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.
Private Dick
‘YESTERDAY we heard from professional Michael Jackson case juror No.1.
| Jackson tries on the OJ Simpson glove for size |
Today its the turn of another of the 12 good men and women true to tell us about the day they delivered justice to the world.
Step forward, raise your hand and repeat Jacko dad stared at me in deli Pauline Coccoz, a blonde 46-year-old delicatessen worker.
The story goes that two weeks before the trial ended, Pauline was at work. A customer approached. She looked up, and her eyes were met with a beady gaze.
The man with the eyes like lifeless buttons was none other than Joe Jackson, father of Michael, who was shopping in the store with his wife, Katherine.
For a moment, Pauline thought theyd come to menace her. Without the counter between me and the Jacksons I would have found it intimidating, says she.
Joes stare was only for about 20 seconds, but it was the longest 20 seconds of my life.
It must have been awful to be presented with such an anecdote. But, having committed to memory every minute detail of the confrontation, Pauline regained her composure and set about fulfilling the Jackson order of baloney, which she sliced.
For readers not well-versed in the American diet, the Sun says that baloney is a revolting pink sausage-like meat.
And is not to be confused with Michael Jacksons manhood, which, as the Star tells us in its front-page story (JACKO GIVE ME MY WILLY BACK), is splotchy and best not eaten, let alone sliced.
And its missing. No, not really missing as such. Jacksons penis would no more come detached from the Jackson body as would his nose.
What are missing are pictures of the stars member, which were taken by police as they gathered evidence for the court case against him.
Now Jackson wants them back, lest they fall into the wrong hands or the baloney slicer…’
Over The Moonwalk
‘IN a language that most tabloid readers can understand, let us say that Michael Jackson is over the Moonwalk.
| Jackson II: Return To Neverland |
As are we all, because if theres one thing guaranteed to get the country swimming in a sea of joy it is when justice is done and seen to be done.
As The Suns resident blonde, Jane Moore, puts it: Michael Jackson is innocent no doubting that. Justice has been done. Hurrah! Or so the loony tunes gathered outside the courthouse would have us believe.
Loony tunes? Surely Moore means to say they who dared to believe when so many doubted Him. When accuser Gavin Arvizos cock crowed, these apostles stayed true to their idol.
For them a seat at His right hand on a ride at Jacksons Neverland compound. But no space in his bed, because, as the Sun announces on its front page: Jacksons vow: no more boys in my bed.
But even with his acquittal, and the promise to change his ways, it appears many people believe there is no smoke without fire. And though the singers head is not ablaze, the Sun hears from Jackson trial juror Raymond Hultman.
Under American law, jurors are allowed to tell the Press how they arrived at their verdict expect 12 books with titles like Courtroom Thriller, The Boy Wasnt His and Beat It sometime soon – which means we get to hear Hultman say how Jackson dodged the bullet.
Hultman says Jackson displayed a pattern of molesting young boys. And in bolder terms: Michael Jackson probably molested boys.
Probably? But not with Arvizo. At least not beyond any reasonable doubt. And certainly not without a Jackson comeback retrial…’
Off The Cuff
‘DISPLAYING our wristbands along our arms like the women of the Pa Dong Karen tribe wear their neck rings, we exist at the bleeding edge of righteous fashion.
| ”I’m with Michael Jackson” |
But we could be giving out the wrong signals. The Mail writes that our wristbands say more than a simple Free Nelson Mandela T-shirt ever could.
News is that in a survey of 15-19 years olds, 60% said the colour of your wristband represents more than your efforts to raise awareness into an illness or social wrong.
For instance, that purple bracelet, the one you bought to show your support for research into Alzheimers disease (remember?), also means you are gay.
The pink one, which helps raise money for breast cancer research, is the emblem of a straight female. A red bracelet, bought to signify your support for Childline, means you are sexually available.
And it gets yet more complex when you start mixing colours. Pink and anti-bullying blue show the world that you are bisexual.
Wearing purple and Make Poverty History white means you are gay and attached. While pink and red are the mating signals of a straight, sexually available female.
Strapping on pink, white, blue, red, purple, yellow, white and black together means you are a fashion victim who will go with anyone who pays the slightest bit of interest in you.
Although not with Michael Jackson, obviously…’
The Exemplary Officer
‘HAVING perfected the art of urban camouflage chinos, baseball cap, spliff, bout of mindless violence Prince Harry has moved swiftly onto Module 2 of his Army training.
| Pass the Duchess on the left hand side |
As the Mail writes, the young Prince is taking a course at Sandhurst, the Royal Military College in Surrey, entitled The Exemplary Officer.
The paper tells readers that the course covers everything from which cutlery to use at the dinner table to how to give the loyal toast, vital weapons in any officers kit bag.
Mail readers will need no reminding of the correct way to behave at the table, but just in case some wily asylum seeker is looking in, the paper reminds them that one of the worst faux pas is to pass the port incorrectly.
The method it not to smash the bottle into the head of the person to your right, nor is it to take a swig and wipe the top clean with your thong before vomiting into the gutter, but to pass the decanter to the left.
