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Tabloids

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.

Tunnel Of Hate

‘GIVEN what happened to her, the Mirror’s question “Are you brave enough to have the Diana flick?” should not be answered lightly.

The risks and ramifications of adopting the flicked-back blonde bob and so being mistaken for Princess Diana are not to be dismissed lightly.

Paris Hilton has already Dianafied her hair, and we ask her to tread carefully, and drive even more so.

Do not fall into the trap of thinking Diana is dead. She lives not only on Harvey Nichols fabled sixth floor but on the Sun’s front page, too.

“Fayed in new attack over Di,” says the headline. In an interview in the United States, Egyptian-born shopkeeper and father of Diana’s beau Dodi, Mohamed al-Fayed talks of murder.

Speaking in that idiosyncratic way of his, Fayed says of Prince Philip, “he is the evil…he is a Nazi.”

Fayed claims to have seen letters in which Philip says he will kill Diana. Fayed says the Queen is “a nice woman”. But: “It’s Philip who is behind everything, she has a gangster for a husband.” As Fayed says: “The person responsible for this crime is Prince Philip.”

Fayed plans to take the Duke of Edinburgh to court over the matter. “I am going to sue the son of a b****,” he says.

But hold on a mo, Mo. The Express wants to get a word in. As its front page claims: “We can reveal the truth after paparazzi photographers are found guilty in landmark case.” As the paper’s front-paqe headline says: “DIANA: HOW SPY STARTED CAR DEATH CHASE.”

Before we go on, we quickly turn to the Star and hear that three photographers who followed Diana’s car on the night she died have each been fined one euro.

In taking pictures of Diana before and after the crash, Jacques Langevin, Fabrice Chassery and Christian Martinez have been found guilty in a French court of invading Di’s privacy.

Taking what the Express terms “ghoulish” pictures of Diana’s injured body and then trying to flog the shots invites discussion.

But the Express’s claim that finding them guilty “blows apart French claims that Diana’s death was the result of a simple accident caused by her driver Henri Paul being high on drink and drugs” is surely based more on hope than fact.

In what way does the trial of three snappers of questionable principals refute the French and exonerate the chauffeur?

Oh, and in case you’re interested, the paper’s headline-making spy might not have been a spy.

Detectives investigating the death have traced everybody who was standing outside the Ritz Hotel in Paris on the night Diana died – save one. And there are “fears” he was working for the British security services.

So much for the Express’s front-page claim of this being the “truth”. And so much for allowing Diana to rest in peace…’

Posted: 23rd, February 2006 | In: Tabloids | Comment


Triple Tops

‘BECKY, Stephanie and Tiffanie Carrazana are identical. And after Becky’s boob job, they are still identical.

The Star features the triplets who each spent £2,600 to have their 34A busts inflated.

Seen posing in identical yellow bikinis, the sisters from Miami, Florida, are just delighted with their universal new look.

But there was a time when they didn’t look like clones from Messers Nip ‘n’ Tuck’s clinic – Becky had to wait an extra four months for her surgery because she’d spent the cash on a car.

Says she: “I could see how good they looked and how they showed off my sister’s great figures. I couldn’t wait to get my operation done.”

Who needs drawings and virtual reality when you can see what you’ll look like post-surgery by checking out your siblings.

And then wonder why Becky is called Becky and not Beckie, in keeping with the family theme…’

Posted: 23rd, February 2006 | In: Tabloids | Comment


Splitting Up

‘AFTER the romantic wedding, the tales about their wonderful life and undying love, the split and the divorce, Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt finally got down to the serious business of money.

“CALL IT THE SPLITS,” says the Mirror’s headline. And we learn the details of the latest showbiz divorce to hit Tinsel Town.

Jen (37, nice hair, good teeth, says “OHMYGOD” a lot) is to get the £16.6million Beverly Hills compact and bijou mansion she and Brad once lived so happily in.

The pad features eight bedrooms, six bathrooms, a swimming pool, spa and tennis courts (plural). It will also soon feature an actor – as the Mirror says, Jen is planning to install a Vince Vaughn.

Brad (42, nice hair, own teeth, pregnant girlfriend) will take control of the couple’s business, a film company called Plan B Productions. The company is said to be worth around £28million.

As yet, we do not know what will happen to the couple’s other assets – properties in Malibu and New York, a £3million yacht and cars – but when we know, you will know.

For now both parties are said to be happy. A joint statement reads: “This decision is the result of much thoughtful consideration.”

And has absolutely nothing to do with Angelina Jolie. Go it?’

Posted: 22nd, February 2006 | In: Tabloids | Comment


An Explosive Situation

‘STUDY the scene. Take a look at the guns in the Sun’s “SHOTGUN WEDDING”.

See the armed police surround the ceremony, hide in bushes and, most chillingly of all, behind gravestones at Moordown John’s Church, Bournemouth, Dorset.

The armed police are on the look out for one Antonio Martino, father of bride Andre, 17, who is enjoying the happiest day of her life with 20-year-old groom Brian Elliott.

Antonio isn’t happy. He’s threatened to shoot his daughter and blow-up the groom if the wedding goes ahead. So the police are manning the pews. And they’ve got guns.

The wedding takes place without a hitch. And one hour later, Antonio is arrested at home on suspicion of making threats to kill.

It’s a good story. But did you notice the guns? Take another look. Are they real? If you can’t decide – and it’s not easy to spot a real weapon from a fake – pop along to Cedar Mount School in Gorton, Manchester, and ask some of the 13 and 14-year-olds what they think.

