour. No one ever died from laughter (well, apart from that man who did. He had a heart attack in 1975 while watching an episode of The Goodies about the martial art of Ecky Thump.)
The police in Thames Valley really are getting younger looking...
Thames Valley Police Force has caused a storm by hiring two 16-year-olds as police community support officers (the so-called Blunkett's, or plastic, bobbies).
The two teenagers will be able to direct traffic but are not legally old enough to drive.
"We have recruited these people because they demonstrated the skills that we need," said a spokesman. "They bring experience of being able to interact with the public, especially young people. If you are good enough you are old enough."
Hmm, what do you think would be the response if someone aged 70 applied to join? "If you are good enough you are young enough."
The two teenagers will be able to direct traffic but are not legally old enough to drive.
"We have recruited these people because they demonstrated the skills that we need," said a spokesman. "They bring experience of being able to interact with the public, especially young people. If you are good enough you are old enough."
Hmm, what do you think would be the response if someone aged 70 applied to join? "If you are good enough you are young enough."
The truth about Madeleine McCann that no one dare speak
The elephant in the room in the McCann case is that, sadly, Madeleine is almost certainly dead and probably died a day or two after she was kidnapped.
The police know this, the press this and the McCanns must also know this.
The couple are both doctors, middle-class, educated and presumably not naive yet there are news reports today that they are annoyed that the police did not tell them that they (the police) think their daughter is no longer alive.
Although, obviously, they want to cling to a hope - however forlorn, that Madeline is alive, they must realise that that is not the case.
The police know this, the press this and the McCanns must also know this.
The couple are both doctors, middle-class, educated and presumably not naive yet there are news reports today that they are annoyed that the police did not tell them that they (the police) think their daughter is no longer alive.
Although, obviously, they want to cling to a hope - however forlorn, that Madeline is alive, they must realise that that is not the case.
Tuesday, 7 August 2007
Pathetic Pete is a waste of space
Once again Pete Doherty, the miserable excuse for a human being, finds himself in court. This time he has admitted driving illegally while in possession of crack, heroin, ketamine and cannabis.
The judge said that he has 4 September to sort himself out or she is will give him either "a custodial sentence or a community order". How many more times must this waste of space appear before the courts before he is sent to prison?
Doherty feels affronted that his "talent" as a songwriter is not recognised while other hell-raisers are, if not worshipped, then at least secretly admired.
There is one hell of a difference between Doherty and other rock'n'rollers - they have or had a discernible talent. Can anyone name a song written by Doherty? Has anyone ever heard a Doherty song being sung, whistled or hummed in the streets or even at karaoke?
No, because he is a talentless waste of space.
The judge said that he has 4 September to sort himself out or she is will give him either "a custodial sentence or a community order". How many more times must this waste of space appear before the courts before he is sent to prison?
Doherty feels affronted that his "talent" as a songwriter is not recognised while other hell-raisers are, if not worshipped, then at least secretly admired.
There is one hell of a difference between Doherty and other rock'n'rollers - they have or had a discernible talent. Can anyone name a song written by Doherty? Has anyone ever heard a Doherty song being sung, whistled or hummed in the streets or even at karaoke?
No, because he is a talentless waste of space.
Wednesday, 1 August 2007
Book Review - The Death List
It's a cliche to say that a book is unputdownable but it is true of Paul Johnston's The Death List. I put aside rather a lot to sit and read the story of the failed crime novelist Matt Wells.
Matt has been dumped by his agent, his publisher and his high-flying City wife - at least his journalist girlfriend stands by him - when he receives an email out of the blue from someone who seems to know an awful lot about him.
The emailer - The White Devil - is a serial killer who asks Matt to write the story of his murders and then embroils him in a series of brutal murders that more than resemble the fictional crimes in Matt's books.
It's chilling and a great read.
Matt has been dumped by his agent, his publisher and his high-flying City wife - at least his journalist girlfriend stands by him - when he receives an email out of the blue from someone who seems to know an awful lot about him.
The emailer - The White Devil - is a serial killer who asks Matt to write the story of his murders and then embroils him in a series of brutal murders that more than resemble the fictional crimes in Matt's books.
It's chilling and a great read.
Saturday, 7 July 2007
Book Review - Wicked Whispers
For five years Jessica Callan was one of the 3am girls, a triumvirate of Daily Mirror gossipettes who bestrode the world of showbiz news like colossuses.
Jessica left the column two years ago having been advised by her father, the bow tie wearing Paul Callan, that five years was enough as a gossip columnist.
Now she has written a memoir of her time on the column. She was working as a reporter on The Daily Telegraph's Peterborough column when Matthew Wright decided to leave his column and go off and become a television star at Five.
Then Mirror editor Piers Morgan and showbiz chief Richard Wallace (now editor) hired Callan, Polly Graham (Wright's legman on the column) and Eva Simpson to run the new column.
So begins the behind-the-scenes tales of what it was like to work on one of the most famous gossip columns in Britain - five years of nightclubs, drinking, world travel and some more drinking.
Wicked Whispers is entertaining enough but I wonder who it is aimed at. There are no startling revelations, unsurprising really as Callan's former bosses at the Mirror may have wondered why she didn't put them in her column.
Journalists are alongside politicians and estate agents among the most loathed people in the country. So, Callan won't sell any books on the back of her profession. Ah, you say, what about books by journalists Andrew Neil, Max Hastings and Piers Morgan which have all done well? They were all editors and their reminiscences featured Margaret Thatcher, John Major, Tony Blair, Gordon Brown et al. Callan's book features Jordan and Jimmy Nesbitt.
I can't see the Heat generation splashing out £17 for a book about stories that are up to seven years old when they can their weekly dose of goss for a couple of quid a week.
Jessica left the column two years ago having been advised by her father, the bow tie wearing Paul Callan, that five years was enough as a gossip columnist.
Now she has written a memoir of her time on the column. She was working as a reporter on The Daily Telegraph's Peterborough column when Matthew Wright decided to leave his column and go off and become a television star at Five.
Then Mirror editor Piers Morgan and showbiz chief Richard Wallace (now editor) hired Callan, Polly Graham (Wright's legman on the column) and Eva Simpson to run the new column.
So begins the behind-the-scenes tales of what it was like to work on one of the most famous gossip columns in Britain - five years of nightclubs, drinking, world travel and some more drinking.
Wicked Whispers is entertaining enough but I wonder who it is aimed at. There are no startling revelations, unsurprising really as Callan's former bosses at the Mirror may have wondered why she didn't put them in her column.
Journalists are alongside politicians and estate agents among the most loathed people in the country. So, Callan won't sell any books on the back of her profession. Ah, you say, what about books by journalists Andrew Neil, Max Hastings and Piers Morgan which have all done well? They were all editors and their reminiscences featured Margaret Thatcher, John Major, Tony Blair, Gordon Brown et al. Callan's book features Jordan and Jimmy Nesbitt.
I can't see the Heat generation splashing out £17 for a book about stories that are up to seven years old when they can their weekly dose of goss for a couple of quid a week.