Its all quite simple, and Harry will not go too far wrong if he employs the simple and refined cannabis etiquette.
Dont Bogart the port, as they now say in the better billets…’
The Verdict
‘WED read about it for weeks. The world was gripped. What would the outcome be? And last night we knew: Jordan had given birth to a baby boy.
| Jackson’s supporters are delighted at the news |
As the Sun says, Jordans new baby was delivered to the world at 10:30am yesterday.
Katie and I are so happy, says Peter Andre, the 5lb 13oz babys dad. We were a bit scared because he wasnt supposed to be here for three of four weeks.
Scared, or disappointed? We mean this as no slight on the baby. Little Iraq Andre is surely a rare joy to behold, blessed with his mothers brain and his fathers dimensions. But it would surely have been better had he dallied a while.
Even the most vapid showbiz types know that so much of how youre perceived is decided by your entrance – the bigger the better.
And though the little love did arrive by emergency Caesarean at Londons showbiz baby factory, the Portland Hospital, in a hospital dash, he timed his entrance badly.
At 10:30, little baby Iraq was big news, undoubtedly the biggest news story of the day. We imagine huge front-page splashes were being designed.
Medics were being pumped for quotes by Wappings finest minds. Had the nipper taken to mums breast as keenly as the tabloid press? When would Jordan return to modelling? Was the baby delivered in the same bed as that in which Posh had her Romeo?
It was all in place. And then it went wrong just after 10pm last night, Michael Jackson walked free.
Though innocent of all ten charges levelled against him, a fact the Express explains over seven pages, Jackson has almost certainly changed one boys life.
Not for little Iraq a bulging scrapbook of memories of his first day in showbiz. Just a place alongside Keeley, 18, from Kent on the Suns Page 3 and a picture of dad clutching a bouquet adorned with a Sun ribbon.
It could all have been so different. If only it hadnt been for Jackson…’
It’s A Stich Up!
‘WHAT do you do when you run out of ideas and give up any precocious dream of being original?
| Swab! |
TV stars are routinely given chat shows. Witness Anne Robinson. And then dont see Johnny Vegass 18 Stone of Idiot, a waste of talent and air.
Pop stars are given drugs. So heres Pete Doherty in the Star being predictably shambolic as he holds a microphone on stage.
And here he is again in the Sun, getting booted off a boat he was sailing on with girlfriend Kate Moss because staff said he was smoking drugs.
And hes not alone. Because even the mighty have to dabble with a drugs story sooner or later.
Of course, what with this being Kerry Katona, we first have to look at her boobs, which she helpfully pushes out for our inspection in the Sun.
But Kerrys new 32FF breasts have failed to keep up with her hectic schedule of pushing and thrusting, and she now fears theyve slipped or the stitches have split.
This sounds painful. And it can only get more so as Kerry realises that having exhausted all conversation about her breasts as a working unit, she can now talk about their constituent parts. This week its stitches. Next week its the bags. Then the cell structure. And so on.
But that for later, because the Star says on it front page how Kerrys been BETRAYED.
The story goes that furious Kerry is feeling hurt and betrayed at what she calls the pack of lies told by one Joanne Goodier.
Goodier, a woman Kerry treated as a sister, has gone on the record to say that Kerry has taken drugs. I spoke out because she hurt me so much, says she.
Theres more inside the paper, where Kerry sticks out her tongue for our entertainment, and a drug testers swab. And we learn that Kerry hurt Goodier when the latter crashed the formers car and refused to pay for the damage.
That meant war. And sparked Goodier to tell the papers that her former best mate turned to drugs after her split from husband Brian McPadding.
But Kerry promises to fight on. She vows to sue her accuser. She wont go to pieces – even if she is falling apart at the seams.
So shell go to court. And then, as is the way with such things, shell go to Anne Robinson, Johnny Vegas and anyone else with a soft chair and a stalled showbiz career…’
Black To Front
‘REMEMBER how shocked we all were to learn that no black performer had been booked to appear at the Live 8 charity do in Hyde Park.
| ”Let them eat sunglasses” |
No black performer was good enough at singing to make the grade mastered by Robbie Williams or Bob Geldof. We were concerned.
This was a concert to raise awareness for the plight of the words poorest people. Was an impoverished continent going to be represented by Geldof, a heart-wrenching video of a starving black baby or gulp! Lenny Henry?
But that was then, and now we learn that the blackest act of them all will be making his way onto the main stage. Yes, folks, give it up for Dayyy-viiiid Beck-ham.
The Sun says that David was a bit apprehensive when Robbie Williams mooted the idea of his making an appearance. But the footballers anxiety disappeared when his wife Victoria reassured him that it was a great idea.
So Dave agreed to do it. And now hes scheduled to present Robbie Williams to the masses with a few well chosen words.
It wont be a long speech, says a source in the Sun, but he will have something important to say.
What will high-earning, meg-rich clotheshorse Dave tell the world about poverty? How best to avoid it? How millions of African are dying each day under a burning sun…in last years sunglasses?