As the Star reports, they students have just been visited by the police as part of a campaign to cut down on gun crime organised by the Manchester Multi-Agency Gang Strategy (MMAGS).

And for the purposes of education, the cops took along some guns – real ones. The police invited the pupils to handle the revolvers and rifles.

As Ralph Corrigan of MMAGS says: “The idea was to show children how difficult it can be to tell replica firearms from real ones and I think the message was put across.”

Indeed. And we urge the police to check their cache of weapons to see if any genuine rifles were swapped for replicas. It’s hard to tell the difference.

We wouldn’t want the police to turn up at, say, a wedding armed to the teeth with water pistols would we? That would be ridiculous…’

Posted: 22nd, February 2006 | In: Tabloids | Comment


Birds Of Paradise

‘“SO are we all doomed?” asks the Mail. The paper that earlier in the week employed headline writer Lance-Corporal Jones, the hysteric from Dad’s Army, to scream “DON’T PANIC” from its front page has called up Private Frazer to the front line.

“Legend has it if they leave the Tower of London, Britain will fall,” says Frazer, played by Robert Hardman. “But this week, bird flu has finally seen the ravens – who even Hitler couldn’t knock off their perch – banished. So are we all doomed?”

Over an entire page, Hardman weighs up the evidence. And he concludes that “the ravens – and, therefore, the country – are in safe hands”.

How so? Haven’t the birds keen knocked from their perch by a goose-stepping virus with a smudge of a moustache? Well, yes and no. You see, the ravens haven’t left the Tower. They’ve just been taken indoors to some purpose-built deluxe cages in the Upper Brick Tower.

The birds are fine. The rest of us, sad to say, will just have to die horribly and like it. While ravens see out avian flu in the lap of luxury, Briton’s human contingent inhabits “THIS SCEPTIC ISLE”.

The Mail tells us just how terrible modern Britain is. “Drowned in a cocktail of pesticides, the pursuit of limitless, cheap crops has turned our gloriously fertile farmlands into a chemical wasteland,” it says.

Happily, “there IS an answer”. It’s an ingenious process that involves – get this – not using chemicals on crops.

Of course, until we stop poisoning the land the British countryside will continue to be submerged beneath a toxic farmhouse-style broth.

Still, try not to worry. Don’t panic. It could be worse. As the Mail also reports, you could live in France. According to a survey of almost 26,000 people in 35 countries, the French are the world’s rudest peoples.

Or you could live in America. The Anholt Brands Index says that Americans are the most ignorant.

We could go on, but to do so would unnecessarily delay the good news that, all things considered (poisoned farmland, bird flu, George Galloway etc.), Britain is the world’s favourite country.

Well, just look how we care for our ravens…’

Posted: 22nd, February 2006 | In: Tabloids | Comment


Najaf Garden City

‘“MKWEB are busy installing webcams all around the city to show what a great place Milton Keynes is to live and work.” So says the official website for Milton Keynes, that city planned by committee in 1970.

The hanging garden city of Baghdad

Since then, the place has soared. As the website also notes, in 1974 the dial-a-bus was launched. In 1978, the BBC brought ‘It’s a knockout’ to the city. And in 1987, boxer Barry McGuigan moved to MK.

Given that, it’s little surprise to note that the world at large has sat up and taken note of the place. Milton Keynes is twinned with Bernkastel/Wittlich in Germany.

And, as the Mirror reports, it might well be the place on which the Iraq city of Najaf is modelled.

Llewellyn Davies Yeang, the company that gave Milton Keynes form and function, has been chosen to rebuild the holy city.

“Building the new Milton Keynes..IN IRAQ,” says the Mirror’s headline. And we could not be happier.

What joy it must be for the 500,000 inhabitants of Najaf, or Najaf Garden City as some are already calling it, to know that a multiplex cinema, huge shopping mall and a third-rate football team are just three of the myriad delights they can look forward to.

Maybe Najaf will get its own concrete cows, of the type that put Milton Keynes on the map. And maybe – just maybe – a visit from Barry McGuigan…’

Posted: 21st, February 2006 | In: Tabloids | Comment


Pains In The Neck

‘NO sign of Lesley Ash, the celebrity face of MRSA, in the Mail’s front-page story on how “ONE IN TEN PATIENTS CATCHES AN INFECTION IN HOSPITAL”.

The Mail says the chances of contracting a potentially fatal illness by checking into a British hospital are among the highest in the world. (No figures are provided to back this claim up, but as soon as we get the data from hospitals in sub-Saharan Africa, Latin America, the Indian sub-continent and elsewhere we’ll let you know.)

The Mail has seen a report from the British Medical Association which says that MRSA and clostridium difficile (a cause of diarrhoea) play some part in the deaths of “at least” 5,000 patients a year.

In England alone, 300,000 patients a year pick up an infection during a hospital visit.

And the Mail thinks it knows why. It’s all the Government’s fault. It seems that the race to meet NHS targets has led to a higher turn around time on hospital beds. And this means nurses do not have adequate time to clean beds between patients.

And then there are the neckties. The Sun hears the BMA say that in tests doctors’ ties have been shown to be colonised by pathogens.

The BMA calls the ties “functionless clothing”. It goes on: “Ties perform no beneficial function on patient care.” It wants medics to stop wearing them.