The book, irritatingly, has no index (I bet the lawyers refused to let one be included) and unlike Piers Morgan's two books has no cast list so the reader can often forget who Tom or Kev or Uncle Dicky is. In case you are interested they are Tom Newton Dunne (Callan's ex-boyfriend), Kevin O'Sullivan (now Sunday Mirror TV critic) and Richard Wallace.
Saturday, 16 June 2007
Is Vicky such a devoted mum?
We are constantly told, not least by the lady herself, that Vicky Beckham is a devoted mother who puts her family above all else. The Beckhams tried to suggest that they did not even use the services of a nanny. This lie was exposed when one of them claimed that she had had an affair with David Beckham.
In today's 3am column in the Daily Mirror, there are four pictures of Vicky at three events she went to in one day in New York, naturally wearing three different outfits.
It wasn't that long ago that she supposedly wanted to be a hiphop star and Damon Dash was producing her album. This necessitated another long stay in New York.
When does Mrs Beckham find time to see her children and who is looking after them while she gallivants around the world?
In today's 3am column in the Daily Mirror, there are four pictures of Vicky at three events she went to in one day in New York, naturally wearing three different outfits.
It wasn't that long ago that she supposedly wanted to be a hiphop star and Damon Dash was producing her album. This necessitated another long stay in New York.
When does Mrs Beckham find time to see her children and who is looking after them while she gallivants around the world?
Sunday, 10 June 2007
TV Reviews: This is Your Life, Britain's Got Talent
This is Your Life is back and the first guest of honour (as Eamonn Andrews called them) was Simon Cowell.
No problems there but why on earth is Trevor McDonald hosting? Who in Network Centre thinks that it is a good idea to let him near any LE show?
For some bizarre reason, he hosts The British Comedy Awards despite having no discernible sense of humour, no personality and couldn't ad lib his way out of a paper bag.
And now, This is Your Life!
On to a show that had me laughing and crying - I have to confess I have never seen a Simon Cowell show before but had seen clips on YouTube of America's Got Talent (which he doesn't appear on).
Britain's Got Talent is brilliant - from the wacky (the angle grinder woman) to the genuinely moving (Paul the mobile phone salesman with no confidence but a voice that sends shivers down your spine). After two episodes I am hooked.
More, please.
No problems there but why on earth is Trevor McDonald hosting? Who in Network Centre thinks that it is a good idea to let him near any LE show?
For some bizarre reason, he hosts The British Comedy Awards despite having no discernible sense of humour, no personality and couldn't ad lib his way out of a paper bag.
And now, This is Your Life!
On to a show that had me laughing and crying - I have to confess I have never seen a Simon Cowell show before but had seen clips on YouTube of America's Got Talent (which he doesn't appear on).
Britain's Got Talent is brilliant - from the wacky (the angle grinder woman) to the genuinely moving (Paul the mobile phone salesman with no confidence but a voice that sends shivers down your spine). After two episodes I am hooked.
More, please.
Saturday, 9 June 2007
Big Brother racist row - the latest one
I haven't watched any of Big Brother VIII until tonight when I watched the Emily Parr incident on YouTube.
Charley thought she was pregnant and Emily said, "You're pushing it out, you nigger."
Thoughtless, yes. Daft, yes. Offensive, not it appears to Charley and she was the one Emily was talking to.
Should Emily have been evicted for what she said? Should the opprobrium of the nation be heaped on this young girl's shoulders? Was she being racist? Nay, nay and thrice nay.
Channel 4 overreacted. You could tell from the eviction footage that she did not intend to upset Charley and if Charley wasn't upset, then who are the rest to take offence on her behalf?
Let Emily be...
Charley thought she was pregnant and Emily said, "You're pushing it out, you nigger."
Thoughtless, yes. Daft, yes. Offensive, not it appears to Charley and she was the one Emily was talking to.
Should Emily have been evicted for what she said? Should the opprobrium of the nation be heaped on this young girl's shoulders? Was she being racist? Nay, nay and thrice nay.
Channel 4 overreacted. You could tell from the eviction footage that she did not intend to upset Charley and if Charley wasn't upset, then who are the rest to take offence on her behalf?
Let Emily be...
Paris Hilton goes down... again
So the Paris Hilton saga rumbles on...
At the moment she is back in prison for violating her probation for drink-driving after being caught speeding on Sunset Boulevard with her car headlights off on 27 February 2007. Unbelievably, she has urged fans to sign a petition asking that she be spared jail because of her services to the public.
The Hollywood socialite has pleaded that she be pardoned for violating her probation because she provides beauty and excitement to "(most of) our otherwise mundane lives".
The 26-year-old endorsed the petition, which was written by a fan, on her MySpace website.
It reads: "Paris Whitney Hilton is an American celebrity and socialite. She is an heiress to a share of the Hilton Hotel fortune, as well as to the real estate fortune of her father Richard Hilton. She provides hope for young people all over the US and the world."
Run that by me again... what hope does this spoilt, surgically-altered, vacuous airhead provide?
As Oscar Wilde said of the death of Little Nell, "It would take a heart of stone not to laugh."
At the moment she is back in prison for violating her probation for drink-driving after being caught speeding on Sunset Boulevard with her car headlights off on 27 February 2007. Unbelievably, she has urged fans to sign a petition asking that she be spared jail because of her services to the public.
The Hollywood socialite has pleaded that she be pardoned for violating her probation because she provides beauty and excitement to "(most of) our otherwise mundane lives".
The 26-year-old endorsed the petition, which was written by a fan, on her MySpace website.
It reads: "Paris Whitney Hilton is an American celebrity and socialite. She is an heiress to a share of the Hilton Hotel fortune, as well as to the real estate fortune of her father Richard Hilton. She provides hope for young people all over the US and the world."
Run that by me again... what hope does this spoilt, surgically-altered, vacuous airhead provide?
As Oscar Wilde said of the death of Little Nell, "It would take a heart of stone not to laugh."
Saturday, 2 June 2007
Beckham's knighthood
Should David Beckham be knighted seems to be the question du jour?
Absolutely not. What has he actually achieved? Bobby Moore let England to our only World Cup win and didn't get a K. Geoff Hurst, who does have one, is the only man to score a hat-trick in a World Cup Final. Bobby Charlton, another stalwart of 1966, had to wait until 1994 before he became Sir Bobby.
As for the rest, an MBE sufficed.
What has Beckham actually achieved? How many times has he led England to victory in the World Cup or even the European Championship?
He is most known for his ridiculous voice, a series of daft hairstyles, having an affair with Rebecca Loos and wearing a sarong.
Should Beckham get a K? No.
Will he? Knowing Blair's pathetic posturing to celebrities and headline - probably.
Absolutely not. What has he actually achieved? Bobby Moore let England to our only World Cup win and didn't get a K. Geoff Hurst, who does have one, is the only man to score a hat-trick in a World Cup Final. Bobby Charlton, another stalwart of 1966, had to wait until 1994 before he became Sir Bobby.
As for the rest, an MBE sufficed.
What has Beckham actually achieved? How many times has he led England to victory in the World Cup or even the European Championship?
He is most known for his ridiculous voice, a series of daft hairstyles, having an affair with Rebecca Loos and wearing a sarong.
Should Beckham get a K? No.
Will he? Knowing Blair's pathetic posturing to celebrities and headline - probably.
