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.
Header Master
‘LOVER, waxer, clotheshorse, hair-dyer, ball juggler, texter, father David Beckham is from the sips of his pedicured toes to the end of his tinted hair the modern man.
| ”C U after class” |
Many want to be just like Becks, and thanks to his new soccer schools, we can.
The Mirror says that yesterday, Englands captain launched his own football academy, located next to the ill-fated Millennium Dome in South East London.
This is a dream come true for me, says Day-vid. I want kids to learn but the most important thing is that they have the wow factor. Its about kids having fun and somewhere to escape to.
And, naturally, learning what it takes to be a top footballer.
So look out for modules in cheating, diving, spit-roasting, effing and blinding, petulance, having an affair, endorsing junk food, drink-driving…’
Hooked On Love
‘IM sexually attracted to Abu and I dont care who knows it, says the Suns headline.
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| ‘Let’s hook up’ |
No, this is not another amazing twist in the Michael Jackson trial, rather the thoughts of Julia Heaten, 43, who has a thing for Abu Hamza, the Suns favourite mad mullah.
I WANT NOOKIE WITH HOOKIE, begs Julia on the Suns front page. We then hear her tell the paper: Its a sexual thing on my part.
Feeling the need to explain further, she adds: I am attracted to big physical men and Abu is big. There is just something about him that makes me go weak at the knees.
Indeed, there may well be something about Julia herself that causes her knees to periodically buckle, since the paper thinks it important for us to know that she weighs 17stone and suffers from arthritis.
But Hamza is not spoilt for choice, and from his digs at Bellmarsh Prison hes taken to corresponding with the twice-divorced woman from Goole, East Yorkshire.
(Despite his having two hooks for hands, Hamza can fit on an artificial hand for writing.)
And the Sun has seen his first letter to Julia, and reproduces it for readers interested in such things, and to give a few pointers at what other women who have a thing for one-eyed, bearded extremists can expect to get in the post.
My real name is Mustafa and I am from Egypt, Alexandria. I am a civil engineer. I graduated with honours form Brighton University, writes Hamza.
So much for the small talk, and before long its time to moan about the zionist media and how happy he is to have lost his hands for Gods cause.
Sweet words to sweep any girl of her feet. Although, given Julias size, even silver-tongued Hamza may have to try harder…’
Badge Of Dishonour
‘IN recent weeks, the British Army has been in the dock.
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| The Order of Vienna medal and Churchillian ‘V’ sends out a mixed message |
First, we had the revolting sight of a few squaddies behaving shamefully in Iraq; then we saw pictures of a soldier pouring beer down a horses throat.
And now the Army is in the dock once more – or at least its badges of honour are.
For there in the Sun is a picture of Michael Jackson wearing the motif of the Cheshire Regiment.
And there he is in the badge of the Sherwood Foresters; the Royal Engineers insignia on his breast pocket; the symbol of the Royal Corps of Transport; the Wiltshire Regiments badge; and the Royal Warwickshires antelope.
In other times, this could be cause for the Sun to celebrate as it salutes the man whos getting behind our brave boys fighting in the sand dunes and trenches.
But with Abu Hamza in jail and Bin Laden possible dead, Jacko is the papers official weirdo No.1, and that means he causes great offence to people when he dresses in such a way.
People like Des Mawby, who served for ten years with the Warwickshires. Im disgusted, says Des. It is totally inappropriate.
The paper says that regimental secretary, Major Richard Mills, has been flooded with calls from outraged soldiers.
It shows immaturity that Michael wears this without thinking what it means to our men, says he. It devalues it.
Although, oddly enough, before his trial, no-one seemed to mind…’
End Of The Lines
‘FOR many, Princess Michael of Kent has long been the unacceptable face of the Royal Family.
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| ‘After ze lunch, I vill rid you of zose lines, ja’ |
The blonde, blue-eyed daughter of Günther Hubertus, Baron von Reibnitz, once a member of the Nazi party, is about as charming as a prolapsed pile.
But at last she seems to have realised the problem, and has set about trying to correct it.
No, not with an apology for behaviour which has earned her the nickname Princess Pushy and seen her labelled as something less than racially enlightened by New York restaurant diners, but by having her lines seen to.
Having told us that her complexion was genetic ‘we have that kind of skin that does not age – the woman born Marie-Christine Anne Agnes Hedwig Ida von Reibnitz now admits its all a matter of Botox.
In fact, shes been having her face injected with toxin botulinum for some time, around five years. Everybody over the age of 25 should take it, says she.