Well have to wait and see. And we can only pray his words hit the right note – and one thats not just audible to dogs…’
Graphic Sex
‘SOME time ago, we offered the Newspaper Society a Venn diagram entitled Mapping Nudity.
| Age shall not dress her |
It showed a series of concentric circles, intended to guide publishers to the acceptability of various sexual acts, with ”kiss” and gentle frot located on the outside, and at the core shag, bestiality and anything with Anthea Turner.
The document has yet to become newspaper policy, but the Sun minds us of it as it shows pictures of luscious Liz Hurley on its Page 3.
News is that Liz is 40 today, or phwoarty. Many happy returns to her.
And to celebrate her latest achievement in what has been a stellar career, having already taken in her 20th, 30th and 39th birthdays, to name but a few, the Sun reprints some memorable photos.
No shots of Liz eating jelly with bits of fruit in it at her eighth birthday, nor of her attending a junior disco at her thirteenth, just pictures of adult Liz showing lots of leg and some cleavage.
Its a terrific story. Its got what newspaper types like to call legs. But if this is Page 3, imagine what else lies further within the Sun.
And so we flick through the pages to soon read: RANDY PAUL IS BLOWN AWAY.
The horny toad is one Paul Danan, who is pictured beaming after spending four minutes in the Celebrity Love Island ladies loo with Playboy mo-del Nikki Zierling.
Im not telling what happened, says Paul, perhaps wisely saving his big story for when he gets out and someone will pay him for it, but she really was kind to go that far.
But while Paul gets his sympathy sex, and tells the world, via the Star, that this is heavy sh*t, that papers cover promises a secret saucy strip within.
Move over topless Danish seafood lover Malene on the Stars Page 3, were on our way into the inner parts of the Stars Ven diagram, a place where WHO BARES WINS.
Theres not one but two pairs of breasts, one pair each belonging to Big Brothers Sam and Mikosi respectively. For added oomph , there are also shots of their buttocks.
Wow! If theres this much nudity on page 11, imagine what the centre pages will show! And having reached them, were not disappointed. That is Wayne Rooney. That is Coleen McLoughlin. And those are her feet resting on his sun-shagged shoulders.
Now if we could just find the papers insert…’
Building A Career
‘IS it a picture from a new reality TV show, or it that really Vic Reeves pushing a wheelbarrow full of bricks through a building site?
| That seat taken? |
We turn to the Mail for an explanation, and therein learn that Reeves is not auditioning for Building A Career, but working as a labourer as part of his community service order for crashing his car while three times over the alcohol limit.
And while Vic rebuilds his reputation, the Sun tells us of another celebrity miscreant.
The paper says that George Best has been questioned by police over an alleged attack on Vicky Pope, who hes accused of slapping.
Having been formerly arrested, Best spent at least four hours in a police station in Staines. Despite the ordeal, his agent, Phil Hughes, described his hard-drinking client as being in good spirits.
And theres more. In this day of celebrity shame the Star says that following Reeves and Best at great speed is Amy Nuttall.
Standing before the Beak, soap babe Nuttall responded to the accusation that shed been speeding in her motor car. She should not be banned, she pleaded, because she faced exceptional hardship if forced to share public transport with the rest of us.
Riding on trains and buses makes Amy feel vulnerable. It is hard for her to travel on public transport without being hassled.
Sadly, her appeal fell on deaf ears. And we can only advise Amy when riding the Tube to wear something more than her customary bikini.
And if you are approached by a reeling, middle-aged man smelling of booze, try not to recoil in horror and spray him with mace, but understand that he, like you, was once a celebrity…’
Box Their Ears
‘THERES too much f***ing swearing television.
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| Danan finds Hervey is as lightweight as he is |
Just last night, Paul Danan told his fellow Celebrity Love Island hopeful Isabella Hervey she was a f***ing bitch.
Thats no way to treat a Lady, even if she is wearing a bikini and appearing on a TV show designed to give British TV its first live shag.
Of course, in Danans defence, he did at least utter his expletive on a show that no-one watches, and if it wasnt for the Mirror reporting the word, few if any of us would have heard it.
Or heard Lady Isabella tell her fellow strumpets: I was very scared. I thought he was going to hit me at one stage.
And violence on TV will not do, even if it is after the watershed. If Danan and Hervey want to fight in public they can go to some pedestrianised town centre at pub closing time like everyone else.
But no sooner has the Mirror spotted one flare up than it scoots over to the Big Brother encampment to hear wannabe fishwife Lesley scream at silly little tart Sam: One day youre going to have the s*** knocked out of you.
If Lesley would be good enough to tell Channel 4, which broadcasts the show, when this beating will occur, producers can at least advertise it and produce some teasing trails.
They could call it Celebrity Happy Slapping, and sell it as the first show made with a mobile phone audience in mind.
But Lesley failed to elaborate on her confident prediction. And while Channel 4 bosses sense a missed opportunity, we offer the show our hearty congratulations for combining TVs twin passions of swearing and violence.