Thursday, 24 May 2007
Celebrity Spotting 1
I work in the media and have done for more years than I care to remember. However, except when I am interviewing them or in a television studio or at a party I rarely see celebrities out and about.
So because it is such a rare occurrence I have decided to detail any that do happen here.
First one: 5pm, 24 May 2007, former MP Martin Bell at Tottenham Court Road tube station - and yes, he was wearing a white suit.
So because it is such a rare occurrence I have decided to detail any that do happen here.
First one: 5pm, 24 May 2007, former MP Martin Bell at Tottenham Court Road tube station - and yes, he was wearing a white suit.
Thursday, 10 May 2007
The Bill
News reaches me that The Bill, ITV's premier cop drama, is to be cut to one episode a week because of falling ratings.
A few years back, it was cut to two half-hour episodes with a continuing thread then it became a self-contained one-hour story and now it is a continuing thread of sixty-minute stories.
One suggestion: perhaps the producers might like to consider spending money on story lines and good writers rather than snapping up rejects from other soaps (Taylforth, Nolan, Lucy, Lytton et al) I exclude the excellent Roberta Taylor (ex-EastEnders) from this.
A few years back, it was cut to two half-hour episodes with a continuing thread then it became a self-contained one-hour story and now it is a continuing thread of sixty-minute stories.
One suggestion: perhaps the producers might like to consider spending money on story lines and good writers rather than snapping up rejects from other soaps (Taylforth, Nolan, Lucy, Lytton et al) I exclude the excellent Roberta Taylor (ex-EastEnders) from this.
Monday, 7 May 2007
Well done Arsenal Ladies
Congratulations to Arsenal Ladies who today achieved the Quadruple!
Well done to boss Vic Akers who has done what even Alex Ferguson couldn't achieve - winning four trophies in one season: Premier League, the FA Cup, the Uefa Cup and the League Cup.
Up the Gunners!
Well done to boss Vic Akers who has done what even Alex Ferguson couldn't achieve - winning four trophies in one season: Premier League, the FA Cup, the Uefa Cup and the League Cup.
Up the Gunners!
Saturday, 28 April 2007
Headline writers' dreams come true
Tomorrow the headline writers can almost construct the famous headline:
"Small earthquake - no one dead"
"Small earthquake - no one dead"
The Doctor is too sexy
The third series of the new Doctor Who continues to entertain (apart from one boring episode so far, Gridlock).
However, one minor gripe why does writer head writer Russell T. Davies insist on inserting a gay agenda into the series?
Yes, I know he is homosexual and yes I have heard that Queer as Folk was brilliant. But this is Doctor Who for Heaven's sake.
He should be sexless.
If he can travel with the gorgeous Peri Brown (Nicola Bryant) and not raise an er eyebrow, why does he now appear to be some great sexual creature?
However, one minor gripe why does writer head writer Russell T. Davies insist on inserting a gay agenda into the series?
Yes, I know he is homosexual and yes I have heard that Queer as Folk was brilliant. But this is Doctor Who for Heaven's sake.
He should be sexless.
If he can travel with the gorgeous Peri Brown (Nicola Bryant) and not raise an er eyebrow, why does he now appear to be some great sexual creature?
In the boring episode Gridlock why was it necessary to tell us (and all the watching children) explicitly that the two elderly women were lesbians?
And in Daleks in Manhattan why did he offer Frank the opportunity of kissing him?
It is unnecessary.
Friday, 20 April 2007
Film reviews
This week I watched two films that the critics raved over.
On Saturday night I watched Helen Mirren in The Queen. As we all know it won Mirren an Oscar but I didn't think I had watched an Academy Award-winning performance.
We knew the story - the royals' reaction to the death of Diana, Princess of Wales and how Tony Blair saved them.
It was an entertaining film but Oscar-winning? No. And one scene did make me laugh - when Alastair Campbell comes back from the meeting at the Palace to discuss Diana's funeral, he walks into Downing Street and exclaims, "Flipping heck!"
Alastair Campbell? Flipping heck? I don't think so...
------------------
The other film was Borat.
I had seen clips and yes those clips did make me laugh but the whole film left an unpleasant taste in my mouth.
The Americans in the film were narrow-minded, bigoted or stupid but you can find those people in any country. And if some man tried to kiss me on a train, I think I would probably take umbrage as well. Similarly, if I was attending a function in a hotel, I would be shocked by the site of two naked men wrestling.
Good in small doses, not so funny in 1 hour and 20 minutes.
On Saturday night I watched Helen Mirren in The Queen. As we all know it won Mirren an Oscar but I didn't think I had watched an Academy Award-winning performance.
We knew the story - the royals' reaction to the death of Diana, Princess of Wales and how Tony Blair saved them.
It was an entertaining film but Oscar-winning? No. And one scene did make me laugh - when Alastair Campbell comes back from the meeting at the Palace to discuss Diana's funeral, he walks into Downing Street and exclaims, "Flipping heck!"
Alastair Campbell? Flipping heck? I don't think so...
------------------
The other film was Borat.
I had seen clips and yes those clips did make me laugh but the whole film left an unpleasant taste in my mouth.
The Americans in the film were narrow-minded, bigoted or stupid but you can find those people in any country. And if some man tried to kiss me on a train, I think I would probably take umbrage as well. Similarly, if I was attending a function in a hotel, I would be shocked by the site of two naked men wrestling.
Good in small doses, not so funny in 1 hour and 20 minutes.
Friday, 13 April 2007
From the funniest TV critic in Britain
RICHARD MADELEY misunderstanding of the month.
Subject: Celebrity Wife Swap.
Vanessa Feltz: "Debbie McGee's got a plastic pig in the fridge that goes 'Oink oink oink, you fatty. Don't eat anything'."
RM: "She got that just for you?"
Feltz: "NO. In her OWN fridge."
Though she needn't dismiss the idea.
Subject: Celebrity Wife Swap.
Vanessa Feltz: "Debbie McGee's got a plastic pig in the fridge that goes 'Oink oink oink, you fatty. Don't eat anything'."
RM: "She got that just for you?"
Feltz: "NO. In her OWN fridge."
Though she needn't dismiss the idea.
The most ridiculous fashion ever!
By far the silliest fashion of recent years is this ridiculous habit of men wearing their trousers slung low over their buttocks - which usually means the crotch is located somewhere around their knees.
I live near a Tube and police station and coming home a week or two back I saw three likely lads leaving the cop shop. As they walked down the steps one spotted a bus on the other side of the road. They made a run for it and two vaulted over the barrier that divides the road. The third wearing his trousers round his knees had to stop and pull up his trousers before he could jump the barrier and catch his bus.
What a prat!
Oh, how I laughed...
I live near a Tube and police station and coming home a week or two back I saw three likely lads leaving the cop shop. As they walked down the steps one spotted a bus on the other side of the road. They made a run for it and two vaulted over the barrier that divides the road. The third wearing his trousers round his knees had to stop and pull up his trousers before he could jump the barrier and catch his bus.
What a prat!
Oh, how I laughed...