But before taking her advice, know that it can cause side-effects.
Cliff Richard claims he gave up Botox when it began to make his eyebrows droop.
Others have complained about a sudden amnesia about their parentage and a craving for money, status and fame…’
The Pyjama Game
‘ITS a sure sign we are all getting older when the Mirror carries a story about Michael Jacksons bad back.
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| You know it’s Bad |
Rightly, this is front-page news, serving as a message to everyone that no matter how much oxygen you swallow, how many nips and tucks you subject your body to and how young your friends are, you will still grow old.
You may even, like the singer, suffer from a serious back problem, causing you to be rushed to a hospital.
But time was pressing, and Jackson had just a few hours to make the 35 mile trip from his sick bed to the Santa Maria courthouse where his accuser Gavin Arvizo was due to testify.
How cruel that on this most testing of days for the 15-year-old, when all the world would avidly tune into his every word, the prince of pop should go lame and add to the growing tension.
No wonder the paper says that disbelieving judge Rodney Melville was angry, ordering Jackson to return to court under threat of jail and revocation of his $3million bail.
Jackson heard the call, and like some modern day Lazarus, he rose from his sick bed, climbed into a car and sped to his date with destiny.
And so it was that just ten minutes after the 8:30 deadline, Jackson stepped from his 4×4 looking, as the Mirror notes, pale and shaky.
But although his appearance seemed as normal, Jackson was dressed in a pair of blue pyjama bottoms and black slippers. While handy for moonwalking, the outfit is not the traditional suit and sparkly glove so favoured by defendants wanting to look righteous and upstanding before the Beak.
But this is Michael Jackson, a trendsetter. And so dressed he took his seat in court. And promptly burst into tears.
He then sat gulping down deep breaths and looking distressed, his hands trembling, Jackson, 46, put on sunglasses but continued to dab tears from his eyes, says the Sun.
It really is too awful to see. The poor man is suffering, and has surely suffered enough. Who is this heartless Arvizo, who is seen entering the courtroom and glancing across at Jackson, who is still crying?
Has the boy no pity? Lets end this before Jackson suffers any more and his jeremiads make us all start to cry…’
Something Fishy
‘LETS play a word association game. Ready? Ok. Gordon Ramsay…
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| Hello, sailor |
Whooaaah! Calm down, there are children watching. One word will do, and if must launch into a volley of such odious expletives, please do so in the small rubber room that counts for your home.
But someone is still hopping mad. And as the Express says, Liam Tooke has reason to be less than delighted with the foul-mouthed celebrity chef.
Having revived a gift of Gordon Ramsays Passion Fruit Parfait Kit from his loving fiancée, Tooke, himself a professional chef, got to work.
The £15 pressie included four stainless steel moulds, a recipe, some chocolates and a tin of passion fruit in syrup, or Gordon Ramsay Passion Fruit Pulp in Syrup, to give the condiment its full mouth-watering title.
Only, the label was loose, and became looser still as Tooke began to peel it away. And he was met with the ugly truth. This was not Ramsays creation, but the work of one John West, a man more renowned for his tinned salmon.
Over in the Mirror, Ramsays team are less than contrite. His aide simply tells us: The John West logo should have been removed by the distribution company.
Of that f****** distribution company, as Ramsay may now be calling it…’
Charles’s Plants
‘WITH no ex-wife for her to worry about and no mother-in-law for her to compete with, Charles and Camillas wedding plans are going pretty well.
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| Charles and his best man |
But you can never be too careful, and it seems that Royal aides are trying to fix the crowds that will cheer the happy couple to and from their wedding.
The Mail says that staff at Clarence House, where Charles and Camilla live, are planning to stage-manage the entire affair.
And having already decided to pack the service and wedding venue with guests to prevent undesirables gaining access, the plan is to repeat the trick on the streets around Windsors Guildhall.
The intention is to bar the way for any fans of Princess Diana determined to scupper Charless wedding day.
As the paper says, many of the guests are likely to be military personal brought along to make up the numbers.
Or plants, as Charles would prefer them to be known…’
Ballet Good Show
‘AS Prince Charles crawls on all fours at the Palace, Camilla Parker Bowles gives him a stern lashing with a riding crop, reports the Mail.
| And Camilla wears the trousers |
Whats this? Has the paper gained access to some salacious inside gossip about what Charles and his fiancée like to get up to of a night in?
Sadly not, and the mystery of what Camilla does for Charles that Diana could not do remains what it ever was, a mystery.
