Tabloids Category
The news as told by the UK’s tabloid press – The Sun, Daily Express, Daily Mail, Daily Mirror, Daily Star and News of the World.
Tom Cruise Controls Beckham
MISSION Impossible: Turn David Beckham into a star of the silver-screen.
The former England football captain is already a matinee idol, notably when Real Madrid play a lunchtime kick-off. But can the man who lent his name to a film (Bend It Like Beckham) make it in Hollywood?
The Star ponders the question and says that a “leading showbiz tycoon” has plans to create Day-vid in the manner of an action hero. The tycoon is Robert Sillerman. He’s the billionaire behind the Broadway hit The Producers, the show about a show that has to fail. He thinks Beckham will make it.
David has the looks to succeed. And he has the strength. Remember how Becks took out Diego Simeone in the 1998 World with the merest flick of his trained, tanned and toned leg?
If former footballer Vinny Jones can be a film actor, then why not Beckham? Hell, why not the man who holds the coat of the man who paints the lines on the pitch at Accrington Stanley. Jones gives hope to us all.
And Becks has a notable ally in Tinseltown. It’s Tom Cruise. And the Star says that should Becks go to Los Angeles, he is likely to team up with the actor.
There goes Tom now. The Mirror looks on as the star watches his 13-year-old daughter Isabella pretend to be Beckham in a football match.
While Isabella bends it, ties her hair back and wonders if her new gold boots do her legs justice, Tom goes to the toilet. The paparazzi take note. Cameras flash. A small boy is scared and cries. The boy’s mother starts “laying into” Tom. An onlooker says: “Maybe he forgets he is not the only one affected by his celebrity status.”
Indeed. Where Cruise leads, many others follow. And it cannot be too long before Tom’s fans are aping his wedding.
The Beckhams are likely to be guests at the wedding of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes. They will look on as Tom gives the blushing bride a comb and a cat.
The Sun says these gifts are parts of the traditional Scientology service. And then there are the minister’s words. Pray silence for: “Girls need clothes and food and tender happiness and frills. A pan, a comb, perhaps a cat.”
How Katie uses these goods is open to interpretation. And we fear the cat in being groomed for the family table and his ‘n’ her kitten mittens.
And all the while, Dave will be looking on. His nascent career as an action hero is already being put to the test. Who does he rescue first – the bride or the cat?
The clock is ticking…
A Near Miss
EVERY day of every week the Mail thinks up imaginative ways to remind you that life is cruel and you are going to experience pain and die. And if it can’t think any up, it looks at scientific research.
Here is a selection of things that will kill you and yours from last week’s paper of doom…
MONDAY
“Being pushy ‘robs’ young of innocence” – Cartoon Network says childhood over too early these days, although there is 24-hour children’s telly for adults to gawp at
“3million body bags could be ordered in flu alert” – And filled with birds?
“FLIGHT-MARE! We’re bullied, ripped off and insulted…so why on earth do any of us choose to fly?” – To leave this benighted place, of course
TUESDAY
“Debt warning as the biggest lender offers 125pc mortgage” – Debt? Mortgage? Never!
“I’d rather go to jail than face one of Blair’s ID cards” – Leo McKinsksy refuses to hand over ze papers
“Drug addict. Sex addict. Bin Laden impersonator. Is Russell Brand REALLY what Radio 2 needs?” – Bring back Jimmy Young!
“70pc of children suffer bullying” – The other 30pc are off sick
“As I held my dying baby, I felt my heart had been ripped out” – More anti-depressants, dear reader?
“Hidden danger in slot machines” – Avoid fruit.
WEDNESDAY
“Millions will ‘struggle to cope with a rise on mortgage rates’” – Again
“Have toxins damaged millions of children?” – Have they? That question to you – the boy with seven toes…on his forehead
THURSDAY
Sugary drinks ‘cancer risk’ – Researchers at Karolinska Institute, Stockholm, suggest two cans of pop a day can increase risk of cancer
FRIDAY
“Just how near do you need to be for a near miss?” – Two passenger planes looks as if they are about to collide. Many will die. It will be “catastrophic”. But it’s only a trick of the light. Until next time…
“Epidemic of obesity ‘could ruin economy”
“I know Blair’s type well…it’s no surprise he is in trouble with the law” – Tom Utley is not made a peer
“Homebuyers facing ‘disaster’ as interest rates go up again”
A Free Kevin Federline With Every Album
“LADIES – you know I’m a free man,” says Kevin Federline to the people of Chicago.
But even free, there are not all that many takers. As the Star reports, in a bid to bring his musical message to the masses, K-Ferret dished our free ticket to see him perform.
According to the Star, K-Ferret’s performance at the city’s 1,600-seat House of Blues venue attracted just 250 punters prepared to spend the £25 asking price. (How many paying punters were not journalists is not said, but the figure may be as high as one or two.)
To date, the Sun says K-Ferret’s album Playing With Fire has sold just 6,000 copies. To shine some perspective on this, Roland Rat’s seminal tune Rat Rap, a song believed by some to have inspired K-Ferret scurry into the musical arts, sold in the tens of thousands.
And while the no-hit wonder was knocking back whiskey from a bottle and offering himself for free to any takers, the Star sees K-Ferret’s estranged wife out and about in New York.
It’s “bubbly” Britney Spears, the “giggling singer” ready to bounce back from her sad marriage to the verminous F-Ferret.
She’s got it all has Britney. Although the Sun says K-Ferret wants £16million and full custody of the children in any settlement.