Ease up on the Photoshop
One of the great inventions of recent years is Adobe Photoshop. Pictures can be edited (for which read manipulated) and unsightly blemishes can be removed (I think Tony Blair would like to Photoshop Gordon Brown out of Downing Street, but that's another matter).
However, some magazines are taking Photoshopping too far. Take, for example, the latest edition of Hello! There is a nine-page interview and photo shoot with the model Rachel Hunter. Rachel is 37 and the mother of two children. Now while no one would dispute that Miss Hunter is beautiful she is, as I said, 37 and the mother of two children. So why has the picture on page 78 been Photoshopped to within an inch of its life? Not a line, not a blemish in sight. Why? Is anyone really fooled?
However, some magazines are taking Photoshopping too far. Take, for example, the latest edition of Hello! There is a nine-page interview and photo shoot with the model Rachel Hunter. Rachel is 37 and the mother of two children. Now while no one would dispute that Miss Hunter is beautiful she is, as I said, 37 and the mother of two children. So why has the picture on page 78 been Photoshopped to within an inch of its life? Not a line, not a blemish in sight. Why? Is anyone really fooled?
Wednesday, 11 April 2007
TV review - Life on Mars
I watched the first series of Life on Mars and enjoyed it immensely. The second season started out with some great storylines and even greater lines from DCI Gene Hunt (the excellent Philip Glenister).
- “So? He pushed a bird out of a car. Doesn’t make him a bad bloke!”
- “Gene Hunt smashes doors down. He does not pick girly locks.”
- “I’ve come at this from more angles than Linda Lovelace.”
- “She’s as nervous as a very small nun at a penguin shoot.”
- Suspect: “I want a lawyer.” Hunt: “I wanna hump Britt Ekland, what we gonna do?”
- Hunt to a suspect in a cold store: “My friend is going to ask you some questions. Personally I hope you don’t answer them because I want you to die in here and end up inside a pork pie.”
- “Don’t move, you are surrounded by armed bastards.”
- “He’s got fingers in more pies than a leper on a cookery course.”
I awaited last night’s last episode with glee and anticipation. Was I the only one disappointed by it? It left an awful lot of unanswered questions: was Sam in a coma? Was he mad? Why did he jump off the roof? Was he really in 2006 and imagining he was in 1973, or was he really in 1973 and believed he came from the future?
I suppose some may be answered in the follow-up Ashes to Ashes which is apparently going to be set in Eighties London
Tuesday, 10 April 2007
For God's sake woman, smile
Once again Victoria Beckham's "friends" have come forward to say how lovely and caring she is and how much her friends appreciate her sense of fun. She is apparently cheering up Katie Holmes and Geri Halliwell.
It's not the first time that we have been told that Vicky is a laugh-a-minute girl.
If it is true, why does she always look so miserable in public?
It's not the first time that we have been told that Vicky is a laugh-a-minute girl.
If it is true, why does she always look so miserable in public?
Essex Murders
Just got the proof cover of my new book today and I think it looks fantastic, don't you?
Sunday, 1 April 2007
Wednesday, 28 March 2007
Reviewing the literary situation
Here is the first in an occasional series of reviews.
Bridget Harrison - Tabloid Love (Bantam, £6.99)
Bridget Harrison is fit, funny and feisty - unfortunately, she is in a city where those qualities are not admired by men.
Few people would have the guts to give up a good job, a fun social life and a lover they hoped to marry to move to almost the other side of the world.
Harrison did just that. She was 29 when decided to live out her fantasy as a reporter on the New York Post. She knew very few people in the country and had never actually worked as a reporter but that didn't deter her. One of her first outings was to a Pimps, Players, Playboys and Prostitutes party in Brooklyn where she copped off with a fellow guest despite her long-term boyfriend back in London. When Angus, the boyfriend, arrived for a visit, Harrison knew the magic had gone and soon she was alone, trying to snag a boyfriend in a city when there are half a million more eligible women than men.
She went on dozens of dates in her search for Mr Perfect with hilarious results. One told her that she could look good if only she would make the effort. Another told her he only dated women who smoked pot and liked dogs. A third handed her a breath mint. Harrison lay in bed with a fourth who insisted on ringing his friend so he could hear a British accent. Unsurprisingly, Harrison made her excuses and left.
On top of her reporting duties, Harrison was asked to write a dating column about her miserable love life for the paper's Sunday edition. Then she fell for her boss, Jack, and eventually they began an affair which she relayed in gory detail in her column, changing his name but the subterfuge fooled absolutely no one at work. At last, Harrison had found her man only to blow it through her own insecurities. Telling millions of readers the intimate details didn't help either.
Although there are tabloid tales: a restaurateur who had his head chopped off by one of his waiters, 9/11, and the sad story of an old man left widowed when his wife went out for a pizza on Christmas Eve and was killed in a hit and run accident, Tabloid Love is at its best and at its funniest when Harrison recalls her (many) dating disasters and complete inability to understand American men - or should that be men in general?
Thunderstruck - Erik Larson (Doubleday, £17.99)
One was an inventor, the other a north London dentist who murdered his showgirl wife and fled with his mistress. It would seem that little connected Marconi and Dr Crippen, except that Crippen was the first murderer to be caught by wireless telegraphy, the invention of Marconi. From this basic premise, author Larson weaves an unexpected but gripping tale. It's the story of two Edwardians and their passions - one for his invention, the other for his young girlfriend - but it is also the fascinating social history of a long gone age. The case is linked to another great murder - the man who caught Crippen was Walter Dew, who had been a detective on the unsolved Jack the Ripper murders.
Chart Throb - Ben Elton (Bantam, £17.99)
The blurb says: "Ben Elton, author of Popcorn and Dead Famous returns to blistering comic satire with a savagely hilarious deconstruction of the world of modern television talent shows". Up to a point Lord Copper. The novel is based around a "talent show" which isn't a real talent show because the makers fix it for the contestants who make good television.
There are three judges: Calvin Simms, who owns the show and appears on the American version; Rodney Root, the boyband manager and Beryl Blenheim, the earth mother with an irritating squeaky voice and a dysfunctional family. Now, what are the differences between that and The X Factor? Simon Cowell appears on the American version; Louis Walsh is a boyband manager; and Sharon Osbourne is the mother of an extremely dysfunctional family.
In the book Beryl throws and guess what - on television Osbourne throws water.
The host is Keely who is blonde and bubbly and on television Kate Thornton is blonde and bubbly.
There are some changes in the book: Beryl is a transsexual which obviously Osbourne isn't. Rodney Root sleeps with a female contestant which Walsh obviously didn't.
It is an entertaining read but "a savagely hilarious deconstruction of the world of modern television talent shows" it isn't.
Bridget Harrison - Tabloid Love (Bantam, £6.99)
Bridget Harrison is fit, funny and feisty - unfortunately, she is in a city where those qualities are not admired by men.
Few people would have the guts to give up a good job, a fun social life and a lover they hoped to marry to move to almost the other side of the world.
Harrison did just that. She was 29 when decided to live out her fantasy as a reporter on the New York Post. She knew very few people in the country and had never actually worked as a reporter but that didn't deter her. One of her first outings was to a Pimps, Players, Playboys and Prostitutes party in Brooklyn where she copped off with a fellow guest despite her long-term boyfriend back in London. When Angus, the boyfriend, arrived for a visit, Harrison knew the magic had gone and soon she was alone, trying to snag a boyfriend in a city when there are half a million more eligible women than men.