Who needs a show with scripts, plots and actors when youve got talent that can improvise like that?’
Bodyline
‘WEVE got a great chance to win the Ashes this year. Lets hope our boys can kick Shane and his team-mates where it hurts.
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| It’s a toss up |
The considered words there of Becky, 24, from London, whose chief interests are cricket and wearing knickers. That today she manages to combine her two passions on the Suns Page 3 is a credit to her drive. She dared to dream.
But what about her words? We in no way condone violence, especially kicking Australian cricketers. And, in any case, its hard to knock them where it hurts if you cant see the targets.
Now, calm yourselves, dear Australians. This is no assault on your nations collective manhood, just an observation based on a new portrait of Australian cricketing hero Shane Warne.
The original portrait by artist Fanny Rush (no giggling at the back), as shown in the Sun, features Warne in his cricket whites looking clearly aroused for action.
But it would not do. The painting, which will hang at Lords…in the Long Room (cut it out), was not suitable. The MCC wanted him to look, shall we say, less masculine, says Rush. It was a toss-up who I was going to offend Shane or the MCC!
Ok! Thats it. Get it out your system. Laugh. Giggle. You people have no respect for our national summer sport. You disgust us.
So, its over to the Mirror, where Shane is heard appraising his now touched up and downsized likeness in oil. Its an honour, says he And I hope the members like it.
Well said…’
A Dressing Down
‘THE papers had wanted to talk about world debt relief, but something more pressing came up – Charlotte Church was seen in a dress at Glamour magazines Woman of the Year ceremony.
| Charlotte gave and gave until she had little more to give |
The event was noticed by the Mirrors keen news eye, and the paper duly splashes the celebration of womankind across its front page (OOOOHHH! LAYDEEES) and shows pictures of Patsy, Rachel, Geri, Teri and Charlotte trotting up to the London do.
Dont worry if you cant get to grips with all those names because each moniker comes with a number. Know that Teri scores a four out of five, Rachel a perfect five, Geri a three, Patsy a two and Charlotte a two.
The marks are for sartorial elegance. And while Rachels scarlet figure-hugging gown scores highly, the rest of the gang enjoy mixed reviews.
But as Charlotte does her bit for Africa by wrapping her outfit up in a black bin liner and dumping it outside Bob Geldofs house, the Sun takes another look at the offending garment.
MIX UP YOUR COLOURS WITH YOUR WHITES, CHARLOTTE? shouts the Suns headline. The paper then produces its own picture of the dress, which is indeed a hideous, multi-patterned blend of pink swirls, leopard skin and unflattering hip-hugging cream.
While African womanhood awaits the arrival of this Charlotte Church original – and a never to be repeated one at that – we learn that Geri will not be wearing her little black number at Live 8.
In fact, what Geri, aka Ginger Spice, will be wearing at the biggest rock n roll event of all time will be of little concern because few of us will see it.
Yes, folks, after much deliberating, the Mail says that the Spice Girls will not be playing at the charity concert.
Bob Geldof, dressed in an edgy, multi-patterned blend of pink swirls, leopard skin and hip-hugging cream, explains: I just cant afford to have a band who wont pull in the crowds. This is a political event, not a cultural one.
So, theres room for political heavyweights like Robbie Williams and Madonna but no space for the band that did so much to empower girls.
This is a deep shame. But we note that Geris not the only one missing out. Like her, Charlotte Church will also not be playing, nor will Teri, Rachel or Patsy.
Which goes to show how important wearing the right outfit really is…
Paul Sorene is the Anorak’
Bin Money
‘NEWSPAPERS are often little more than litter waiting to be dropped.
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| Getting litter into the bin and so avoiding a fine was getting harder by the day |
How often have we seen one of the Mails newssheets capriciously flapping around some soulless inner city shopping precinct, clucked our tongues and wondered how so much Empire and Tiffin came to this?
But things are set to change, lest all be swamped by a papery sea of falling house prices, asylum seekers and teenage mums with piercings.
So, pulling a sheet of paper from beneath our shoes, we read the Mails front-page news: MARCH OF THE LITTER POLICE.
Yesterday was DDay for litter louts. From now on, anyone dropping so much as a cigarette butt is liable for fine of £50 from their local authority or parish council.
And theres more. Fly-tipping is now an arrestable offence. Youll be able to complain about light pollution, excessive light emanating from a neighbouring property.
And councils now have the power to issue £75 notices to anyone caught spraying graffiti or fly-posting.
Its a shiny new scheme. And it gets better when we learn that the police will not have to spend all their time on such matters because the drive to make Britain clean will be lead by local council workers.
Councils will be able to designate any of their staff to ask a litter lout for their name and address and then issue a fine. A refusal to comply could lead to calls for police back up.
So, if you are pulled up by a council traffic warden, upset that youve just dropped at insert from the Mail on the ground, listen to what he has to say.
And if you are given a fine, try to resist the urge to rip it up and pollute the air with your ugly rant about this just being another way for councils to get rich.