The scene reproduced in the Mail of Camilla in full riding gear ready to give her supplicant a damn good thrashing was enacted not at Highgrove House but at the Palace Theatre, Manchester.
Its a moment from a new ballet called Diana, the Princess a celebration of Dianas life.
And its not hard to imagine how much the late Princess of Hearts would have celebrated seeing her former husband being whipped in public.
Just as she would have enjoyed the Express story that the Prince has, yet again, been making himself look like a bit of a tit, or albatross, if you will, in public.
Having wowed one woman and her dingo in Australia, the paper notes that Charles has relocated to New Zealand, where he pulled on a traditional Maori chiefs cloak and wrap-around dancing skirt made from albatross feathers.
A kind of Kiwi tutu, if you will…’
Orchestra Pits
‘AND you come to me in a Fiat Uno with your candles in the wind…
| ”And through it all she offers me protection…” |
Youd think if Eltons Johns dirge were good enough for Princess Diana it would be more than suitable for the rest of us to rock out to at our own funerals.
But the Mirror notes that Eltons death classic doesnt even make the Top Ten of songs wed like to have at our own funerals.
According to a survey by the digital TV channel Music Choice, which – having miraculously found 4,500 viewers to question – discovered that the No.1 coffin-side hit is Robbie Williamss Angels.
But the songs mawkish sentimentality – the name alone offers a ray of hope to the survivors standing along the funeral pits edge is not everyones favourite.
Over on the continent, the preference is for Queens The Show Must Go On.
Williams tribute to winged creatures only makes the list at No.6, and once again we see neither hide nor red acrylic hair of dear Elton.’
Off His Face
‘NEWS now to make us lament the age in which we live.
| ”Er…” |
Back in the days before Simon Cowell was musics kingmaker, pop stars lived a life we mortals could only envy.
They had the groupies, the drugs, the booze and the ability to behave like boorish thugs and be adored for it.
But that was then, and today we read in the Sun that the death knell has been sounded for rock music.
The Sun tells us that Ozzy Osbourne, the so-called Prince of Darkness, has had a facelift.
That might not be a ponytail hanging behind Ozzys addled head, but his pre-op eyebrows and sideburns bunched together and tethered with a hair bubble.
Ozzy had insisted he had lost his gaunt appearance by opting for a cleaner lifestyle and giving up the drink and drugs.
Ive had a face job and a new nose. It boosted my confidence no end, says Ozzie, through a hole above what may or may not be his neck…’
Lion In Wait
‘FURIOUS soccer fans hit out last night when old football foes Germany revealed that they had pinched the hero who inspired Englands 1966 World Cup triumph, reports the Star.
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| Germany Surrenders! |
Whats this? The Germans have dug up the corpse of Sir Alf, and are planning to perform another live televised autopsy on his noble remains?
Not exactly. HANS OFF OUR WILLIE, demands the front-page headline, and this will be enough for older readers to put two and two together.
Yes, thats right, the Germans have copied the legendary lion mascot and plan to use it as the logo for the World Cup, which they host next year.
Well, they say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and its not hard to see why Willie, with his severe side-parted hair and toothbrush moustache, would appeal to our German friends.
But it turns out that all is not what it seems. World Cup Willheim (as the Star dubs him) bears little relation to the dapper little chap who won our hearts in 66.
Where Willies chin was clean-shaven, Goleo VI (as the German version is known) has a horrible blond beard, and his lack of an accompanying moustache makes him even more unseemly.
Add to this his saggy orange trousers, and the overall look resembles one of those horrible hippies who smell of cheese and block the corridors on European trains with their backpacks and guitars.
Admittedly, Goleo wears a football shirt and soccer shoes, but even so, he is hardly the kind of role model that FIFA should be promoting to the worlds youth.
The paper concludes that the Germans problem is that they cant seem to look beyond 1966 when they were beaten in the final by a rampant England.
Hear, hear. Germanys mediocre World Cup record (champions a paltry three times, runners-up three times, and a few semis and quarters) means that they are forever harking back to the day they lost to the nation with which they are obsessed.
Its high time they moved on, and left the lions where they belong rampant’ on the chests of our English footballing champions.’
Flamin’ Hell
‘FELLAS, would you like to pull a tasty bird like Kate Price, the glamour model and celebrity formerly known as Jordan?