We are not overly versed in the ways of the American judiciary, or knowledge of divorce proceedings based on exposure to Dallas and Dynasty, but do believe K-Ferret has as much chance of winning his appeal as he does of having a No. 1 hit.
Although on second thoughts, Christmas is approaching and novelty tracks can do unseemly well…
Paul Gascoigne’s Fairytale
PAUL Gascoigne-Gascoigne, he’s fatter than you and me, he’s going to It-aly, Paul Gascoigne-Gascoigne…
Que sera sera.
Paul Gascoigne, England’s once great footballing icon is no longer off to make his name in Italy.
(The Mirror hears Gazza say that he scored one of his better goals in a Lazio shirt while drunk. Of course, if he was drunk at the time, the five men Gazza claims to have beaten may have been just one player, the referee or the corner flag. Alcohol can fog the mind and impair the memory.)
These days Gazza dreams of heading off to a new place. As the Sun’s headline says: “Gazza: I wanna live at Disney.”
As the man himself says: “Disney World in Florida is my favourite place. I f****ing love Mickey Mouse and every time I see the Cinderella Castle it’s my dream, it really is. I would love to live there all my life.”
But there may not be room at the castle for Gazza, a man who claims to wake each morning with 27 different addictions and problems to face.
Gazza’a away with the fairies. And what more fitting place for him than a fairytale castle…
Animal Passions
“EMMERDALE stars in noisy sex row,” says the front page of the Sun.
This is breathless news, panting even.
For those of you not versed in the ways of Emmerdale, we say that it is a TV soap opera based on the lives of everyday farming folk and their livestock.
The talk of noisy sex suggests much. As anyone who has passed a barn in rutting season will attest, the din created by a few hundred weight of copulating cow can be great.
But this story has a human face, and it belongs to “attractive” Georgia Slowe. She’s the divorced mother of two who plays the show’s “posh” Perdy.
And she is not making a sexual din on her own. It is reported that at the time of this tupping, Georgia was in the company of actor Chris Villiers, who player her on-screen husband Grayson Sinclair.
This is surely the case of two professional actors getting into character, immersing themselves in the finer points of their on-screen personas. It is not Georgia and Chris upsetting the neighbours but Perdy and Grayson.
Might this be why Georgia tells the paper that the howls are not being made by she and her co-star. Georgia says the sounds of sex might have been made by visitors.
This throws up an entirely new paddock of debate. But before we get to that, we hear Georgia and Chris apologise to a neighbour for hosting a party that “got a bit rowdy”.
The neighbour tells us: “Then these sounds like a woman having sex started up, at times it is like she is howling.”
Howling. Like a wolf? The show’s sheepish stars have been notified…
Neighbourhood Watch
SO what happens next?
Dame Eliza Manningham-Buller knows. On the Sun’s front page (“200 TERROR CELLS IN UK”), the “boss” of MI5 says terrorism is out to get each and every one of us.
“It aims to wear down our will to resist. All of us, whatever your ethnicity and faith are the targets of terrorists,” says she.
She goes on to say: “Today we see the use of homemade improvised explosive devices. Tomorrow’s threat may – and I suggest WILL – include the use of chemicals, biological agents, radioactive materials and even nuclear technology.”
It’s sounds grim, dangerous even. Might it be an idea to unleash our radioactive materials and even nuclear technology on them before they do so on us?
Or perhaps the overworked security service needs more money and resources – Dame Manningham–Buller says her 2,800 spooks are at full stretch and are potentially unable to “stop the next attack”.
We need to help. But can money alone be enough without policy? What about if each of us was fingerprinted and agreed to be in our own beds by dusk each night? Or if we could operate a rota system whereby only certain numbers are allowed out in the daytime – Protestants on Monday, Shia Muslims on Wednesday afternoons, Austrian backpackers on Thursday between 1:30 and 1:34am?
For now, that might be hard to police. Better if the Dame and her shiny suits were given more funding. As she says, many of her agents are flat out collecting intelligence “at some cost to their private lives and in some cases their safety”. The money cannot reach her soon enough.
And we can do our bit. Think of yourself less as a neighbourhood watch coordinator and more as a part-time spook, a community Bond keeping vigil over your cul-de-sac.
There you are at the window, the front-line in this war on terror, semaphoring to your group in an ever more complex series of curtain twitches.
One twitch for “keep ‘em peeled”. Two twitches for “Watch the darkie with the beard”. Three twitches and a twirl of the netted swag for “Neighbours is about to start – must dash”.
Posted: 10th, November 2006 | In: Tabloids | Comment (1)
Eamonn Go Holmes
Pity poor Éamonn Holmes.
The Irishman is a fixture on British television, a colorful presenter and personality who’s moved from the news desk to quiz shows, and been splashed across the tabloids because of tiffs with his morning show co-host and romantic traumas as he waits for his marriage to be annulled.
He’s so popular in the UK, he’s even published his autobiography and been parodied in Viz, because he’s fat and likes to eat pies (that’s a British thing).
This season was supposed to be Éamonn Holmes’ greatest yet. He would host his own game show in the USA. In prime time! Éamonn Holmes had dreams of becoming the next Anne Robinson. Or Gordon Elliott. Or Johnny Vaughan. Or… Ross King!
His show, The Rich List, debuted on Fox last Wednesday night. Alas, it did a miserable 1.5 rating, pulling in only about four million viewers and dropping three share points from its lead-in, Bones.
Now Fox has yanked The Rich List after only one airing. They’ll fill Wednesday’s spot with another original episode of The O.C. (and there’s speculation that Fox wants to return The O.C. to Wednesdays and give Thursdays over to comedy).