Instead, take the fixed penalty notice and post it neatly into one of the many bins – so long as you can fine one and your local authority didnt spend the better part of last night removing them all…’
Casting Call
‘RUSSELL Crowe is fast emerging as the most likely candidate to reprise the role of ET, the foreigner who badly wanted to phone home.
| ”I wanna call Eliot” |
Vying with him for the part is our very own sexiest woman in soap, Jesse Wallace.
The auditions have begun in earnest, and the Sun says Wallace threw a tantrum when she couldnt find her mobile phone.
She got more and more distraught, says an unnamed source on the EastEnders set. It got to the point where she was crying and had become so emotional they had to send her home in a car.
Car, make-up truck, space ship, what difference? And we salute a bravura performance by one of the nations favourite players.
But though Wallace is undoubtedly a fine soap actress, who can do the full range of human emotion, from shouting to screaming through yelling and bawling, Crowe is Hollywood.
In PRATTUS MAXIMUS, the Sun leaves Wallace to focus on her chief agonist, Crowe, who was auditioning for the part in New York.
And he too acted up when looking for a working phone. Having extended a long, bony finger and, apparently, tried to phone his wife, Danielle, at their home in Sydney, Crowe was horrified to find that he could not get through.
At this point, Crowe could have asked himself what ET would have done. But instead of sending down to room service for the movie and getting in character, Crowe remembered what hed seen the night before: a world championship boxing fight in Manchester.
And Crowe knew what to do. He ripped the handset from the wall, left his room and went downstairs. And we get to find out what then allegedly occurred in the Mail, which has taken a look at the criminal complaint lodged against Crowe.
Reading like bald stage direction, the rap sheets goes: Defendant picked up a telephone and threw it at informant [a 28-year-old hotel night porter], hitting him in the face and causing a laceration and substantial pain. Defendant admitted he picked up the phone and threw it at informant because he was angry.
Defendant possessed a dangerous or deadly instrument with intent to use it unlawfully against another.
Of course, when viewed from a different angle, through a different lens, the scene, as narrated by Crowes publicist, Robin Baum, looks oddly different.
In this version, lets call it the PRs cut, Crowe asks the front desk to replace his faulty phone. But instead of a new handset, he gets something called attitude.
So Crowe takes the phone downstairs, in an effort to address the situation in person. Words are exchanged [although not down the faulty phone] and Crowe ends up throwing the phone against the wall.
Its quite a show. And Wallace looks to have her work cut out if she wants to get the part.
Although the Mails news that Crowe could, theoretically, face a maximum eight years in jail for the alleged assault makes Wallace an early favourite…
Paul Sorene is the Anorak’
The Show Bomber
‘WE dread to think what Russell Crowe would do should he ever audition for the role of Osama bin Laden in any biopic of the bearded lunatic.
| Kamal is safer where he is |
But while we ponder that chilling prospect, the Star alerts us to another threat, announcing on its front page: BIG BRUV BOMB PLOT.
News is that someone has been sending hate mail containing death threats to one of the contestants on the Big Brother show.
But before you can say Only one?, know that this is a serous business. And the situation has got security guards jittery.
Just yesterday, the forces standing between 12 preening, prancing human goldfish and destruction were confronted with a suspicious package.
No, not the contents of Dereks shorts, but an even more terrifying looking package, one bad enough to spark a massive security operation.
Police were called. Specialist teams X-rayed the parcel and found that it contained no explosives, rather a pair of stiletto shoes sent in by some fetishist keen to see the shows cross-dressing Kamal in them.
This gives the Star the chance to create the headline THE SHOE BOMBER – while we worry about what the faceless voice that punctuates the show really means when he says: Who stays and who goes? You decide…’
The Kiss
‘DO you know the brunette? asks the Sun. The paper wants anyone who can identify the woman seen kissing David Beckham for 15-20 seconds last weekend to get in touch.
| Love is…a man who kisses you on the top of your head |
Theres an email address and phone number for just this purpose. But before we can use either of them, our eye is caught by the Mirrors headline.
POSH: THE TRUTH, announces the Mirror on its front page. This is the AMAZING EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW that will surely blow the tinted lid off the Beckham marriage.
Sadly, no interview with a Rebecca Loos hopeful is forthcoming, and we are none the wiser as to the identity of the mystery brunette.
But we do hear that, whoever she is, its all innocent fun. Its a pathetic joke, says Posh. Fans come up to him all the time. Its as if its part of the job.
Hold the phone, Sun readers. If it is a joke, surely its more cruel than pathetic. And is kissing fans in Davids contract? Are Real Madrid pimping their star player out to the clubs supporters? And, if so, can we expect to see some of the less photogenic, fatter and more masculine Madrilenos locking lips with Dave?
Oh, come on Posh, dont look so glum. We are sorry to have brought up the subject of weight. But since we are on it, hows the body?
Ive got so much saggy skin on my stomach! And Ive got no bum at all, says she.
Before we suggest she treat herself to a set of bum implants, or eat some fattening food, Posh has composed herself and moved on. I might fit into jeans but, trust me, I look really awful naked.