She went on dozens of dates in her search for Mr Perfect with hilarious results. One told her that she could look good if only she would make the effort. Another told her he only dated women who smoked pot and liked dogs. A third handed her a breath mint. Harrison lay in bed with a fourth who insisted on ringing his friend so he could hear a British accent. Unsurprisingly, Harrison made her excuses and left.
On top of her reporting duties, Harrison was asked to write a dating column about her miserable love life for the paper's Sunday edition. Then she fell for her boss, Jack, and eventually they began an affair which she relayed in gory detail in her column, changing his name but the subterfuge fooled absolutely no one at work. At last, Harrison had found her man only to blow it through her own insecurities. Telling millions of readers the intimate details didn't help either.
Although there are tabloid tales: a restaurateur who had his head chopped off by one of his waiters, 9/11, and the sad story of an old man left widowed when his wife went out for a pizza on Christmas Eve and was killed in a hit and run accident, Tabloid Love is at its best and at its funniest when Harrison recalls her (many) dating disasters and complete inability to understand American men - or should that be men in general?
Thunderstruck - Erik Larson (Doubleday, £17.99)
One was an inventor, the other a north London dentist who murdered his showgirl wife and fled with his mistress. It would seem that little connected Marconi and Dr Crippen, except that Crippen was the first murderer to be caught by wireless telegraphy, the invention of Marconi. From this basic premise, author Larson weaves an unexpected but gripping tale. It's the story of two Edwardians and their passions - one for his invention, the other for his young girlfriend - but it is also the fascinating social history of a long gone age. The case is linked to another great murder - the man who caught Crippen was Walter Dew, who had been a detective on the unsolved Jack the Ripper murders.
Chart Throb - Ben Elton (Bantam, £17.99)
The blurb says: "Ben Elton, author of Popcorn and Dead Famous returns to blistering comic satire with a savagely hilarious deconstruction of the world of modern television talent shows". Up to a point Lord Copper. The novel is based around a "talent show" which isn't a real talent show because the makers fix it for the contestants who make good television.
There are three judges: Calvin Simms, who owns the show and appears on the American version; Rodney Root, the boyband manager and Beryl Blenheim, the earth mother with an irritating squeaky voice and a dysfunctional family. Now, what are the differences between that and The X Factor? Simon Cowell appears on the American version; Louis Walsh is a boyband manager; and Sharon Osbourne is the mother of an extremely dysfunctional family.
In the book Beryl throws and guess what - on television Osbourne throws water.
The host is Keely who is blonde and bubbly and on television Kate Thornton is blonde and bubbly.
There are some changes in the book: Beryl is a transsexual which obviously Osbourne isn't. Rodney Root sleeps with a female contestant which Walsh obviously didn't.
It is an entertaining read but "a savagely hilarious deconstruction of the world of modern television talent shows" it isn't.
Thursday, 22 March 2007
A quizzical evening
Tuesday night and it was off to the inaugural Barnardo's charity ball. Organised by Rachel Richardson, the showbiz editor of the News of the World and hosted by Richard Bacon, it was held in the ballroom of the Riverbank Plaza on Albert Embankment.
Around 400 journalists and PRs turned up in various teams such as ITV, BBC, Channel 4, Turner Broadcasting, Talkback Thames, Sunday Mirror, Daily Star, thelondonpaper, Cosmopolitan, Cohn and Wolfe, Sky One, Henry's House and The Sun.
There were eight rounds of five questions and I was quietly confident I could produce a good showing.
Quietly confident that is until the questions started and I stared blankly around. Fortunately, my colleagues were equally blank.
Around 400 journalists and PRs turned up in various teams such as ITV, BBC, Channel 4, Turner Broadcasting, Talkback Thames, Sunday Mirror, Daily Star, thelondonpaper, Cosmopolitan, Cohn and Wolfe, Sky One, Henry's House and The Sun.
There were eight rounds of five questions and I was quietly confident I could produce a good showing.
Quietly confident that is until the questions started and I stared blankly around. Fortunately, my colleagues were equally blank.
One question was "Which actress admitted to taking cocaine in April last year?" KG said, "Jessie Wallace" but the TV and Film Editor confidently stated it was Claire King. A youthful member of the team, mishearing, said, "Yes Carole King." I said, "No, she didn't take cocaine she just said it would rain until September" and was met by a completely blank face. Oh, the perils of getting old.
Another question was: "Who is the odd one out: Caprice, Amy Winehouse or Elle McPherson?" This produced several answers: McPherson, the other two are Jewish; Winehouse, the other two have lingerie lines; McPherson, the others have released records; Winehouse, she is the only one who used to work for me, etc, etc. The answer written by Rachel was McPherson - she is the only one who has been in rehab.
In the end we came seventh and scored a creditable 26 out of a possible 40 and this is our team, minus me (camera-shy person that I am).
Wednesday night and it was back to my usual pub quiz night and we won beating off more than a dozen teams to score 57/60, a nine-point lead over the second team. Now, that's the way to do it...
Friday, 2 March 2007
The Minds of Women
I will never understand women if I live to be normal.
The free newspaper London Lite has a weekly column about dating. This week, it told the story of one girl who "fresh from dating hell" wanted to avoid men. So, she announced, she was going to a party where she could drink and flirt. Er, if she was off men who was she going to flirt with?
The boys duly appeared and she described them as "dressed to impress". Again, what does this actually mean? The one chap pictured had a plain white shirt, black shoes and jeans that were full of holes. Why is that impressive?
The free newspaper London Lite has a weekly column about dating. This week, it told the story of one girl who "fresh from dating hell" wanted to avoid men. So, she announced, she was going to a party where she could drink and flirt. Er, if she was off men who was she going to flirt with?
The boys duly appeared and she described them as "dressed to impress". Again, what does this actually mean? The one chap pictured had a plain white shirt, black shoes and jeans that were full of holes. Why is that impressive?
Saturday, 10 February 2007
Where have all the anorexics gone?
The campaign du jour is to ban size zero models - those ultra-skinny women you see parading on the catwalk and in fashion magazines such as Vogue.
Size zero models are, it is said, a bad influence on society and women in particular because they encourage women to have a poor self image unless they are skinny.
A group of doctors from the Eating Disorders And Research Unit at King's College, London, say: "The fashion industry showcases models with extreme body shapes, and this is undoubtedly one of the factors leading to young girls developing disorders."
Is it?
Where are these thin women?
I work in London and I rarely see ultra-slim women in the streets - even in Kensington and Knightsbridge - slim, yes, but attractively slim. What I do see in London and on television shows featuring real people (Trisha and the like) rather than reel people (Love Island) is an ever increasing number of fatties.
Catwalk models are thin and unappealing. Victoria Beckham is thin and unappealing (pace Rebecca Loos).
Do women really want to look like them?
The Duchess of Windsor once remarked: "You can never be too rich or too thin" and Vicky B certainly seems to agree.