And here we much strongly disagree. The tie is a sign that the doctor is to be trusted, and is deserving of our trust. The tie is a visual reminder of what school the doctor attended. A novelty tie can show off his golf handicap and that he is blessed with a keen sense of humour.

Indeed, we would prefer female doctors also to wear ties – ascot, cravat or bow, whichever they prefer.

The problem is not the tie. The problem is the lack of the tie pin – vital in keeping the tie reassuringly fastened to the medical professional’s starched shirt.

It’s all about standards. And with so many bugs on the rise, this is not the time to lower them…’

Posted: 21st, February 2006 | In: Tabloids | Comment


Talking Turkey

‘BIRD flu has lacked a celebrity face. MRSA has Lesley Ash. Breast cancer has Kylie Minogue. Even lowly acne has Cameron Diaz. We could go on. But at no point would we encounter the celebrity face of avian flu. Until now.

All hail Oprah Winfrey. Speaking in the National Enquirer, the maven of the talk shows has been telling her people “It’s going to happen”. Bird flu will sweep across the US.

“I feel hopeless,” says Oprah. “If that virus mutates into a contagious human flu, no one on the planet will be safe.” Not Oprah. Not even Dr Phil.

Oprah calls for her Government to prepare for the worst. She says that when it come to being vaccinated against the disease “I’m getting mine now”.

Which is some news – as the Mail says in its bird flu “Q&A”, no true human vaccine exists. Perhaps Oprah plans to inoculate herself with Nobilis, the only vaccine that’s approved for use on poultry?

Whatever she plans, Oprah will have to bone up on avian flu if she is to become its celebrity spokesperson.

But whatever she does or does not do, Oprah is not going to have things all her own way. She will not become the face of bird flu without a challenge.

Step forward and mutter something derogatory about “our V”, Coronation Street character Jack Duckworth.

“CORRIE’S JACK’S BIRD FLU FLAP,” says the Star’s headline rhythmically. The man dubbed “the birdman of Corrie” has been told that he must keep his beloved racing pigeons under “flock” and key.

“Jack will be on tenterhooks worrying about his beloved birds,” says a source from the TV soap. “He’d hate any harm to come to them and will be out of his mind in case they catch the flu.”

That’s the human angle that Oprah lacks. Sure, she sees the bigger picture – we’re all going to die – but Jack Duckworth has distilled the problem into a manageable, pigeon-sized portion.

Of course, all is not lost for Oprah. If she can just get her hands on a pet turkey…’

Posted: 21st, February 2006 | In: Tabloids | Comment


A Pox On Chicken

‘WARNING: READING THE DAILY MAIL MAY BE HAZARDOUS TO HEALTH.

A selection of things that will kill you and yours from this week’s paper of doom…

MONDAY

“Is this proof that cot death is caused by genetic defect?” – Scientists say babies with a brain abnormality may be less able to kick start their lungs when their breathing stops

“Jabs ‘overload’ fear after 18 children die” – That’s the number of babies and children to have died in the past four years after childhood vaccinations

“Panic in Italy as bird flu strikes” – Five wild swans in Italy test positive for deadly virus

“Nurseries ‘damage’ children under three – So says psychologist Steve Biddulph

TUESDAY

“School bullies drove me to take an overdose” – Shona Hughes, 15, relives her ordeal

“40pc leap in mental illness caused by cannabis” – So say Health Service figures

“Did cyclist with an iPod not hear the lorry that killed her?” – Patricia McMillan may have not heard the lorry coming

“CANCER CURES OR QUACKERY – Posing as a cancer patient, our reporter sought help from five alternative therapists. The bizarre, dangerous and hugely expensive treatments he was offered make profoundly disturbing reading”

“I was a veggie until I was struck down by anaemia. There was only one solution – a nice juicy steak” – So says pop star Carol Decker

WEDNESDAY

“Bird flu just 600 miles from UK as it reaches Germany”

“We’re more stressed than ever” – so says survey

THURSDAY

“Yes, women really do have more headaches”

“Forest of ‘confusing road signs can cause crashes’ warns RAC” – LOOK OUT!

“The elderly really do die for love” – Researchers at Harvard Medical School say you can die of a broken heart

“Convinced she’s never find a man to father her own children and desperate for motherhood, Jill agreed to become a surrogate. Now, six babies and 14 years on, she realises – too late – the terrible price she’s paid for being…THE BABY MACHINE” – Rent-a-womb Jill Hawkins has clinical depression

FRIDAY

“Malaria kills the girl who thought she was immune” – Matilda Cooper didn’t take her anti-malaria drugs while on a trip to see her dad in Uganda

“BIRD FLU: WILL ALL POULTRY GET JAB?” – What about the UK’s 150million birds?’

Posted: 20th, February 2006 | In: Tabloids | Comment


Barmy Army

‘OLD sitcom writers never die, they just go and work at the Mail.

It’s make yer mind up time

It’s hard not to smile as the Mail uses its front page to scream: “DON’T PANIC.”

Indeed, it is dear old Lance-Corporal Jones, the hysteric from Dad’s Army. Jones knows that bird flu is on our doorstep, pecking at the silver lids on our British pintas. He is manically running about the place telling us to remain calm.

Problem is “We’re all doomed”. “Bird flu at our door,” says the Mail’s Private Frazer. “Hotlines swamped. But Minister says: We’re prepared. (Now isn’t that what they said about foot-and-mouth?”)