Ok, we trust you. We really, really trust you. Just as we trust David, who we see standing lovingly by your side in the Mail as he opens his Los Angeles soccer academy.
A host of footy mad stars turned up to wish David well in his new venture, including Robbie Williams, Lionel Richie and the woman who taught Dave everything he knows about penalty taking, Diana Ross.
None are seen planting a lingering kiss on Day-vids lips, but you can be certain that had the part demanded it, a consummate professional like Englands captain would have done whatever was necessary…’
Fatter, Fitter, Faster
‘BEFORE Posh steps on the treadmill in an effort to make her buttocks as full as that womans who was, apparently, seen kissing her husband at the weekend, she should pause.
| Dwayne was ready for another two minutes of frenzied, heart-pumping eating |
And in that hiatus, she should hear the Mails news that just two minutes of intense exercise a day does as much to keep you fit as two hours of moderate training.
Professor Martin Gibala, whose report is a boon for couch potatoes, gym dodgers and fast lovers, says: The whole excuse that I didnt have time to exercise is directly challenged by these findings.
This is good news. And while Posh straddles her Dave for three repetitions of two minute bursts of frenzied exercise, the Sun tells us that it could be just as good to do nothing at all.
Britain might well be in the grip of an obesity crisis, as the Mail claims, but the Sun says you can be fat and happy.
Clinical psychologist Jane Wardle asked 5,000 children aged between 11 and 15 about body image, self-esteem and their eating habits.
And she discovered that obese children were no more likely to be depressed or suffer from major psychiatric problems than their thinner peers.
And this is despite the fact that they face social dejection and even discrimination, says Wardle.
And if the overweight can bench press their jumbo hot dogs and curl a matching pair of super-sized fizzy drinks for just two minutes a day, so much the better for them…’
The Bad Book
‘YOURE in a hospital bed, waiting for the premed sedative to kick in, when your conscience pricks your anxious mind.
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| ‘And on the 7th day, while resting, God caught the MRSA superbug’ |
Youre possessed by a sudden urge to repent for some long-suppressed sin, an ill committed in your youth and in rare folly.
Your hand inches to the draw beside your bed, and using every ounce of effort in your hurting body, you remove the book from within.
But whats this? Wheres the Bible, the hotline to God through which you can confess all? Its gone. And in its place is a pamphlet preaching about cultural diversity and the need for tolerance.
You then realise youre not dying youre in Leicester. And your nightmare is a vision of the future should managers of the local NHS get their way. As the Mail screams from its front page: HOSPITAL BAN ON THE BIBLE.
For added impact, the Express leads with exactly the same headline, and features heavily the words of Iain Mair, UK head of Gideons International, the Bible company you can trust.
Mair thinks its a ridiculous notion that suggests having Bibles kept besides all hospital beds causes offence to non-Christians. He calls the proposal outrageous. And then, with a sharp intake of breath, Mair delivers the line the paper wants: This is political correctness gone mad.
And it doesnt end there. Over in the Mail, we learn of the other reason the good men and women of Leicester think Bibles are bad news: they spread the MRSA superbug.
Those of us who thought Bibles simply spread the word of God, albeit with a Judeo-Christian bent, now learn that the book could play a role in disseminating the scourge of hospital wards.
Before we have time to digest this, Iqbal Sacranie, of the Muslim Council of Great Britain, steps forward to call the idea ridiculous and extreme.
And this is not to say that he likes it, as some Mail readers will suppose, but that he thinks it a bad thing. As too does Professor Harminder Singh, of the Sikh Divine Fellowship, who says that in 30 years of working with interfaith groups this has never been an issue.
But today it is. And like the Express and Mail, we believe it to be one of the utmost importance.
But it is not up to us to see that good deeds be done. Nor is it up to God. The decision whether or not to remove the Bibles rests with the higher power of the Leicester NHS Trust, who work in mysterious ways, their wonders to perform…’
Black List
‘ALL week long the papers have been playing a game of will they, wont they?
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| This year’s black |
Now adding his weight to the call to get the Spice Girls to perform at Live 8 is Chris Martin, the lead singer of UK band Coldplay.
Martin, who is fast turning into pops Mr Rent-A-Quote, says in the Sun how he hopes the Spices will play because they were a phenomenon. They should get back together and do it.
And so they should. And we wonder how any credible charity gig can find no space for the band that took up the cudgel of female emancipation, wrapped it in a thong and screamed Girl Power at a cruel world from the back of a limousine?
And there is another yet a more worthy reason why the Spices should perform. As the Mail reports, of the 22 acts confirmed for the Hyde Park event, not one is black.
This is an oddity, especially since the show is supposed to be helping Africa, a place where were told lots of black people live.
But why is this so? As the Mail asks: Why no black stars? Perhaps there are no black musicians. Weve got green ones (the Crazy Frog) and orange ones (Girls Aloud), but why no black ones?
But, of course, if the Spices perform, this will change, because in their midst is one Scary Spice, brown skinned Melanie Brown.