But the average man does not want ultra-skinny women - in a recent survey more straight men said they'd prefer to sleep with David Beckham rather than Vicky - and even if they did, outside of fashion shows where would they find them?
From my experience the size zero woman is a media myth - look around you, where have all the anorexics gone?
Size zero models are, it is said, a bad influence on society and women in particular because they encourage women to have a poor self image unless they are skinny.
A group of doctors from the Eating Disorders And Research Unit at King's College, London, say: "The fashion industry showcases models with extreme body shapes, and this is undoubtedly one of the factors leading to young girls developing disorders."
Is it?
Where are these thin women?
I work in London and I rarely see ultra-slim women in the streets - even in Kensington and Knightsbridge - slim, yes, but attractively slim. What I do see in London and on television shows featuring real people (Trisha and the like) rather than reel people (Love Island) is an ever increasing number of fatties.
Catwalk models are thin and unappealing. Victoria Beckham is thin and unappealing (pace Rebecca Loos).
Do women really want to look like them?
The Duchess of Windsor once remarked: "You can never be too rich or too thin" and Vicky B certainly seems to agree.
But the average man does not want ultra-skinny women - in a recent survey more straight men said they'd prefer to sleep with David Beckham rather than Vicky - and even if they did, outside of fashion shows where would they find them?
From my experience the size zero woman is a media myth - look around you, where have all the anorexics gone?
Thursday, 8 February 2007
Now the government is paying to organise terrorism
There have been seven postal bombs in three weeks. Thankfully, no one has been killed but I was surprised to learn that there is apparently a policeman called Anton Setchell whose job title is national co-ordinator for domestic extremism.
With all the problems with terrorism - domestic and international - at the moment, I would have thought the last thing we need is someone on the government payroll to co-ordinate the whole shebang.
With all the problems with terrorism - domestic and international - at the moment, I would have thought the last thing we need is someone on the government payroll to co-ordinate the whole shebang.
Saturday, 3 February 2007
It's snow joke
I suppose it had to happen. There are few streets in London that now don't have a speed camera on them - even though research proves that they don't actually save lives.
Now in Italy speed cameras have been introduced on ski slopes. Yes, that's right ski slopes.
Police in Cortina D’Ampezzo and nearby Plose in the Dolomites will watch skiers on the cameras and alert colleagues at the end of runs if a skier is travelling too fast. Those caught could face fines of up to €1,000 (£650).
Cmdr Giuseppe Volpe, of the Italian Alpine Police training centre at Moena, said: "The cameras will help the piste police look out for wayward skiers and be able to stop them at the bottom and tell them how reckless they have been. If necessary, and if they feel life has been put at risk, they will also be able to fine skiers for infringements."
Infringements? That's an all-encompassing word.
How long before a British council fines a child for speeding on their Heeleys?
Now in Italy speed cameras have been introduced on ski slopes. Yes, that's right ski slopes.
Police in Cortina D’Ampezzo and nearby Plose in the Dolomites will watch skiers on the cameras and alert colleagues at the end of runs if a skier is travelling too fast. Those caught could face fines of up to €1,000 (£650).
Cmdr Giuseppe Volpe, of the Italian Alpine Police training centre at Moena, said: "The cameras will help the piste police look out for wayward skiers and be able to stop them at the bottom and tell them how reckless they have been. If necessary, and if they feel life has been put at risk, they will also be able to fine skiers for infringements."
Infringements? That's an all-encompassing word.
How long before a British council fines a child for speeding on their Heeleys?
What's in a name?
What is it with companies and organisations that insist on changing their names for no good reason?
On 5 February 2007 the Eating Disorders Association changed its name to beat. Why? The name of the Eating Disorders Association is perfect - it does what it says on the tin. But beat? It makes it sounds like some throwback musical group. "We wanted to have a name that could be a message of hope as well as a call to action," said Sarah Ringwood, its chief executive. Where do they get these people?
British Steel - yep, I understand that one. It's a firm that is British and makes steel. Perfect. Corus? I know it changed its name after a merger but why not leave the British arm with the same name? What the hell does Corus mean?
In 2000 the Royal Mail became Consignia, but after public outcry only for two years but even so... What kind of idiot dreamed up Consignia and can I have his no doubt huge salary, please?
On 5 February 2007 the Eating Disorders Association changed its name to beat. Why? The name of the Eating Disorders Association is perfect - it does what it says on the tin. But beat? It makes it sounds like some throwback musical group. "We wanted to have a name that could be a message of hope as well as a call to action," said Sarah Ringwood, its chief executive. Where do they get these people?
British Steel - yep, I understand that one. It's a firm that is British and makes steel. Perfect. Corus? I know it changed its name after a merger but why not leave the British arm with the same name? What the hell does Corus mean?
In 2000 the Royal Mail became Consignia, but after public outcry only for two years but even so... What kind of idiot dreamed up Consignia and can I have his no doubt huge salary, please?
Friday, 2 February 2007
Who are they aimed at?
Earlier this week I bought a copy of the latest edition of Arena. It describes itself as "the world's smartest men's magazine". The first 20 pages or so were full of fashion advertisements for the likes of Dior, Dolce & Gabbana, etc.
I do wonder why virtually every model in those advertisements looked gay. (The ones after that section did not look gay.) Now, I don't care if they are gay or not but I do wonder why fashion houses or advertising agencies employ gay-looking models when their target audience is (presumably) heterosexual men.
Eva Longoria from Desperate Housewives, who as far as I know is not a gay icon, is on the cover and inside wearing skimpy outfits or, in one pic, only some chains to cover her modesty. These are not, I would imagine, likely to appeal to gay men.
I can imagine the ads going down well in Attitude, Boyz or ReFresh but a mag aimed at straight men? Can anyone enlighten me?
Saturday, 27 January 2007
We have lost a sense of proportion 2
To return to my earlier post, I'd like to make two points.
Would Clive Goodman and Glenn Mulcaire be languishing in a jail cell this morning had they tapped only the phones of celebrities and not those close to the royal family?
And shouldn't Helen Asprey, personal secretary to Princes William and Harry, Jamie Lowther-Pinkerton, the princes' private secretary, and Paddy Harverson, Prince Charles's communications secretary - the three members of staff whose phones were tapped - be sacked for gross stupidity?
After Squidgygate and Camillagate, all members of the royal staff must know that mobiles are not secure, so why would they be daft enough to leave sensitive information on voice mails?
Would Clive Goodman and Glenn Mulcaire be languishing in a jail cell this morning had they tapped only the phones of celebrities and not those close to the royal family?
And shouldn't Helen Asprey, personal secretary to Princes William and Harry, Jamie Lowther-Pinkerton, the princes' private secretary, and Paddy Harverson, Prince Charles's communications secretary - the three members of staff whose phones were tapped - be sacked for gross stupidity?
After Squidgygate and Camillagate, all members of the royal staff must know that mobiles are not secure, so why would they be daft enough to leave sensitive information on voice mails?
Friday, 26 January 2007
The price of watching
This season I have twice visited the Emirates Stadium to see my beloved Arsenal. Each time the visit set me back £35 which works out at around £4.40 every 10 minutes or so.
The first time I went to Highbury it set me back £2.50 (well, actually it set my Dad back a fiver since he paid for the tickets). That's a rise of 1,300 per cent.