But don’t feel too bad for Éamonn. He’s got a BBC game show slated for later this year– with the apt title, Reversal of Fortune.
But it’s not quite Simon Cowell, is it? Meanwhile, those guys at Fox should have known better when they broke the golden rule of imitation with this take-off on Deal or No Deal and 1 vs. 100.
The Rich List needed a washed-up Baby Boomer TV comedian as host!
I’m On The Plane
“I’M on the plane.”
What’s that, you say? You’re breaking up. I can’t hear you.
“I’m on the plane!”
Eh?
“I’m on the plane! I’M ON THE PLANE!”
At which moment the doors are flicked to manual and Clive from accounts, on his way to Copenhagen for a meeting with the Danish office, is ejected from the aircraft.
There is much cheering on board. The captain executes a victory roll. The muzak strikes up. People dance.
That’s the dream. The reality, as told by the Mail, is that air passengers aboard Dubai-baaed airline Emirates are to be allowed to use mobile phones.
From early January it will be possible for passengers to make and receive calls at 20,000ft and above.
This is great news for some passengers. Clive will able to call the Denmark office. Armani will be able to tell her friends about the amazing boy sitting one seat behind. And the amazing boy will be able to have phone sex with his boyfriend in the onboard toilet.
It is less great news for anyone sitting next to Clive or Armani. And pretty awful news for anyone waiting to use the toilet…
Goody News
PHEW! Jade Goody has been given the all clear.
It is good of the Sun not to keep us in the dark. And one day on from hearing that lovable Jade punched a grandma in the face, the Sun tells us that she is dong fine.
“Fighting fit” Jade Goody has been given the all-clear from bowel- cancer.
As reported in these pages, Jade was having tummy troubles. And while many feared a rogue kebab had done its damnedest, there was talk of something even worse.
Jade went in for “a barrage” of tests at Princess Alexandra Hospital in Harlow, Essex.
Jade was worried. What could be wrong? Did Jade’s troubled mind cause her to lash out at the Edmonton Odeon, the scene of her granny bashing? Can too much curry sauce be bad for belly and brain?
We waited. We fretted. We paced the corridor. We nipped out for a kebab. We left the kebab uneaten.
And now after what seems like forever, the Sun says the Jade does not have cancer. It is our guess that Jade does not have lot of other very dangerous diseases.
Right it is that she is happy. As a “pal” tells us: “Jade is delighted – she was really worried. The doctors don’t know yet what caused the pain but they have ruled out cancer, which is fantastic.”
No argument with that. It is a time to celebrate.
And what better way to mark this great moment than with a kebab? More curry sauce, please, my good man.
Eat, drink, and be merry… for tomorrow we die…
Syntax Error
REMEMBER when Paul Gascoigne was the cheeky, emotional Geordie who would deliver the World Cup to English hands?
If you can’t recall Gazza in his pomp, then looking at the Star’s cover photo of the pasty former footballer in the company of the local constabulary will not help your memory.
“BOOZY GAZZA’S RACIST BRAWL,” announces the Star’s front page. “Stars nicked after 4am row with ‘black #@*!’ snapper.
It seems that we are not the only ones unable to understand a word that tumbles from mumbling Gazza’s mouth. But looking within the paper we learn that rather than uttering a series of hash marks, asterisks and exclamations, Gazza was heard to call a cameraman a “black c****”. He is then said to have struck another cameraman (identified in the Sun as one Stephen Walters) in a “drunken rage”.
And so to the scene of this latest incident in Gazza’s chequered career. The venue is Boujis nightclub, hangout for royal princes, socialites and chinless wonders.
Gazza stumbles out. It is 3.30am. He, allegedly, punches the cameraman in the face. The Sun reports that Gazza is heard telling photographer Chris James: “Put down that camera and I’ll go one on one with you.”
The offer is declined, perhaps politely. Gazza climbs into a taxi and speed off. But this will not do. And though many of us suppose being smacked in the face by an inebriated celebrity part of the paparazzo’s job, we learn that it is not so.
Gazza’s alleged victim calls the police, says the Star. The rozzers track down “troubled” Gascoigne. He is in a restaurant. And in front of diners, the police nab Gazza and take him to Chelsea police station.
He is questioned, fingerprinted, asked to provide a DNA sample and allowed to sober up. Some hours later he is released on police bail. And next month Gazza will discover if he is to charged with any crime.
If asked to attend court, Gazza will get his chance to explain all. Although there is no little fear that whatever he says will just amount to so much syntax. It might be better to let his fists do the talking after all…
Britney’s No. 1 Fan
“BRITNEY’S doomed love,” says the Sun.
Britney Spears, for it is she, has filed for divorce from the man known to her as Kevin Federline and as K-Ferret to you, the greater rap music community.
Over eight pictures, readers see Britney and K-Ferret eating burgers, buried in sand, cuddling and pushing a buggy. There’s Britney sat astride her man. There’s Britney rubbing her man’s shorts and sticking her tongue out. There’s Britney looking miserable. There’s Kevin in a vest.
Of course, this is not Britney’s first doomed love. And the Sun recalls the name Jason Alexander, Britney’s husband of 55 hours, and tells us about “A TALE OF TWO WEDDINGS”.
It was the best of dos, it was the worst of dos, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, it was the epoch of hits, it was the age of flops – respectively. It was Britney’s marriage to Jason, it was Britney’s marriage to Kevin.
It was a time of annulment, it was a time to a text message. Yes, as the Mirror reports, Britney dumped husband No. 2 by text.
The Mirror sees Kev talking about his new album. He is being filmed for Canadian TV. His mobile phone beeps.