Its clear that the Spice Girls must perform – not only to save the word from disaster, but to give Africans the belief that they can sing and dance with the best of them, so long as they really, really wannabe it…’
On A Promise
‘HAVING already made the mistake of thinking Abi Titmuss a slapper, the world is now reeling with the news that neither is Big Brothers Lesley.
| Lesley as Abi Titmuss |
Readers of the Sun can see Lesley for themselves, as she sits in a pool of water rubbing her nipples.
The rest of us will have to make do with the words of plumber Mark Hallas, who once dated the demure lass.
She has been portrayed as a man-hungry slapper but she always said she would not have sex in the first year and we split up before that, explains Mark.
This is big news, not least of all for the producers of Big Brother, who even in their wildest fantasies cannot hope to eke the show out from its usual ten-week stint to a full calendar year, even if it is for the promise of a live shag.
And its just as big a shock to Tom Birkinshaw, who claims that rather then being a demure virgin she was a virgin when I met her and a virgin when our relationship finished, says Hallas Lesley was rampant.
Shed do anything. She was really dirty, says Birkinshaw, who says that the girl who bounced onto our screens dressed as a naughty nurse used to do sexual favours for the lads.
Its all too confusing. And it gets more so when Lesley last night opened up a can of worms when she immersed her bikini-clad body into the Big Brother pool.
Do you think my nipples are too big? Lesley asked housemates Max and Anthony. Do you think my tits look saggy for my age?
What the boys said is not revealed. Leaving poor misunderstood Lesley in a state of confusion, to wrestle with her inner slapper, and her bra top…’
Forever Young
‘WE may never learn what Penny Lancaster sees in multi-millionaire showbiz legend Rod Stewart, but today we do at least get to know what he sees in her: a baby.
| In for a Penny |
While most old rockers are preparing to give their careers a shot of Live Aid IIs worthy pop Viagra, 60-year-old Stewart is planning to be a father for the seventh time.
I am overjoyed and extremely proud to be able to confirm that my fiancée Penny is carrying our baby, says Rod in the Star.
He goes on: It will come as no surprise that Penny and I wanted to start a family as soon as possible.
Were not sure who Rod is addressing with that comment – his legion of fans? His last two wives? His pharmacist?
Rods been dating Penny for almost six years, which makes us wonder how long the seed of fatherhood has taken to mature? And briefly consider how long it would have taken Rod to impregnate Penny had he chosen to wait a while?
But lets not dwell on the case history, nor ponder the effect of tight leopard-skin trousers on the male reproductive system, but simply join the Mail in wishing Rod the very best of luck.
And then take a look at the Mails Rods Love Map, which uses coloured lines to illustrate links between Rods many former lovers, his siblings and their lovers.
Its a busy page, calling on readers to use their expertise in orienteering to track the link from Rod to Tania Strecker, a model engaged to Anthony de Rothschild, a former boyfriend of Rachel Hunter, who was Rods wife No. 2.
As the Mail links Rod to a long part of New Zealand and blonder areas of the US, we spot Kimberly Stewart, Rods daughter by ex-wife Alana Hamilton. Shes now involved with Wes Scantlin, who used to date Rachel Hunter, who, as weve said, used to be married to her dad.
This is less a road map and more a busy intersection, as we learn how Rods former lover Britt Eckland also dated Rod Adler, father of Cisco Adler, former lover of Kimberly Stewart.
And of Ashley Hamilton, Rods former step-son, who is a close pal of Robbie Williams, the singer who has dated Rachel Hunter.
And on it goes, until in time to come the greater Los Angeles area is peopled by a race of smallish men and women with excitable blond hair, zipping around town and asking everyone to honk twice if they find them sexy…’
Sisters Are Doing It For Themselves
‘THE report of the Spice Girls death has been greatly exaggerated.
| There are only two people in a marriage |
Yesterdays Mirror did not produce pictures of the Queens Own Atomic Kittens or the First Armoured Girls Aloud torturing the Spices in the back of a truck, but the paper did say that the band had been deemed too plastic for Live Aid II.
They would not be performing in the biggest music event of the century.
Today we know that to be less than the full truth. Just listen to Bob Geldof speaking to the Mail: I spoke to them [Spices] this morning and its looking good that they will be there.
He goes on: Theres a lot of stuff they have got to sort through…There are only two people in a marriage, remember but five in a band.
Unless, of course, the Girls are in a polygamous marriage, which opens up an altogether different debate, and makes us wonder which one, if any, is the man of the outfit. (Answers on a shell suit to the usual address.)
And then there is the none too small matter of an affair, which would make three in a marriage, or given the hedonistic nature of pop stars lives, four, five or six.
We are unable to name many of Halliwells lovers, but the one called Ginger did leave the band to flirt with a solo career.
It was an affair that gave birth to a bastard music of sorts, and she has enjoyed the most No.1s of any member of the band.
But now, as the Sun says, Geri the artiste is to be no more. In Geri: Its Over, readers are invited to cast off their ear plugs, remove the tape from the eyes and know that Geris new track is so dire that it sounds a tuneless death knell on her singing career.
