Heston: we should be able to prise that gun off him now
So there goes another April 1st, with all the jokes and japery that it entails. I've a visceral hatred of this festival of foolishness, and in particular those hilarious spoofs the papers insist on printing, year after year. I don't care what day it is, if I buy a newspaper I expect news, not some feeble wind-up dreamed up by a second-year media student on work experience. A trawl through this year's bibliography of shame brings up such delights as the car that electrocutes dogs that wee on its tyres (various, but notably the Metro), penguins flying north to tropical wintering grounds (BBC - I found this one particularly irksome, though better than the Today programme's limp (and RSPB-sponsored) repatriation of migrant finches to Denmark), compulsory red wine for toddlers at meal times (Grauniad), Big Ben going digital (The Express), and drug-cheat sprinter Dwayne Chambers playing Rugby League for Castleford ... oh, hang on ...
I must admit that I did quite enjoy The Sun's April Fools effort this year, though, mainly because it represented a fairly naked insult to a prominent Frenchman; pint-sized president Nicolas Sarkozy is undergoing radical stretching therapy to make him as tall as his statuesque Italian bride. The article even included a helpful 'how it works' diagram, and came complete with quotes from French government spokesman Luc Bigger. Heh.
I suspect The Sun's main thrust behind the story was an excuse to show yet more photos of Sarkozy's fit wife, but nonetheless I was interested to see whether the French had taken the bait. Their official government website records only that Le Président spent the day meeting someone from the IOC and the Mayor of Lens. So I had a look at the website of the French Embassy. Rien of interest there either - instead of responding with some jibes of their own, they instead go big on Sarko's latest speech to the French National Federation of Farmers. Oh dear.
Diplomatic silence on a subject of such international importance speaks volumes. The French have again been put firmly in their place, only this time through gratuitous insult rather than the pointy stick of Henry V or the big howitzer of Wellington. Quite simply, when it comes to piss-taking, the British remain untouchable.
This week's celebrity spots
I actually bumped into my nemesis Nigel Farrell last week. He was coming into Pizza Express on Dean Street as I was ambling out, having just enjoyed a classic publishing lunch talking to a man about Dodos. I thought for a moment that Farrell was going to cut loose, after I described him the other week as a 'semi-permanent blight on Soho'. Then I realised he doesn't know who I am, and he almost certainly hasn't read my blog. Instead, he rather sweetly held the door open for me, reminding me what an embittered and loathsome scumbag I truly am.
Anyway, the week's real news comes from lunchtime today, and again the hub of celebrity action was Pizza Express. And its topical - none other than Heather Mills, who obviously gets about a bit, as she was in New York at the weekend spending her ill-gotten gains, according to the News of the Screws. I'm afraid I didn't notice who she was lunching with, or what toppings she selected.
Mills: hectoring witch
Apparently, since the divorce hearing Mills has bought a plane. Though she's sticking to Immac for the other leg.
Sorry.
Recommendations
Last week I asked my friend Gav whether he fancied a trip to Brighton to see the home team take on relegation-doomed Port Vale, the Derby County of League One. 'Arsenal v Liverpool is slightly more enticing' was his condescending reply. Well, I had the last laugh. Yet another dour, drab draw between two of the 'big four' was contrasted by a five-goal thriller on the south coast. To everyone's surprise, Port Vale were excellent value for a 3-2 win, and managed to hit the post four times in ten crazy second-half minutes, which must be some sort of record. Shame only 81 of their fans (I counted them) bothered to make the journey south, though to be fair The Withdean Stadium, Brighton really is the most atrocious dump; seated miles from the pitch and without anything resembling roofing, we were particularly unimpressed when it began to sleet.
Port Vale's jubilant if sparse away support
With the Premiership's relegation places seeming more or less settled barring a West Ham-style escape (see blogs passim) for Fulham, its to the battle for promotion that we must turn for intrigue and interest. Bristol City continue to (Lee) trundle on, but I can't quite see them limping over the finish line. Instead, I am backing in-form Hull City (4/1, BetDirect) to claim automatic promotion (alongside favourites West Brom) and become the unsexiest and least fashionable team in the top flight since Carlisle United (1974-75). And then almost certainly tumble straight back down.
Christina Martin's blog. As soon as I read the headline 'Beadle's Still About' I knew I was dealing with a rare genius.
Everyone should learn to love Mouse on Mars.
4 comments:
Are people still using MySpace?
Good grief.
You obviously are!
Cracking post Spimmy.
Have you captured a rare moment of cartoon slapstick genius in your Port Vale away support picture though?
Bottom right hand corner... is that bloke stretched back on a bit of elastic about to launch himself into orbit or, more likely, produce a 20ft long furrow in the turf at home end?
Oh God yeah! He looks like he's about to ping himself into Hove.
We decided that bit he was sitting in was probably the hammer/discus pit. Not that any of us really know what one of these looks like anyway.
Brighton have to get a new ground.
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