The minister making the news is John Reid, the former health secretary, now defence secretary. He’s noted that two dead birds have been taken away for tests in northern France. And he realises that scientists are investigating the deaths of swans found in Suffolk, Hampshire, Yorkshire and Lancashire over the weekend. Fowl play has not been ruled out (the Mail, we should be working together, call me).

Reid is up to speed with developments. And he says: “It hasn’t arrived. Don’t let’s panic. I’m sure the Government has all necessary measures there.”

Phew! That’s put us at ease. But still the Mail asks: “Bird flu ‘could it be in UK already’?” The paper then invites commentator Geoffrey Lean to put on his tin hat and industrial wellies and wonder: “Will this be another foot and mouth?”

Since we’re all asking questions, the Mirror thinks the time is right to chip in with one of its own. “IS BIRD FLU HERE?” it asks.

Just like the Mail, the Mirror doesn’t know the answers to its own questions. Nor does it bother to find out, preferring to tell its readers how “infection may remain hidden for weeks after deadly virus arrives”.

With so many questions – and so little investigative reporting – little wonder the Sun’s front page says “WE’RE IN A FLAP”.

Not that the Sun is helping to calm things down, telling its readers that “Britain is still ill-prepared for bird flu – even though it is now on our doorstep”.

Crikey! Things look grim. Perhaps it would be best just to leave. Permission to speak, sirs and madams. Would you mind if I was excused? I’ve got to see a man about a birddog…’

Posted: 20th, February 2006 | In: Tabloids | Comment


Let Them Eat Cake

‘BEING a parent is all about making important life-affirming decisions.

Makes you sick

Do you go with the cowboy theme for Armani’s birthday party (Brokeback Mountain private screening, pony rides, trip to Wyoming) or do you plump for the fairies (unicorns, enchanted forest, Royal Ballet)?

Whatever you decide, the little love is sure to eat too much sugar, run around like mad and cry before bedtime. But at least you will able to turn to those other competitive parents and say: “It was better than your kid’s party.”

And this competition to be the best is costing mum and dad an average of £200, as the Mail reports.

Parents in London spend the most on a children’s party, lashing out an average of £221. Those parents in Yorkshire pay the least, spending £154 on the do.

That’s a considerable sum of money, especially when you remember that this does not include little Armani’s presents, her new dress and the years in therapy because Bianca’s fairy birthday cake had one more tier, five turrets and a life-size chocolate moat…’

Posted: 20th, February 2006 | In: Tabloids | Comment


Ruddy Cowboys

‘“BRITISH film-makers are devastated,” says the Sun, and we wonder why?

Is it because they’ve realised that British films are a) mawkish provincial flicks sets in mawkish provincial towns; b) historically accurate flicks in a mawkish countryside setting; c) “The funniest British film of the year”; or d) Trainspotting.

Or is it because at last night’s Bafta awards Hollywood won the lot?

British stars of The Constant Gardener, Raith Fiennes and Rachel Weisz, were “ignored” in the best actor and actress categories.

The best actress was deemed to be Reese Witherspoon (American) for her role in Walk The Line, a film about Johnny Cash (American). And the best actor prize went to Philip Seymour Hoffman (American) for his portrayal of Truman Capote (American).

“We’re heart broke,” says the Sun’s headline, a pun on the film Brokeback Mountain (set somewhere in America) which won the best film prize and best actor prize for Jake Gyllenhaal (American).

And we are angry. This, as the Mail says, was the “Not so British Film Awards”. This was an American “luvvy-in”.

Clutching his award for best direction by a Briton for Pride and Prejudice (British film category b), Joe Wright (British) has a few words for the prize givers (British).

“I think there is something wrong in the British psyche that we find it hard to support each other sometimes,” says he. ‘I think as an industry in Britain we have to take care of each other a little bit more.”

But before the group hug can begin, we read that the award for British Film of the Year was won by a British film. Well done Wallace and Gromit: Curse of the Ware-Rabbit – the funniest British film since the last one, and the best actors this side of Sesame Street…’

Posted: 20th, February 2006 | In: Tabloids | Comment


Stuff The Chickens

‘“BIRD FLU: WILL ALL POULTRY GET JAB?” It’s the Mail’s big front-page question. And there is no easy answer.

While we British, a nation of animal lovers, are sensitive to the need to keep our domestic flocks healthy, shouldn’t we be worrying more about ourselves?

For weeks the Mail has been reporting on the Government’s lack of readiness should the deadly H5N1 virus mutate and be passed from human to human. There aren’t enough vaccines for us all. What vaccines there are might not work. We are all going to die in some horrible game of chicken.

Now the paper is concerned not about humanity – ostensibly, its readers – but about the chickens. Good that chicken-kind has a champion. But, like any number of Mail readers, we must clack our marmalade-coated tongue and ask what chickens have ever done for us?

Where were chickens when the Nazis were knocking at our door? Did chickens bring home the Rugby World Cup? Has a chicken – and think hard on this one – ever won a Brit award?

The answer is a consistent and narrow “No” to all three posers. But still the Mail presses on. It says there are 150million edible birds alive in the UK. “Experts” (and who by now is not an authority on avian flu?) say that two cold snaps on the Continent will “drive potentially-infected” birds over to Blighty’s warmer climes.

To keep the domestic birds safe they must be protected, and that means vaccinating them. Which brings us back to the Mail’s opening line: will birds get the jab?