As a source tells us: “His whole mood suddenly changed when the text message arrived… He didn’t say anything but he was clearly shocked.”
Indeed. As the paper says, just hours before his text message Kevin was telling a studio audience: “She really loves what I’m doing and she’s probably my number one fan. She’s the one that’s been telling me to do it. She believes in me big time.”
Oh cruelty thy name is woman. If ever we could conjure a shred of sympathy for ferret boy it is surely now.
We do not doubt that Britney is Kev’s number one fan, as we suppose that she is his only fan. And she is telling him to become the white rapper who will sing things like: “When the pen hits the pad/ It’s in the left hand/ Every single word is worth thirty grand/ Or maybe more.”
We have noted that the stated reason for this divorce is “irreconcilable differences”. We put it to you the jury that Kevin should counter with a claim for cruel and unusual punishment. Or incurable insanity…
Michael Jackson’s Return
GRAB your crotch and squeal like a girl, it’s Michael Jackson.
The Sun says that “pop weirdo” Jacko has agreed to appear at something called The World Music Awards.
Like you, we have no idea what these awards represent, but we do know that Jackson has agreed to perform at them. And we also know that the show is to be staged in London’s Earl’s Court next week.
This means that Jackson will be placing his feet on our pure British soil. “BEAT IT, JACKO,” says the Sun. We don’t want your sort here. We run a clean house.
But Jackson is not listening. And neither are the event organisers who will present the singer with the Choppard Diamond Award for the artist who has sold more than 100million records.
It thus appears that the World Music Awards is an AGM for global music sellers. And after Jackson receives his bonus for exceeding the group’s sales target, perhaps Phil Collins will he handed a gold clock and Elton John given an award for equal opportunities and best funeral music.
But for now all eyes are on Jackson, making his first public performance since being cleared of child abuse charges last year.
And he intends to close the show with Thriller, including a recreation of that famous video.
And now the Sun wants it both ways. Having told Jackson to Beat It, the paper now says: “We all hope Jackson will blow us away with a scintillating show like in the good old days of old.”
Like the performance he gave another Awards do, The Brits, back in 1996. You know, the one where Jarvis Cocker mounted the stage as Jackson, who had picked up the ‘Artist of a Generation’ award, sang his Jesus-like Earth Song.
Here’s hoping for more of that…
What Jade Goody Saw
“JADE HITS A GRAN IN FACE,” says the Sun’s front page.
Reading on, we learn that Jade Goody “belted a granny twice in the face after wading in to a cinema bust-up”.
Journey with us to the Odeon Lee Valley cinema in Edmonton, North London. Jade and lover Jack Tweedy are making ready to watch blood-‘n’-guts slasher movie Saw 3.
The cinema is busy. Youths are present. A popcorn fight breaks out. On one side are Adele, boyfriend Lee and grandmother Brenda Sparks. On the other side is at least one teenage girl.
The popcorn runs out and sweet and salty snack food is replaced by flying fists. Eight people bundle into the foyer, Jade and Jack among them.
“This woman punched me first and I defended myself,” says Jade. “I was trying to help. I’d only wanted a quiet night and then all this happened.”
Indeed. It is Jade’s misfortune to become embroiled in a cinema brawl. But such things are commonplace and it is only by the grace of God that nachos and hot melted cheese were not involved in the fracas.
But it is nasty. Jack sees Jade struck on the back. Says he: “But rather than run she stood her ground and whacked this woman a couple of times on the nose.”
Jake then tells us how he grabbed “some bloke”, made him apologise to Jade and then beat him up.
With such rich entertainment on offer in foyer it is no small wonder that so many of us are choosing to spurn TV for a night at the movies.
But Brenda is less than pleased. “Her language was disgusting,” says Brenda of Jade. “She called me a fat c***. I used to like her from the telly but now I think she’s a piggy-faced thug.”
Indeed. But the Sun does not see a fight. It sees a champion. And in “THE GOODY [Jade], THE BAD [Jack] AND THE UGLY {Brenda]”, the Sun hails Jade the hero.
Of course, it might be that the horror film is to blame, a video nasty that has caused Jade to flip out and ape what she has seen.
In which case, we urge Jack to take care and put a lock on the tool box…
Bed & Borat
IF during the past week you have trimmed a hedge, pulled a pint or made a hotel bed the chances are that you are Polish.
Try not to worry. It is preferable to being Rogarian, one of those Romanian-Bulgarian hybrids the papers warn us about.
The Pole is a Benny Hill-type figure. In the Star (“EEK! THERE’S A POLISH MIGRANT IN OUR BED”), “stunned” Graham Handley tells the paper how he rolled over in bed to find not his wife Linda, 45, but a Polish man.
Graham and Linda had failed to bolt their front door. They had retired to bed together. Their son Adam had had a bad dream, and Linda had fallen asleep in his room. A passing Pole had entered the house.
Says Graham: “I went to sleep but at 5.20am I heard the bedroom door open, heard a zip go down then heard this pair of trousers hit the floor.”
Graham called out. The man spoke back in a “foreign language” and fell asleep. Police came and escorted the man from the premises.
And it could have been worse for Graham, or better. All hail “The Polish Borat”.
The Mail spots Thomasz Stepniowski, the Polish immigrant who groped nine women. The randy foreigner is compared to Sacha Baron Cohen’s journalist from Kazakhstani TV.
It is reported that Thomasz randomly approached women in Weymouth, Dorset, and fondled their breasts. He also pinched their bottoms and grunted.
As a consequence of his actions, Thomasz was arrested.
Now in the cells, the Pole’s interpreter tells the police that back home such behaviour is not against the law: “It is not strictly breaking the law and may be cultural naughtiness.”