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| Jordan and Peter Andre prepare for parenthood |
Of course you would. But how? Well, first of all, youve got to get your grooming right. So once youve shaved your entire body so you look like a Chelsea player, and youve chosen the choicest items from your designer wardrobe, you are faced with the final decision: which perfume do you apply to your immaculately moisturised face?
I love the smell of the Flamin Hot variety, says Kate. And in case you havent heard of it, let us tell you that Flamin Hot is not the latest scent from Calvin Klein. Its one of the Monster Munch range of crunchy snacks, and Kate is very partial.
Thats not the whole story, though. Mum-to-be Katie Price thinks she will have a girl this time because she has a craving for Monster Munch, explains the paper.
No further explanation for this curious logic is provided, so we leave you to draw your own conclusions.’
Blue Remembered Mills
‘STROP OF THE LEAGUE, declares the Sun, above a picture of a bald-headed thug whose face is contorted in a mask of pure hatred.
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| Mills is dark and very possibly Satantic |
But this is no mindless hooligan; it is Danny Mills, the former England player who now plies his trade at Manchester City a club described by the paper as being top of the table.
The table in question is not the Premiership, however, but the Suns own swearing league.
As a protest against bad behaviour in football, the paper has enlisted the aid of TV replays and lip-reading experts in order to monitor the amount of swearing in top-level matches.
It then names and shames the guilty men and demands that the clubs pay £5 to gypsy charities sorry, the Great Ormond Street childrens hospital for every expletive.
The paper has yet to receive any payment from City, who are early leaders with nine swear-words, five ahead of second-placed Blackburn, who say they are going to look at it.
Citys star swearer is the aforementioned Danny Mills, and the paper devotes a special box to a list of his foul-mouthed utterances during Citys match against Bolton.
Its a shocking read. F*** off, he tells the ref, while Bruno NGotty is called a f***ing prick.
Space restrictions have apparently prevented the paper from recording Mills parting shot: F*** off, Sun. A clear reference to fellow defender Sun Jihai, we hasten to add.’
A Laughing Matter
‘THE Mail reports that the physical act of laughter is good for your health, citing a report that claims it can improve your circulation by widening the blood vessels, increasing blood flow and helping reduce the risk of heart attacks and strokes.
| ”And then…ha! ha!..the gypsy used her MRSA spell…ha!ha!..to kill us all…” |
The study, which took place at the University of Maryland in Baltimore, made the discovery by testing peoples reactions to comedy films.
But the paper warns that watching more stressful films has a negative effect.
This is all very interesting, and might give food for thought to Mail readers who get as far as page 32, where the story appears.
By that time they will have been warned about hospital deaths, surrender to gypsy hordes, credit card fraud, terrorism, snail-smuggling, children turned away from hospitals, child abuse, the scandal of Comic Relief.
The crisis in our classrooms, obscenity on TV, sex beast police, chaos over school places, the betrayal of disabled children, holiday companies who rip off Brits, the swamping of nursery homes, roads from hell, school fees in state schools, drugs in the classroom…
Excuse us, would you please. We think wed better lie down for a moment…’
Millers’ Dossing
‘THE battle for The Vic drags on, and just like the 100 Year War, no-one is remotely interested. You know a soaps in trouble when not even the murder of one of the longest serving characters can deliver an interesting storyline.
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| Sam and her future |
As Den slowly rots under the cellar floor of The Vic, Chrissie and Sam are fighting it out for the pubs ownership and for control of Zoe. Chrissie has convinced Zoe that it was she who actually killed Den. Sam found that out, and has been trying to blackmail Chrissie into handing over the Vic.
But they both need to be careful because Zoe is the weakest link in this murderous chain, and shes already threatening to call the police. I cant live with the guilt any more, she sobbed to Chrissie, who hastily tried to pack her off to Spain before Sam managed to convince her to stay.
This week, though, Sam decided that she wasnt interested in taking over the Vic anymore after she got a phone call from Andys solicitor telling her that Andy had left her something in his will.
Unfortunately for Sam, the something turned out to be his wedding ring, with a message from beyond the grave to sell it so you can get your roots done. Bizarrely, Andy had left the bookies to Dennis and his house to Pat and requested that his other assets go to the local dogs home – no, not to the Slaters but an actual dogs home.
Sam was understandably upset and is now even more determined to get her hands on Chrissies assets, so to speak.
Elsewhere in Walford, the secret behind Keiths long-term skiving was revealed: he cant read or write. Id rather people fort I was lazy rather than fick he told Rosie. Unfortunately for Keith, people still think hes both.