The paper hears the Department for Environment Food And Rural Affairs say that vaccinations are “one option” for controlling bird flu. “It is part of our contingency planning but it would be dealt with on a case-by-case basis.”

And with 150million birds to interview, examine and process this is no small matter.

So go tell the birds to form an orderly queue outside the vets. And don’t get too close, and avoid osculation – you wouldn’t want to catch anything…’

Posted: 17th, February 2006 | In: Tabloids | Comment


Marital Aides

‘SO much for the rumours about Tom Cruise’s love life. No, not those rumours, the other rumours, the ones that claim Cruise and Katie Holmes are no longer in love.

The Mail has some heartening shots of Tom and Katie walking hand in hand. In another shot, they’re cuddling. And there’s a touching picture of Katie draped round her man’s shoulders.

As one eye-witness tells the paper: “If their relationship is on the rocks, it certainly didn’t show.”

But as we leave the loved-up actors to beam at each other, and the cameras, we hear news that all might not be well with another celebrity couple. Madonna and Guy Richie are, apparently, no longer dressing from the same clothes box. Theirs is a marriage, as the story goes, at “crisis” point.

But there is hope. And it comes from those old hands at the marriage game – Elton John and David Furnish.

Says David of the Richies: “They both need to concentrate on their careers if they want their relationship to work…But if they neglect that, their relationship will inevitably disintegrate.”

If Madonna has any further questions – such as how children fit into the picture – David says that he and Elton “are there” for her.

Only, they both might not be “there” at the same time – what with the demands of their careers, and all…’

Posted: 17th, February 2006 | In: Tabloids | Comment


Princess Of Pop Tarts

‘THE blonde hair. The wayward husband. The weight issues. There is just no getting away from it – Britney Spears and Princess Diana are hewn from the same mould.

And it’s something that not only we have noticed. As the Star reports, Britney has compared herself to the immortal Princess of Hearts.

Speaking of how she and son Preston are always trying to avoid unwelcome attention, Britney says: “I don’t really go out with him, and it’s kind of sad because I can’t walk down the street with the stroller.”

Indeed, Britney can’t even sit the boy on her lap as she drives home without some child safety wonk questioning her mothering skills.

But we move on to the chase. And the line the runs: “This is how Princess Diana got killed.”

It is? Is Britney saying that had Di been out pushing Wills in a buggy around, say, the gilded halls of London’s Harvey Nichols department store, rather than taking a chauffeured car ride through Paris, she would be alive today?

Is Britney positing the view that unless she is left alone, she too might well perish in some hideous automobile accident?

Is Britney, metaphorically speaking, standing at the top of the stairs, eyeing the fast way down?

We hope not. And urge Britney to reconsider? And to install a lift…’

Posted: 17th, February 2006 | In: Tabloids | Comment


Bobbies On The Beep

‘WHAT do you call seven police officers manning a speed trap?

You don’t call them anything, dummy. You drive past without a murmur. Don’t breathe. Don’t blink. And, above all, don’t toot your horn at them.

Unfortunately, as the Sun reports, road worker Nick Lenthall was not up to speed with the rules and on passing the magnificent seven tooted his horn.

Says Nick: “It was a very light-hearted thing. I was just having a laugh. And I wasn’t speeding.”

He’s not joking. Hooting a horn is no laughing matter. And the seven cops piled into their van and gave chase. They pulled Lenthall over.

He was guilty of “unnecessary use of audible warning equipment”. And he was handed a £30 fine.

“I’m a law-abiding, tax-paying person with no criminal history and now I’m fined for tooting my horn,” says Lenthall in the Star.

Albeit a horn that plays the opening bars of a Leo Sayer megamix…’

Posted: 16th, February 2006 | In: Tabloids | Comment


Buzz Off

‘‘DER-DER der-der, der-der, der-der… What’s that droning sound? Oasis on tour? Madonna moaning after her hernia operation (the Mail says the singer had an op after performing at the recent Grammy awards)?

No. And no. As the Mail says, the noise you can hear is the sound produced by the Mosquito.

That’s the name of a new machine designed to sound like a buzzing insect. Impressive? Very much so. But that’s not all it does. The paper says that the black box emits a piercing, pulsing sound only audible, in 90 per cent of cases, to people aged 12 to 20.

(A scientist explains that it’s something to with the auditory canals of children being shaped differently to those in adults.)

And what it means is that the Mosquito is just perfect for dispersing gangs of yoofs from shopping centres. They can’t stand it.

Turn on the box and sit back as Armani pulls her hoodie tight over her bleeding ears and runs from the precinct like a priapic shoplifter making off with a stolen copy of Razzle.’

Posted: 16th, February 2006 | In: Tabloids | Comment


Brits Of A Do

‘LAST night the British music industry’s AGM was held at the cavernous Earl’s Court Arena in London.

Anyone who is anyone in the music business was there to see the stars vie for a Brits award and with it the chance to boost album sales in the bleak mid-winter.

The Mail lists all the winners on a scroll of honour. We note that James Blunt is the Best British Male Solo Artist; KT Tunstall is the Best Female Solo Artist; and the Kaiser Chiefs are The Best British Group.

You might be forgiven to thinking that that’s the end of it. All bases have been covered – male star, female star and band.

But this is modern music, with more species and sub-species than the Amazon River basin. It’s positively specious.