We learn that despite this misunderstanding Thomasz has been charged with assaulting four women. He has asked for a further five offences to be taken into account.
And while British sex pests make ready to relocate to Krakow, we warn them that they should bone up fully on all local customs.
Granted, groping, frotting, molesting, call it that you will, is the done thing over there but so is getting a water cannon in the face.
And we recall the infamous case of Pole Hubert Hoffman, 45, who was charged with "contempt for the office of the head of state" after he was stopped by police in a routine check at a Warsaw railway station and when asked what he thought of the president. He responded by farting loudly.
You have been warned…
Britney & Kevin’s Closing Number
“YOU’RE useless – you’re nobody,” screams Britney Spears at her husband Kevin Federline, aka rapper K-Ferret.
The couple are in a nightclub to launch K-Ferret’s new album.
But this is no Fairy Tale of New York. K-Ferret and Britney are not performing a cover version of The Pogues’ and Kirsty McCall’s hit tune, serenading each other with barbs and brickbats.
This is a plain and simple row. Set it to music if you will. K-Ferret may well like to turn it into a ghetto rap: “Yo scumbag. Yo maggot. Yo cheap lousy faggott. I gonna plug yo ass!” But the words are delivered without musical accompaniment.
K-Ferret appears to get the message. As the Sun says, he is later spotted “in a corner, bawling his eyes out”.
It is clear to one and all that Britney and her man have irreconcilable differences. It is the words that appear on the divorce papers Britney has lodged with the Los Angeles County Superior Court.
The sad news is that after marrying in September 2004 and conceiving two children, Britney and K-Ferret are to go their separate ways.
Indeed, having filed the divorce papers, the Mail says that Britney went on the David Letterman TV show to talk about her new hairstyle (a short blonde bob), making no mention of the possible split.
K-Ferret remained in New York, promoting his debut album, Playing with Fire (“So rich, that I tattoo the dice on my wrist, and my girl too, it’s no coincidence that SRT got all black tints”).
He then moved on to Toronto to promote his work some more. And he may need to do a lot more promoting if Britney gets her way and makes it so that each party in the divorce has to pay their own legal bills.
As the Mail says, it is believed a prenuptial agreement was signed before the couple married. This would limit any monies K-Ferret receives in a divorce settlement.
It might just be that K-Ferret is unable to live a post-Britney life of leisure and is forced to carry on doing what he does best, or performing.
See K-Ferret “burnin’ like a gas flame”, “America’s most hated”, his “ name spreadin’ faster than crack”.
Catch K-Ferret at the end of Bournemouth pier sometime soon…
Once An EastEnder…
EASTENDERS might be unwatchable, but the former stars of the dire telly soap are worth the occasional look.
The Sun says Gillian Taylforth, who played the show’s Kathy of the café, “was punched by her partner in front of their seven-year-old son”.
It is alleged that Geoff Knights did strike Taylforth. (Knights rose to an aroused prominence on a slip road off the A1 in 1994. Taylforth unsuccessfully sued the Sun for saying she and Knights had performed “sex acts” on said road.)
Knights spent 18 hours in a police cell. He was then released. And Taylforth says she has no interest in pressing charges.
And that unpleasant story is followed by the Star’s news of “shamed” soap star Leslie Grantham. The actor, who played Dirty Den, has been on The Jeremy Kyle TV show (a kind of Jerry Springer without any of the spring). With an autobiography to promote, Grantham’s been telling the daytime telly watching unwashed and institutionalised about the “sex scandals that have rocked his life”.
We only know of one. And the Star acts as an aide memoir, showing Grantham sucking his finger while engaging in a spot of cybersex.
The result of all this is that Grantham now has an addendum for his book – after the show, his wife kicked him out the family home.
Cue drum roll…
Madonna Confesses
THERE are only a few things we do not know about Madonna.
And if she would be so good as to tell us a) the number of hairs on her head, b) whether she brushes her teeth at the top first or the bottom, and c) the state of her father’s health, we will be able to complete the pop chameleon’s jigsaw.
And already the Sun is on the case. And we read that Madonna is to meet her sick dad. He’s being treated for cancer. More precisely, Tony Ciccone has been receiving chemotherapy after surgery for colon cancer. He’s staying at the Leelanau County Hospital in Michigan, close to his home.
A source tells the paper that Tony is responding well to treatment. “But,” notes the Sun’s showbiz and medical expert, “clearly, this is a serious illness.”
But Madonna is not so easily deterred. And she will be travelling to see her sickly father, and taking along her three children.
As a “family pal” tells the paper: “Madonna is keen to introduce David to his granddad – although the circumstances are less than ideal.”
For reasons of historical accuracy, the source corroborates the earlier claim and says: “He has been diagnosed with colon cancer and is undergoing chemotherapy.”
Tony Ciccone’s health is now a matter of public record.
And that leaves just two questions unanswered: the hairs and the teeth. But these are testing times in the Madonna household, and we can wait a little while longer before we get to the truth…
Saddam Hussein & Myleene Klass Collide
IT’S Saddam Hussein as you’ve never seen him before.
“YOUR/ SADDAM/ HANGMAN/ KIT,” says the Sun above a cut out and play “fun noose game”.
All you need to do is fill in the blanks in the Sun’s handy wallet-sized chart and either let the tyrant “swing” or “save him from the noose”.
Helpfully, Saddam comes in eight pieces. He’s been hung, drawn (quite well) and quartered, and sliced in half one more time just in case he’s still alive.