Today a report is published that says that the most expensive ticket at Arsenal this season costs £94 for "Category A games". That would be an increase of 3,660 per cent (if I had paid).
The report blames the phenomonal rise in watching sport on the building or development of stadia and exorbitant wages paid to players.
Here's a radical plan: cut the players' wages.
If no club paid £70,000 a week to often mediocre players and offered a good but resonable salary - say, £100,000 a year, then that would still enable them to have a very nice lifestyle. They would still be paid double or triple what the people on the terraces earn.
Will it happen? Will it 'eck as like!
The first time I went to Highbury it set me back £2.50 (well, actually it set my Dad back a fiver since he paid for the tickets). That's a rise of 1,300 per cent.
Today a report is published that says that the most expensive ticket at Arsenal this season costs £94 for "Category A games". That would be an increase of 3,660 per cent (if I had paid).
The report blames the phenomonal rise in watching sport on the building or development of stadia and exorbitant wages paid to players.
Here's a radical plan: cut the players' wages.
If no club paid £70,000 a week to often mediocre players and offered a good but resonable salary - say, £100,000 a year, then that would still enable them to have a very nice lifestyle. They would still be paid double or triple what the people on the terraces earn.
Will it happen? Will it 'eck as like!
We have lost a sense of proportion
Today we learned that at Exeter Crown Court, paedophile 46-year-old Keith Morris, from Newton Abbot, Devon, escaped jail after pleading guilty to three offences of causing a person under 16 to engage in sexual activity without consent and one of sexual activity with a child under 16.
Judge Graham Cottle released Morris, facing a maximum of 14 years in jail, on bail pending a pre-sentence report because of prison overcrowding. "If this case had been here last week it would have been over by now and he would be in Exeter Prison," Judge Cottle told the court.
Also today, journalist Clive Goodman was sentenced to four months in prison after pleading guilty to intercepting phone messages. On 29 November 2005 Goodman pleaded guilty to conspiracy to intercept communications without lawful authority, under the Criminal Law Act 1977.
The charges related to three members of the royal household (Helen Asprey, the personal secretary to Princes William and Harry, Jamie Lowther-Pinkerton, the princes' private secretary, and Paddy Harverson, Prince Charles's communications secretary), but the investigation found that targets also included David Blunkett, then home secretary, the minister David Miliband, the footballer Sol Campbell, and The Sun editor Rebekah Wade.
Home Secretary John Reid has recently told judges to jail only the most dangerous and serial offenders to ease prison overcrowding. Or possibly, Mr Reid reiterated sentencing guidelines.
I would not seek to defend Clive Goodman's actions which have cost him his reputation, his livelihood and, today, his liberty as well his boss, Andy Coulson, his job as well.
However, will the public interest be served by jailing a tabloid hack and letting a paedophile walk free?
Judge Graham Cottle released Morris, facing a maximum of 14 years in jail, on bail pending a pre-sentence report because of prison overcrowding. "If this case had been here last week it would have been over by now and he would be in Exeter Prison," Judge Cottle told the court.
Also today, journalist Clive Goodman was sentenced to four months in prison after pleading guilty to intercepting phone messages. On 29 November 2005 Goodman pleaded guilty to conspiracy to intercept communications without lawful authority, under the Criminal Law Act 1977.
The charges related to three members of the royal household (Helen Asprey, the personal secretary to Princes William and Harry, Jamie Lowther-Pinkerton, the princes' private secretary, and Paddy Harverson, Prince Charles's communications secretary), but the investigation found that targets also included David Blunkett, then home secretary, the minister David Miliband, the footballer Sol Campbell, and The Sun editor Rebekah Wade.
Home Secretary John Reid has recently told judges to jail only the most dangerous and serial offenders to ease prison overcrowding. Or possibly, Mr Reid reiterated sentencing guidelines.
I would not seek to defend Clive Goodman's actions which have cost him his reputation, his livelihood and, today, his liberty as well his boss, Andy Coulson, his job as well.
However, will the public interest be served by jailing a tabloid hack and letting a paedophile walk free?
On My Travels...
I have always thought of myself as reasonably well-travelled, not in Alan Whicker's league but I have been around. However, looking at the map above there are a lot of places I have yet to set foot in.
Below are the American states I have been to.
Ah, this looks better - where I have been to in Europe.
Saturday, 13 January 2007
Vicky's Going to Hollywood
So the Beckhams are off to Tinseltown and he is to play for LA Galaxy while she peruses the midfield that is Melrose Avenue.
In today's Daily Mirror Karen Yallop, the wife of team captain Frank gives her views on her husband's new teammate's wife. I think Mrs Yallop doesn't know anything about Mrs Beckham.
Mrs Yallop says: "The players' wives are all lovely. There's no bitching, no cliques, no competing about clothes or fame or anything like that."
Victoria famously kept herself separate from the other Wags during the 2006 World Cup, socialising only with Cheryl Tweedy who was nicknamed Mini-Me as a consequence.
"When I lived in the UK, I worried about what I'd wear to Frank's game on Saturday.
It's not like that here. The wives turn up in jeans and trainers. We chat about our kids, the game and normal family things. Not designer clothes, hairdos and handbags."
I doubt in recent years that Victoria has ever worn a regular, non-designer, pair of jeans.
"Our husbands are away a lot - it's not like in England where an away game is a two-hour drive away. Here it can mean a very long flight. So the wives all get together to watch the games on TV while the children play. I often put on functions - it's a happy ship."
See point one about Victoria's social habits.
"If she is like me, it'll be the small things she'll miss from home. Cadbury's chocolate is the main thing for me - over here chocolate is much more grainy and sugary."
Chocolate, Victoria Beckham, same sentence? Unlikely.
"Frank misses his HP Sauce but his parents send that. So although I can't compete with Victoria's famous friends like Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise, and can't talk about my couture clothes, if she ever fancies bangers and mash with Heinz beans and brown sauce, she's very welcome."
Please, Mrs Yallop, don't hold your breath. I can't ever see the super skinny Vicky tucking into bangers and mash.
"The football scene over here is very different. They sing but they don't chant rude songs like they do in England so Victoria needn't worry."
Phew, no more chants of "Posh Spice takes it up the arse" to contend with.
"The wives don't discuss money though, we're not impressed by flashiness. We just talk about our lives."
Asking Vicky B not to discuss money might be difficult although she does love talking about her life.
"If she ever wants Heinz beans on toast and PG Tips tea, my door's always open."
Hmm, don't think so...
Despite the money, I don't think the Beckhams know what they have let themselves in for. This is going to be fun.
In today's Daily Mirror Karen Yallop, the wife of team captain Frank gives her views on her husband's new teammate's wife. I think Mrs Yallop doesn't know anything about Mrs Beckham.
Mrs Yallop says: "The players' wives are all lovely. There's no bitching, no cliques, no competing about clothes or fame or anything like that."
Victoria famously kept herself separate from the other Wags during the 2006 World Cup, socialising only with Cheryl Tweedy who was nicknamed Mini-Me as a consequence.
"When I lived in the UK, I worried about what I'd wear to Frank's game on Saturday.