After some heavy marketing, news is that her latest assault on the airwaves, an insipid track called Desire, has hobbled into the charts at No. 18.
As far as your music career is concerned, Geri, says the Sun, your p45 is in the post. To emphasise this, the paper offers Geri some career guidance by showing what shed look like working in McDonalds.
Which all means that Halliwell needs Live Aid II five simultaneous free concerts in Europe and America – to save her career from terminal heartburn.
So come on Hans in Berlin, Fabio in Rome, Brad in the USA, Serge in Paris and Josh in London, dig deep in your pockets and give it up for Geri.
Is she not thin? Is she not needy? Is she not starved of success? Dig deep in your pockets and give.
The rest of us cant bear to listen to her pitiful screaming any longer…’
Code Of Conduct
‘WE are all of us looking for meaning.
| ”It’s a crazy plan, but it just might work” |
In the Mail, Bobby Freeman was cooking breakfast when he found meaning in a cracked egg. It was an uncanny resemblance, says Freeman, who took a photo of his frying pan.
I got others to look, and all agreed it was just like the Queen.
Indeed it does, and while we pour over Her Majestys two fried eggs, marvelling at how the whites of one have formed into a silhouette of her famous crowned head, we turn to the Express.
Over there, we learn that many readers of the Da Vinci Code, Dan Browns book in which a US professor tries to uncover the secrets of the Holy Grail, believe the book to be true.
Some are arriving at Westminster Abbey, which features in the book, and asking guides to tell them if such and such a thing really is so.
At this news, you might suppose the protectors of the Christian faith would rejoice, delighted at the interest in their religion.
But having denied the company making a Hollywood film of the book access to the Abbey, the authorities are now equipping tourist guides with information sheets highlighting the many wrongs in Browns bestselling work.
But not all of Christianity is singing from the same hymn sheet, and while Westminster says no, Lincoln Cathedral is happy to accept £100,000 to stand in for the London edifice in the movie.
As Alec Knight, dean of Lincoln, says: Aspects of the book make no sense at all but the film will ensure our faith is discussed.
Indeed. And we look forward to its release with great interest, especially the scene in which Jesus (BA Baracus) turns to Mary Magdalene (Pamela Anderson) and asks her why God (Larry Hagman) walked out on his dear old mum (Joan Collins) all those years ago.’
War On Wannabes
‘BOB Geldof has told us what he wants what he really, really, wants.
| Feed the Spices |
He wants to put an end to world hunger. He wants us to dig deep into our pockets and give until it hurts. He wants to zigazig ah.
And, as the Mirror says on its front page, what the patron saint of pop doesnt want is the Spice Girls rocking up at his Live Aid II, curiously named Live 8, and ruining things with their brand of what the Mirror terms plastic pop.
Only last week, Ginger, Scary, Baby, Posh and the other one were celebrating being booked to sing at the show. This would give them a return to front-line pop, a move that would surely see them reclaim their pre-eminent position in the global music scene.
Now, just a few days on, a spokesman for the Girls says they will be gutted at being denied the chance to do their bit to ease world hunger.
But can this be right? A spokesman for the BBC, which is to broadcast the show on July 2, explains snootily that with all due respect to them, Live 8 isnt Party in the Park.
So what is it? Its a political rally to out pressure on world leaders and their kind of pop act didnt seem right for this kind of event.
Oh come on. Would a selfish non-politicised band consider singing, If you wanna be my lover, you have got to give? And as for Girl Power and the championing of a womans right to vote and flash her knickers, well…
And we wonder how if the selfless Spices are not allowed in, why the likes of Robbie Williams singing a version of We Will Rock You and Oasis doing for the Whos My Generation what they have previously done for the Beatles are.
While we have a rethink – and slowly come to realise that Destinys Child, who will be playing, are something other than a manufactured trio, and how being bootylicious is not a chance to brag about your big arse, but a biting satire on world hunger – we wonder if Geldof has got it wrong.
Rather than stop Geri and her girl gang performing, perhaps it would be better to let them play on. And better still if they could line up as they left us, as a fourpiece. This way the Crazy Frog could stand in for La Halliwell.
The message will be that the band will only stop singing when the world changes into something Geldof approves of.
To our mind, therell be a revolution by the second bar of Say Youll Be there…’
Going Bananas
‘TO let you know the profiles of each of this years 13 Big Brother contestants in one go would take too long and test your patience to breaking point.
| Spot the banana |
Better to just trickle them out a little at a time and focus on a different characteristic of each.
So its over to the Mirror to bone up on the sensational news that Saskia (Cheryl Tweedy with a sugar addiction) has a thing for men with tattoos.
She also has a thing for bananas, and the paper produces a large photo of Saskia eating one of the phallic-shaped fruits.
The same shot appears in the Sun, albeit smaller and in black and white.
And for some reason, alongside the photo, the Sun says that Ladbrokes have cut the odds on their being a Big Brother shag from 5-2 to evens.
Although bets are not being taken on Saskia eating another banana, nor of the papers salivating over a picture of her doing so.
What with it being a dead cert…’