Anyone keen to play a more colourful game may care to emasculate Saddam, eviscerate him and stick his head on the sharp point of an HB pencil.
They may then choose to move back inside the Sun and see the picture of Myleene Klass frolicking on the beach during a trip to Gran Canaria.
The connection between Myleene, once a singer with a reality TV pop act and latterly presenter of TV’s All Star Talent (aka No stars, No talent) and Saddam Hussein, tyrant and all round bad guy, is not obvious to all.
Even drawing a bikini on the Sun’s picture of the chopped up despot fails to shed any light on things.
And it is only when we read the paper’s headline that the link between the two is made clear: “MYLEENE: I GOT SHOT AT BY THE TALIBAN.”
It seems that while travelling on an RAF plane to visit the troops in Afghanistan, Myleene was shot at.
“I had to wear a protective helmet and flak jacket,” says Myleene. “As we flew into Kabul I could hear this massive ‘thwack’ on the side of the plane. Then I could hear this grinding noise, which I found out was defence shields being put up. It scared the living daylights out of me.”
So scary was it that all Myleene’s clothes were blown clean off, and it was only good fortune that her blushes were spared by a carnation-hued bikini.
Such is the War On Terror. It affects us all – and all of us in different ways…
Out To Lunch
ANYONE know what Jamie Oliver’s children eat at their Hampstead school?
And if they do take in packed lunches, how much polenta and halloumi salad you need to buy one stick of KitKat chocolate-coated wafer? And if, indeed, such a playground trade is ever fair on the KitKat owner?
Whatever the rate of exchange at Jamie’s nippers’ school, the Mail tells us that thanks to the cook the take up of KitKats among schoolchildren is on the up.
A survey by the BBC shows that because schools dinners have been so roundly panned by the celebrity cook, school meal take-up has fallen by as much as 30 per cent in some areas.
Instead of baked potatoes, baked beans and tinned fruit salad, children are bringing in packed launches…full of high-fat snack foods.
And many believe Jamie’s crusade to shame school cooks into grating parmesan cheese and freshly milled black pepper atop Armani’s organic lasagne has triggered the trend.
But not all is bad. As the Mail notes, from this term schools are no longer allowed to offer their charges sweets, chocolate and fizzy drinks. Chips can be served only twice a week.
So the children are shunning the school dinners and bringing in treats.
As Tory MP Boris Johnson, who was criticised for saying he wanted to “get rid of Jamie Oliver”, says: “What do you do when kids go off and get crisps and KitKats when you’re offering them these delicious healthy Jamie Oliver meals?”
It’s a tough call. But one thing might be to let them get on with it. If anyone can eat confectionary and get away with it, it’s children.
Everyone’s Going
EVERY day of every week the Mail thinks up imaginative ways to remind you that life is cruel and you are going to experience pain and die. And if it can’t think any up, it looks at scientific research.
Here is a selection of things that will kill you and yours from last week’s paper of doom…
MONDAY
“How we may all be microchipped like dogs in Big Brother Britain” – Whosaprettyboythen
“Training secretly for the school egg and spoon race, today’s ‘extreme’ pushy parents” – Wold that be an organic, free-range egg?
“Self-deception, extremism, and why I fear the new breed of terrorists will go nuclear” – Extracts from former Tory Minister George Walden’s book Time To Emigrate
“Terror of trick or treat thugs” – Guy Fawkes and all that burning was so much more peaceful
TUESDAY
“Paranoid? No, they are out to get you” – Richard Littlejohn sees danger, danger, danger!
“It’s not the riots or racist crimes that surprise me. It’s the fact that, so far, we’ve just about coped…” More from George Walden
“HOW TOXIC IS YOUR BODY? She’s just a teenager and lives in the country – but Bethan already has 17 different gender-bending chemicals in her blood. As our disturbing tests reveal, many adults have TWICE that …and it’s common household products that are to blame.”
WEDNESDAY
Anorak is on Sky News talking about doom and gloom
THURSDAY
“Four million can’t afford winter heating” – Not to worry – it’s getting hotter
“Casino Tessa and the loss of all principle” – Tessa Jowell gets a new moniker from Stephen Glover
“Hospital kitchens ‘dirty and infested with cockroaches’” – Like the wards, then
“The ‘healthy’ cereal bars with more sugar and fat than cakes” – So, that’s why they don’t taste like sawdust
FRIDAY
“British youngsters are Europe’s worst-behaved as family life collapses” – so says the Institute for Public Policy Research
“My sons love the never-never. But what happens when it becomes there now-now?” – Tom Utley fearlessly asks the questions that matter to his family
“Exodus UK. A million have fled Britain since 2000 in despair over tax, crime and education” – Great news! Now there’s more room then for hardworking East Europeans.
“Sea fish ‘could be off menu in only 42 years’” – Thank god we all eat fried chicken and crisps
When Dolphins Attack
“DOLPHINS,” says the Mail, “are the embodiment of water-borne grace.”
Dolphins get a good press. You never hear a bad word said about dolphins. Stingrays, sharks and several species of fish come under attack, but dolphins ride the seas on a wave of human love. We even like it when tuna are friendly with dolphins.
But the dolphin is changing. The Mail tells us that the bottlenosed dolphin posing on its back looks pretty much like any other dolphin. It does.
But on closer inspection, we see two extra fins at the dolphin’s rear. The Mail says that each fin is the size of a human hand, and that they are thought to be the remains of a pair of hind legs.
The dolphin, one of four caught by Japanese fishermen, is believed to be the fist dolphin ever caught with a set of four fins.