It's not like that here. The wives turn up in jeans and trainers. We chat about our kids, the game and normal family things. Not designer clothes, hairdos and handbags."
I doubt in recent years that Victoria has ever worn a regular, non-designer, pair of jeans.
"Our husbands are away a lot - it's not like in England where an away game is a two-hour drive away. Here it can mean a very long flight. So the wives all get together to watch the games on TV while the children play. I often put on functions - it's a happy ship."
See point one about Victoria's social habits.
"If she is like me, it'll be the small things she'll miss from home. Cadbury's chocolate is the main thing for me - over here chocolate is much more grainy and sugary."
Chocolate, Victoria Beckham, same sentence? Unlikely.
"Frank misses his HP Sauce but his parents send that. So although I can't compete with Victoria's famous friends like Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise, and can't talk about my couture clothes, if she ever fancies bangers and mash with Heinz beans and brown sauce, she's very welcome."
Please, Mrs Yallop, don't hold your breath. I can't ever see the super skinny Vicky tucking into bangers and mash.
"The football scene over here is very different. They sing but they don't chant rude songs like they do in England so Victoria needn't worry."
Phew, no more chants of "Posh Spice takes it up the arse" to contend with.
"The wives don't discuss money though, we're not impressed by flashiness. We just talk about our lives."
Asking Vicky B not to discuss money might be difficult although she does love talking about her life.
"If she ever wants Heinz beans on toast and PG Tips tea, my door's always open."
Hmm, don't think so...
Despite the money, I don't think the Beckhams know what they have let themselves in for. This is going to be fun.
Thursday, 11 January 2007
Beckham heads West on the money trail
So David Beckham is off to LA Galaxy in a five-year deal reported to be worth £128m. Having left Manchester United because he fell out with Sir Alec Ferguson he is now leaving Real Madrid having fallen out with their manager Fabio Capello. Something tells me Beckham does not take direction well.
Beckham is quoted as saying: "I am proud to have played for two of the biggest clubs in football and I look forward to the new challenge of growing the world's most popular game in a country that is as passionate about its sport as my own." It is always funny how Beckham's "statements" bear little resemblance to the inarticulate man who appears in television and radio interviews.
Why did he choose the USA? Simple really - no other club would have him. He is past his best and the wrong side of 30. He could not go back to Old Trafford. Arsene Wenger would not want him and nor, it must be said, did any other Premiership team.
Anyway, will he be a success in the States? Unlikely, I would have thought. Far better footballers than Beckham - Pele, Bobby Moore, and Franz Beckenbauer to name but three - couldn't stir interest in the game which is still mainly played by girls. It must be said that those three did not have Beckham's erm, outside interests. Still, when the Beckhams were trying to conquer the USA before it should be remembered that they were introduced at a dinner as "Victoria and Derek".
It's the end of his career as it was for Pele, Moore and Beckenbauer when they made the move Stateside and Beckham is looking for a big pay-out. Who can blame him although I doubt that he is being paid the reported £25½million a year. More likely, he is being paid that figure over the whole term of the contract.
So both Beckhams are on their professional uppers... couldn't happen to a nicer couple.
Beckham is quoted as saying: "I am proud to have played for two of the biggest clubs in football and I look forward to the new challenge of growing the world's most popular game in a country that is as passionate about its sport as my own." It is always funny how Beckham's "statements" bear little resemblance to the inarticulate man who appears in television and radio interviews.
Why did he choose the USA? Simple really - no other club would have him. He is past his best and the wrong side of 30. He could not go back to Old Trafford. Arsene Wenger would not want him and nor, it must be said, did any other Premiership team.
Anyway, will he be a success in the States? Unlikely, I would have thought. Far better footballers than Beckham - Pele, Bobby Moore, and Franz Beckenbauer to name but three - couldn't stir interest in the game which is still mainly played by girls. It must be said that those three did not have Beckham's erm, outside interests. Still, when the Beckhams were trying to conquer the USA before it should be remembered that they were introduced at a dinner as "Victoria and Derek".
It's the end of his career as it was for Pele, Moore and Beckenbauer when they made the move Stateside and Beckham is looking for a big pay-out. Who can blame him although I doubt that he is being paid the reported £25½million a year. More likely, he is being paid that figure over the whole term of the contract.
So both Beckhams are on their professional uppers... couldn't happen to a nicer couple.
Saturday, 6 January 2007
Gunners overcome the Addicks
Tuesday night and I was at the Emirates Stadium for the Premiership tussle with Charlton Athletic, the team supported by my Dad.
It was a grudge match between the managers - our own Arsene Wenger and new Addicks boss Alan Pardew. They had clashed when Pardew celebrated with too much enthusiasm West Ham's winning goal against us when he was boss at Upton Park and the two came to blows. Pardew spent the entire match on the touchline while the ever cool Monsieur Wenger watched the game from his usual seat in the dugout. The Arsenal crowd helpfully sang: "Arsene, give him a slap/ Arsene, Arsene, give him a slap".
Charlton seemed to take an age with their free kicks but once Arsenal took the lead there was only ever one team in it.
Two goals from Robin van Persie, a return to the first team for Thierry Henry and 4-0 thank you very much.
So this season my visits to the Emirates have produced first three, then four goals. Let's hope it is five next time...
It was a grudge match between the managers - our own Arsene Wenger and new Addicks boss Alan Pardew. They had clashed when Pardew celebrated with too much enthusiasm West Ham's winning goal against us when he was boss at Upton Park and the two came to blows. Pardew spent the entire match on the touchline while the ever cool Monsieur Wenger watched the game from his usual seat in the dugout. The Arsenal crowd helpfully sang: "Arsene, give him a slap/ Arsene, Arsene, give him a slap".
Charlton seemed to take an age with their free kicks but once Arsenal took the lead there was only ever one team in it.
Two goals from Robin van Persie, a return to the first team for Thierry Henry and 4-0 thank you very much.
So this season my visits to the Emirates have produced first three, then four goals. Let's hope it is five next time...
Friday, 5 January 2007
Get us out of the EU - it's killing us
If it is not bad enough that our membership of the unelected, unrepresentative EU costs every man, woman and child in Britain £873 per year, then our membership is now killing people.
A 73-year-old man collapsed in a bookies in Edmonton, north London, on New Year's Eve with a suspected heart attack. Although a paramedic quickly arrived by car after a 999 call, he had to wait 30 minutes for an ambulance to arrive because TWO paramedic ambulance crews were taking a break under the European Working Time Directive and were not allowed to be disturbed.
The man may have still died had the ambulance arrived but it is likely he would have passed away in a hospital under the care of medical staff, rather than on the floor of a bookies under fluorescent lighting and cigarette smoke.
A 73-year-old man collapsed in a bookies in Edmonton, north London, on New Year's Eve with a suspected heart attack. Although a paramedic quickly arrived by car after a 999 call, he had to wait 30 minutes for an ambulance to arrive because TWO paramedic ambulance crews were taking a break under the European Working Time Directive and were not allowed to be disturbed.
The man may have still died had the ambulance arrived but it is likely he would have passed away in a hospital under the care of medical staff, rather than on the floor of a bookies under fluorescent lighting and cigarette smoke.
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