So Jack Johnson wins a statuette for Best International Breakthrough Act. Lemar wins the Best Urban Act trophy. And Paul Weller is handed the music business’s equivalent of a gold carriage clock that is the award for Outstanding Contribution to Music.

Perhaps if Weller, the so-called Modfather of pop, dips into his complimentary goody bag and splashes on enough of the £550 pot of Estee Lauder Re-Nutrive Cream he will be up for next year’s Best Youth Act.

But before that, what we really want to know is what went on behind the scenes. As the Mirror says on its front page, it’s all about “The glitz, the glam, the winners, the whiners”.

The paper notes that Kanye West, the American rapper, won the battle of the entourages. He rocked up with a posse of 30 liggers/assistants/hangers-oners, seeing of a spirited challenge from Paris Hilton (12) and Madonna (4).

And, apart from the news that Kelly Osbourne had to have last-minute hair extensions woven onto her scalp because all her real hair fell out (a result of over-bleaching), that’s it.

No cars driven into swimming pools. No dressing rooms full to bursting point with drugs, groupies and Blue Peter presenters. No fights. No medical emergencies. No smashed up TVs.

Of course, as the Star knows best, none of that really matters. The important thing is not who wins what and what occurs but what the girls are wearing.

Disappointingly, the paper carries no shots of wardrobe malfunctions. But with the Star’s snappers using their flash guns’ power like portable X-ray machines, we do get to see the curvature of Kelly Clarkson’s backside.

And that’s it. Of course, we shouldn’t be too upset. It’s all just a bit on fun. As James Blunt tells the paper: “No musician should take awards seriously.”

Indeed. The serious business is how much cash a gong can earn you…’

Posted: 16th, February 2006 | In: Tabloids | Comment


Hospital Job

‘NOT a day passes without Britney Spears being involved in some kind of drama.

Having survived spots, fame, more spots and husband Kevin’s wispy beard and vest, Spears has been hit by another awful ordeal.

As the Star reports (“POOPS! HE DID IT AGAIN”), Britney has had cause to rush her son, the affable Sean Preston, to the Malibu Urgent Care Centre, Los Angeles.

Whether Sean was sat on Britney’s tight-and-not-in-the-least-bit-plump lap in the front seat of her SUV or secured in a child harness in the back is not reported. All we know is that when Sean went red in the face and would not stop crying, Britney reacted with frightening speed.

Having raced him to the clinic, Britney clutched her boy in her arms and sought out medical experts. Looking “flustered and flushed” she ran inside the emergency clinic.

What was wrong? What could it be? The Sun hears sources say that Sean might be ill. But the Star knows all. It hears a nurse explain: “It seems he was just straining to fill his diaper.” Sean was constipated.

Hard to believe, we know. But it is, apparently, true – Sean still does his own poos.

However, what with this being Hollywood, we trust that in the fullness of time, staff can be found to perform this onerous task on his behalf…’

Posted: 15th, February 2006 | In: Tabloids | Comment


Painfully Yours

‘“I LOVE PRESTON SO MUCH IT HURTS.” That’s the headline on the cover of today’s Star – words that are never far from the lips of anyone who has ever made a pilgrimage to Britain’s newest city.

Into the ordinary

However, on this occasion the message is from Chantelle Houghton, the Big Brother winner for whom Preston is a pop singer.

Seen dressed in a tiara and making ready to suck on a sauce-coated chip, Chantelle was ready to receive a Valentine’s Day card from her paramour.

One duly arrived. And the words are nothing if not beautiful: “I love u because u r ordinary.”

Of course, what with this being Valentine’s Day, the card was unsigned – although the Star sees the word “ordinary” as a clue (Preston is lead singer of the Madness tribute band Ordinary Boys).

We remain unconvinced. Any one of us could have sent Chantelle a card; just as anyone could have sent a message of love to George Galloway, Preston and Chantelle’s Big Brother agonist.

And, as the Sun’s front page says, one of us did. Above a picture of Galloway’s halo-haired head superimposed onto one half a red love heart, the front page reads: “Roses are red/ Violets are blue/ I was George’s Valentine/ His chat-up was sickly goo.”

The head on the heart’s other section reveals the object of George’s affection. No, not Saddam Hussein. No, not George Galloway. This head belongs to Caroline Iggulden, the Sun’s undercover lover.

Having despatched a bouquet of flowers to the vain MP – bearing the message “Dear George, Happy Valentine’s Day, Love from your secret admirer ‘G’ and her phone number – Caroline sat back and waited.

And before 15 minutes had passed the phone rang. Having introduced himself, Galloway said it had been a “barren year” for him. Indeed, this had been his only Valentine.

Galloway then invited the girl on a date. Where to? Why, the Houses of Parliament, naturally. Sure he was busy, but never too busty to accommodate a pretty lady.

So off Caroline went. She met him. He offered her tea or coffee. Would she care for a donut? George was having an iced donut. “You really must have some,” he oozed, “have a nibble.”

Gamely, and in spite of what must have been a churning stomach, Caroline agreed. He manfully ripped the treat in two and gave her the “lion’s share”.

And then the coup de grace. The phone rings. “Yes, I am here with her now,” says Galloway. “No, she is a very nice girl, not from The Sun.” George turns to Caroline: “They think this is a set up. But I assured them it was fine.”

Galloway is nothing if not a good judge of character. Caroline is a nice girl. Well, she didn’t gag when Galloway presented her with a teddy bear and a box of Victorian mints.