Seiji Osumi, of the Institute of Cetacean Research in Tokyo, says: “I believe the fins may be the remains from the time when the dolphin’s ancestors lived on land. This is an unprecedented discovery!”
In the history dolphin catching, no four-finned creature has ever been caught? And Mr Osumi, an expert in such things, believes this dolphin is a legacy and not a prototype.
It is our belief that the oceans are changing. Greenhouse gasses, pollutants, Tony Blair’s weather machine, blame what you will, but dolphins are adapting.
Evolution is slow, but one day dolphins will rise from the sea and walk on land. What chance then humanity faced with a 9ft-tall creature with a beak full with sharp teeth?
Kill the dolphin. Before it does for us all…
Paul McCartney’s Coffee Break
PAUL McCartney is spending money.
It’s day 9,345,987 in the divorce of Paul ‘Macca’ McCartney and Heather ‘Mucca’ Mills. And the Star reports that Paul has bought the “explosive tapes” of his late wife Linda talking about their marriage. He has spent £200,000 on them.
These are just about the most interesting and valuable recordings ex-Wings singer Linda ever made.
And the Mirror looks on as Paul, walking in the street with literary agent Peter Cox, holds an envelope it says contains the tapes.
And having secured the tapes, Paul then went off the record in a café in central London.
It was very hush-hush as one of the most famous faces in the country sat at a table with the bearded Cox.
Paul, disguised in a suit and white shirt, is said to have uttered: “She is going to take me for £80million, because we now know it’s £80million. All she thinks about is dollars.”
A café customer, who recognised the singer, says Paul “even drew dollar signs to emphasise it”.
The source tells us that Paul went on to say: “She’s not at all nice or compassionate, she just wants the money.” The source sees Paul draw dollar signs in the air again.
Incredibly this private conversation between a bearded agent and the lead singer of the most famous band in history, a man involved in a nasty divorce, also features in the Express.
The paper’s customer in the know tells us that Paul is “devastated”. He might look OK, clean shaved and neatly turned out for coffee, but he is devastated.
The customer hears Paul say: “She lies and lies. Then it all goes on and on with her playing up to the papers.”
Poor Paul. Using the media to get what you want is so unedifying. It really takes the coffee and the cake…
Happy To Serve
WHAT did you do in the war?
“Well, son,” says the grandfather as he dandles the nipper on his aged knee. “I tuned into Channel 4 news and Sky news. I saw action on both sides, son.”
“I also tuned into the Fantasy Channel and gave and gave again to the cause.”
As the Star reports (“YOUR COUNTRY SEEDS YOU”), “brave” British soldiers are being recruited to alleviate a national sperm crisis.
The story is illustrated with a picture of Lord Kitchener issuing his call to arms from that famous “YOUR COUNTRY NEEDS YOU” First World War recruitment poster.
If that is not enough to get the juices flowing, the Star has pictures of topless Michelle and Emily.
And thanks to the power of the telephone, our squaddies can become still further aroused by dialling a premium rate number and hearing Michelle and Emily say what they do in a typical day. Dreaming of squaddies is bound to feature highly.
Of course, this may not be great news for one and all. In a recent article for the Times, former footballer Tony Cascarino regaled us with news that before a match one seasoned pro would engage in a little tension breaker in the privacy of a toilet cubicle.
On the other hand, there are other sportsmen, notably boxers, who avoid all female involvement until the fight is over.
Where female sportsmen stand or sit on this heated debate is a furrow of sporting endeavour left unploughed.
But why is the soldiers’ sperm needed, you cry? And how will it save the country?
Reading on we learn that this story is not quite as it seems. The headline “Troops get call for sperm war” is not exactly as it appears. There will be no battle in the Petri dish between Private Smyth’s little swimmers and those belonging to al-Qaeda’s champion onanist.
The sperm is being frozen in case the would-be daddy does not make it home from the battlefield or is left infertile.
If a soldier has given legal consent, his sperm can be used after his death. And one fertility company is asking Army recruits to plan for the future.
This is all in a good cause. And it is not hard to think that Iraq would be a better place if more of the men who don’t get enough sex spent their days doing something productive…
Tony Blair Remembers
MONDAY and Tony Blair was writing in the Sun. He was issuing an ultimatum: “Pay up or the planet gets it.”
The madman would destroy us all! Tony’s weather machine can do its damndest but surely in killing the planet he kills everyone, not just criminals, Tories and fat people.
“Today the Government will publish the most important report on the future which I have received since becoming Prime Minister,” wrote Tony.
It was more important than John Prescott’s integrated transport policy and Euan’s school report? It was that important. The Sun’s customary tales of celebrities and telly could wait a while.
“The Stern report should be seen across the globe as the final word on why the world must act now to limit the damage we are doing to our planet,” said Tony.
We were getting a Stern warning from some chap who was once an economist at the ambitious World Bank.
As Tony said, Nicolas Stern’s report was the last word on all things environmental. It will go down in history as the report that led to the resuscitation of planet Earth after years of human abuse. And Tony’s name would feature prominently.
The choice was clear: we could either follow Stern’s advice or else ignore it and move on to our certain doom.
Not a single word more would be said on the matter. No more trees would be pulped for reports. No more hot air would be spouted by tree-hugging politicos. No more would we hear stories about how humanity should be given an Asbo for mugging Mother Nature.
Phew! “Ferdrwch chji ddeud writhai faint mae’r maes parcio yn gostio, os gwelch yn dda?”, as they say in the car park at the Royal Victoria Hotel in Llanberis, Snowdonia, on Tuesday.
At least that’s what the Welsh speakers say. The rest – the English – say: “Can you tell me how much your car park costs, please?” You may care to throw a “my good man”, if you fancy.
It’s the same question in either language, but it triggers different answers for the parking attendant. The answer to the question in Welsh is “£2 please”. The answer to the English version is “£4”.
Aran Jones, chief executive of the Welsh rights pressure group Cymuned, told the Express: “This attendant needs congratulating, without a doubt.”
He continued: “The idea for charging local people lower prices for local facilities is not uncommon in other parts of the world. I am 100 per cent in favour of making measures like this more wide-spread across the region.”
It is a noble aim. But there is a problem: how local is local?
What about a full discount for actual bona fide Welshmen and, say, 10 per cent off for anyone who owns a copy of Max Boyce Poem and Pints Vol 1?
Or what about if you a Rogarian – one of those Romanian and Bulgarians who are about to invade and enslave this once proud nation?
On Wednesday the Sun announced on its front page: “EU’VE HAD IT.”
And this was not all. Inside the Sun’s front page, came a chilling headline: “ROMANIANS COMMIT 85% OF CRIME AT CASHPOINTS.”
It was shocking stuff. But so long as you avoid cash machines, you stand a decent chance of not falling victim to a Rogarian criminal. Although be aware that the 15 per cent of Rogarians who don’t commit their crimes at cashpoints may well get you later.
This news reached us via a Government “secret memo”. Referring to the accession of the two countries as “A2”, their impact upon the EU had been assessed at the highest level.
The dossier, compiled by Immigration Minister Liam Byrne and EU Minister Geoff Hoon, said: “There is a concern that free movement will encourage people from Bulgaria and Romania to come to the UK, some of whom may be drawn towards organised criminal activity already well established in the UK.”
Of dear. But perhaps if John Reid, the Home Secretary, could see fit to treat Rogarians like, say, Poles and not place a cap of 22,000 on the number of them who work here legally, less would feel inclined to work here illegally?
Whatever the reasons, we are doomed. We should hold a silence for the memory of what was once called Great Britain. But how long should it last. Any advance on five minutes?
When the Spanish capital paused in 2005 for an official five-minute silence to mark the anniversary of the Madrid train bombs, it was hard not to be impressed. See if you can be silent in a crowd of people for five full minutes. And, no, you cannot put on your iPod, read or smoke a contemplative fag.
And when you’re not being silent, do remember to wear a sign of some kind, a wristband or a T-shirt proclaiming your cause. This will encourage others to look at you and remember.
Or you could wear a poppy, like Prince Charles, but not like Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall.
The Express had earlier told a shocked world that Camilla had removed her poppy because it was chaffing on her scarf. And not just any scarf but a “Muslim scarf”.
We have long laboured under the belief that all scarves are born with a tabula rasa; they are not defined by the religion or beliefs of their parent sheep or, as is the case with cashmere, goat.
But here was the Muslim scarf. And on Thursday it was covering Camilla’s plastic poppy. That was Thursday November 2. There was still time before the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month for Camilla to get it right.
(When did Remembrance Day stretch to two weeks and become Remembrance Fortnight? And if it has gotten longer, shouldn’t the official period of silence be similarly extended from two minute’s to, say, the magical six?)
Of course, what we will choose to remember in that lengthening pause is, for now at least, up to us. And after three minutes of quiet, our thoughts turn to the oven and whether or not we left it on.
And we should spare a thought for Kate Moss and the poor people of Columbia in her thrall. On Friday, we learnt that Kate Moss – Model of the Year – has corrupted the people of Colombia.
Sure, Colombia was the world’s foremost cultivator of coca and coca derivatives before Kate’s alleged involvement with cocaine, but the farmers and cartels over there had no more links with the trade in drugs than Wernher Von Braun could be blamed for where his World War 2 rockets came down.
“To me, it’s baffling that someone who helps cause so much pain in Colombia is doing better then ever,” said Francisco Santos, Colombia’s vice president. “I never once heard her says ‘I’m sorry’, when in Colombia people die every day because of cocaine consumption – that hurts.”
For sure it does. And we should not forget them. Pray silence. And start to remember…
Picture: bbdo
Winning By A Head
AFTER a nerve-jarring period of quiet, the Sun reintroduces us to the Princess of Hearts, as active today as ever she was.
Looking dignified and not a little coy in a white headscarf, Diana is the “HEAD OF STATE”.
So too is Camilla, the women who has replaced Diana in Prince Charles’s bed in an official capacity.
Like Diana, Camilla wears a headscarf. “Echoes of Diana as Camilla dons scarf,” says the paper.
The paper looks on as Camilla pulls a scarf over her head as she visits a Sikh temple in Pakistan, Lahore’s Gurdwara Dera Sahib.
To her left is Charles, his grey suited topped off by a white topi hat, his shoulders draped in an orange scarf. And to Camilla’s right is the disembodied head of Diana.
The paper tells us that Diana (“who died in a 1997 car crash”) wore a similar headscarf to that now sported by Camilla. Ten years ago, Diana visited Lahore and put her hair in a scarf. It is strikingly familiar.
But what is new is the sight of Camilla, emerging from Lahore’s Badshahi Mosque.
Having looked over yet another religious shrine – no-one said life with Charles was all fun – Camilla emerges to reveal to the world her trousers tucked into her pop sock.
A wardrobe malfunction, as the Mail claims? Or a statement of intent that Camilla will be her own woman?
Did we ever see Diana with a trouser leg stuck into a sock, her blouse trapped in her knickers or a piece of used toilet paper stuck to the sole of her boot?
And if Diana did ever appear in such a fashion, why-oh-why haven’t we seen the pictures?