She never once shuddered when Galloway walked her to the terrace overlooking the Thames, pointed to a rainbow and observed: “How lovely.” And she didn’t break out in a cold sweat when, on parting, Galloway “threw” his arms around her and kissed both cheeks.

Caroline is a nice girl. Although Chantelle is just that little bit nicer…’

Posted: 15th, February 2006 | In: Tabloids | Comment


Sick As A Parrot

‘CAN it be true? The Mirror’s front page says that ‘Big’ Ron Atkinson is staying at The Priory?

It’s undeniable that Ron is a celebrity, and has every right to behave as one. But we would never have supposed that the man who gave the world “Ronglish” (his unique take on the national idiom) would go the way of so many Barrymores, Collymores and Katonas.

Atkinson is of the old school, the unreconstructed face and dragged-over hair of British manhood. Ron’s unafraid to call a spade a spade – and Marcel Desailly something that doesn’t bear repeating.

But then we read on. Silly us. Big Ron‘s not in Roehampton’s THE Priory, that staging post for tired and emotional stars; he’s in a Priory, the Priory Hospital in Edgbaston, Birmingham.

Relieved that we are to be spared salacious tales of wild nights of drug and alcohol abuse and mentally damaged with nightmarish visions of Ron partying hard into the early doors of a debauched weekend, we read on.

Inside the paper we learn that Ron is the victim of a rare blood infection that has caused his left leg to turn bright red and balloon.

“IT’S BUG RON,” says the Sun, as it identifies a spider as the cause of Ron’s troubles. Apparently, the arachnid – possibly a lazy, thick black one – bit Ron as he topped up his perma-tan in the Caribbean.

With Ron not yet fully recovered, the Sun hears from Mrs Ron, Maggie. “He’s been very ill,” says she. “It was a nasty situation at one stage and was vital he got attention as soon as possible.”

And it was, apparently, thanks to Maggie that he did. Full marks to her. Ron must be over the moon…’

Posted: 14th, February 2006 | In: Tabloids | Comment


Cupid’s Cups Of Love

‘EVER the romantic, you’ve thought long and hard about how you’ll show your love for that special someone.

Will you get them a huge teddy bear? What about a pair of nylon knickers wrapped around a single, odourless, freeze-dried rose? Or a balloon?

Or two balloons. That’s what the Sun says Alex Bailey has got his girlfriend, “sexy” Susie Cowan. As a sign of just how much he loves her, Alex has splashed out £3,000 on a set of falsies.

“He’ll feel the benefits of this present more than a diamond ring,” says Susie (34A). “It’s something we’ll both enjoy.”

For sure. What could be more enjoyable that jetting off to snow-dappled Prague where Susie will be laid out on an operating room gurney, knocked out by powerful drugs, sliced open and have bags inserted into her chest cavity? Call us old fashioned fuddy-duddies but we’ll take the ring, if it’s all the same.

Susie, though, is delighted with her gift, even if she’ll probably be too sore and loved-up to pay much attention to the Mirror’s advice on how to “Have your BEST SEX ever..tonight!”

Tips include: “Plan a hot date; put stress on hold; get the blood pumping; have a couple of dinks; try something different; and play a game.”

Or put the Ludo away and stay in with the missus. That’s a joke. As her indoors knows, nothing makes a man appear more sexy to a women that a good gag.

What sexy Bernard Manning taught us, science now confirms. As the Express says, researchers in the United States have found that women prefer the funny man over the serious.

So, come on lads, get those novelty posing pouches on. You can’t fail…’

Posted: 14th, February 2006 | In: Tabloids | Comment


In The Line Of Duty

‘“BROWN’S CALL-UP FOR STATE SCHOOL CADETS,” announces the Daily Mail, scarcely able to hide its excitement – but just managing to, in the interests of helping its Tory friends.

Conservative defence spokesman Gerald Howarth tells the paper that his party supports the Chancellor’s plans to expand the Combined Cadet Force, and admits that he would have done the same. However, he also accuses Brown of cynically attempting to “reinvent” himself, and dismisses his plan as a transparent attempt to “curry favour with Middle England”.

But never mind the politics, what are Gordon’s chances of enticing British youth to don the uniform of Queen and country?

Today’s papers helpfully provide two prominent stories that give an interesting picture of life in today’s Army.

The Mail itself publishes pictures of the latest controversy involving troops in Iraq, where members of the 20th Armoured Brigade are accused of “beating four Iraqi teenagers arrested during a riot”. The paper’s editorial describes the pictures as

“sickening”.

Meanwhile, the Sun and Mirror lead on the antics of a famous young soldier named Wills, whose own brother, Harry, has a chequered past involving binge-drinking and drug abuse at the notorious Rattlebone Inn – a well-known haunt of ne’er-do-wells and scoundrels of every stripe.

Since those days Harry has, to employ the modern parlance, “turned his life around”. He has given up his foolish youthful ways and dedicated himself to serving his country.

So it came as a bit of a shock to read in today’s Sun that William spent his first weekend off since starting at Sandhurst by visiting a public house where Sun journalists were busy purchasing cocaine – in the line of journalistic duty, we hasten to add.

“I can get you anything you want,” boasted a “posh” student, and the hacks duly put in their requests.

Yet rather than demanding the things their paper professes to want – a tolerant society in which all citizens show respect for one another and the law – the reporters asked for cocaine instead. This arrived with the promptness for which British service industries are renowned, a very reasonable three hours later.

This allowed plenty of time for the reporters to talk to the regulars, who told them the pub was “really wild”, and that although Wills was OK, his brother Harry – another youngster set on a career in the military – “can be a real arrogant w*****”.

Meanwhile, Harry’s old pal Guy Pelly was caught smoking a “spliff”, thus putting Harry at risk of passive smoking of illegal drugs.

This is not the first time Master Pelly has embarrassed the royals. He infuriated Prince Charles by stripping to his aristocratic bollocks at a charity polo match, and he has been at the scene of most of the princes’ high jinks in recent years.

A Sandhurst source responded to the latest story by pointing out that “drugs of any kind is [sic] a complete no-no in the Army”.

But might today’s publicity have a silver lining? Are today’s tales of beatings and drug abuse not a fine example of the Army moving with the times?

In the old days it was enough to promise three square meals a day, and a piss-up and a punch-up at the weekend. Today’s youth demand gang violence and hard drugs – and today’s Army has shown itself willing and able to respond.

Like it or not, it’s the future, and we must move with the times.’

Posted: 13th, February 2006 | In: Tabloids | Comment


Changing Rooms

‘ANOTHER British institution is under threat, as the Ask Jeeves search engine is considering scrapping the all-knowing butler.

Fancy an early bath?

Perhaps his inscrutable manner is considered old-fashioned in an age in which discretion is no longer valued, and we are encouraged to “let it all hang out” at every opportunity.

Certainly there would be no point in asking Jeeves the identity of the two “millionaire soccer stars” who, according to the Sun, “were at the centre of a gay riddle last night”.

We at Anorak have never knowingly found ourselves at the centre of a gay riddle, but we’re pretty sure that if we did, we would keep it under our hat. And that seems to be the attitude of the millionaire soccer stars too.

Having had no joy asking Jeeves, or Google, or anybody else, the Sun has turned to a more orthodox source of comment – an old retired footballer.

Peter Osgood (for it is he) has many a story of the high-life enjoyed by cosmopolitan footballers. As a member of the Chelsea set in the swinging sixties and seventies, he’s seen it all.

Well, almost all. It turns out that his knowledge of things gay is about as foggy as that of Young Old Mr Anorak, who is ninety-seven and has never been kissed.

Ossie reckons that the two millionaire soccer players might suffer “abuse from rival supporters” were they to “come out” (for the benefit of Anorak readers who don’t expect to read such things in a family website, this means openly declaring one’s sexual orientation).

“Obviously there’s going to be gays in every walk of life,” says Osgood, who is a man of the world, and knows about these things.

But he’s not suggesting that there was any funny business in the dressing room at Stamford Bridge in his day. “We never had any at our club,” he insists. “I don’t think I’d get in the communal bath with them anyway.”

Of course not, Ossie. But what do you think of this gay business? “Everyone to their own,” he says. “I think you’ve got to accept it.”

One of the millionaire soccer gays is said to have put a vibrating mobile phone in his boxer shorts.

As a wise man once said, it’s a funny old game.’

Posted: 13th, February 2006 | In: Tabloids | Comment


Dead Set

‘WARNING: READING THE DAILY MAIL MAY BE HAZARDOUS TO HEALTH.

A selection of things that will kill you and yours from the paper that (s)cares…

MONDAY

“How expanding waistlines are putting children at risk” – “Children are fatter then ever”

“The cannabis savage. Heiress left for dead by friend crazed on ‘soft’ drug” – Lisa Voice, 52, was beaten by a boy she’d known for more than a year

“Cordless phones ‘could raise risk of brain tumours’” – So say researchers in Sweden

“Pesticides ‘buffer zone’ for farms is abandoned” – Despite a Royal Commission concluding last year that “spraying fields was a potential health risk and could be responsible for diseases including cancer, Parkinson’s and ME”, the five-yard buffer zones around farms are to be done away with

TUESDAY

DONL’T CONDEMN ME TO DEATH” – Says the Mail’s big front-page headline. “Breast-cancer victim Marie Rogers pleaded with the High Court to let her continue taking “wonder drug” Herceptin

“We STILL don’t know if MMR is safe (And even one of our top vaccine experts admits it)

“Half of hospitals fail to hit MRSA targets”

“A facial twitch was ruining my life. The only answer was to drill a hole in my head” – Simon Scott takes us through his hemifacial spasm operation

“Make no mistake. The NHS can kill – Forceps left in the patient. A transplant with the wrong set of lungs. As a new report catalogues hospital blunders…”

WEDNESDAY

“The car home failures – More than a million staff will need training for registration scheme as Government admits many ‘are not up to the job’”

“Baby who cried for 7 weeks (because doctors missed his dislocated shoulder”)

THURSDAY

“BABIES TO GET 25 VACCINES” – not in one go, but still the Mail says there are fears of “immunisation overload”

“They told Lisa she was cured. Now she may die, poisoned by radiation” – Cancer patient Lisa Norris, 15, was given overdoses of radiation at each of her 17 radiotherapy sessions

“The medical blunders that ruin dozens of lives” – Featuring the home circumcision carried out on the wrong child at the wrong address

FRIDAY

“Why the women of Britain die before their time” – Women in the UK live to an average of 80.9 years; their European counterparts on average live to 81.1

”Care home nightmare. Pensioner whose weight dropped to 6st because of neglect wins payout” – Lily Leatham can book that cruise’

Posted: 12th, February 2006 | In: Tabloids | Comment