The Millers have been found guilty of benefit fraud and Rosie is at her wits end – which lets face it, wouldnt have taken her very long to reach. The situation is so desperate that Keith even went to the job centre, but not being able to read any of the job notices on display obviously didnt get very far.
Do we suspect that the BBC are gearing themselves up for another worthy EastEnders storyline complete with helpline numbers – which obviously for people who cant read are about as useful as a nicotine patch for Pete Docherty.
Most distasteful storyline of the week has to be Sonia and Martins hilarious bedroom antics. The newly weds are finding living with Pauline somewhat constricting.
Pauline complained to them that their bedroom antics were keeping her awake at night, so Dot bought them a TV for their bedroom to drown out the noise. Its probably best not to dwell on why Dot knows tips for hiding bedroom noises.
But the funniest part of this storyline is the way that Martin has completely failed to notice that his wifes chest has doubled in size overnight. Sonias now walking around with two beach balls stuffed down her top. Perhaps shes hoping for a part time job as a Jade Goody impersonator.’
Glass War
‘A PINT FOR ME AND A THIRD FOR HER, announces the Sun.
| Drinking beer makes you irresistible to women |
But this is not another binge-drinking story describing how women neck their pints three times faster than the sorry excuses for modern men. No, this refers to a new plan for pubs to serve beer to women in wine-style glasses.
It doesnt say what a wine-style glass is, but presumably its one of those things in which British pubs serve the wine-style liquid that they give you when you order a glass of wine.
The new glasses are the brainchild of the brewers, who hope to encourage women to switch from drinking this wine-style liquid, and drink their beer-style liquid instead.
Nice try, lads, but youll have to do better than that. Young women drink pub wine for the same reason young men drink pub beer to get drunk as quickly and cheaply as possible.
If they have any sense, the producers of pub wine will simply retaliate by serving their wine-style liquid in pint glasses.
In special cases, like the pub in Walthamstow where customers like to bring their own beer in carrier bags, they could sell their fortified ersatz grape-juice in lager-shaped cans.
In fact, this pub gives a clue to how the brewers could fight back. The paper reports that 36 per cent of women in pubs have wine but only 14 per cent have lager.
In other words, even if the wine producers are successful in winning over the beer drinkers, that still leaves the other 50 per cent of women in pubs as a potential market.
If the brewers could adapt their product to these women, whose carrier bags contain meths, anti-freeze, and other specialist beverages, they would have the modern equivalent of the philosophers stone.
Trebles all round! And well have it from an unopened bottle if you dont mind…’
Street Of Shame
‘LIVE IN CORONATION STREET FOR £7K, announces the Stars front page, in what looks for all the world like the papers attempt to do a Daily Mail.
| It’s grim up north |
The Mail, you will recall, likes to offer dream homes that are worth £250,000 as prizes. The home is always the same: a thatched cottage in an orchard, with an all-white family in situ and no sign of a gypsy encampment or asylum seekers detention centre within 100 miles.
But the Star is not the Mail, and the offer to live in Coronation Street is not really an offer at all. Its a report on house prices in Salford, where the real-life Coronation Street, as featured in the soaps opening title sequence, is situated.
Before you rush out to buy one of these houses, we should remind you that although that life in Coronation Street has its downside.
For a start, every single property is boarded up. And the paper reports that in one 12-month-period in the area there were three murders, two manslaughters and five attempted murders reported to the police.
On second thoughts, compared to a typical 12-month-period in an average soap street in nearby Brookside Close, for example it sounds positively relaxing.
Nobody on telly would last five minutes in this place, confirms local resident Roy Austin. Too true far too boring…’
A Thong For Europe
‘IN the race to sing the UKs entry into the Eurovision Song Contest, anyone who breasts the line in front of Jordan and someone called Gina G must be a big star.
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| ‘And if you want to see some more…’ |
But Javine is not that big a star, not really, not yet.
As the Sun reports in an article dressed in the tongue-in-cheek headline ILL SHOW THEM IN THE FINAL, Javine, a reject from TVs Popstars, is not so big.
If we may be so bold, we estimate that during her performance on the BBCs Making Your Mind Up show, the singer showed us that he is no bigger than a B-cup.
In the front-page news (JAVINE: SIMPLY THE BREAST), the singer explains she had no idea that while celebrating her success for the song Touch My Fire her right breast had popped clean out of her outfit.
For those readers that missed the shot of Javines exposed nipple, the paper dutifully reproduces the moment that shocked a nation.
Javine, naturally, is appalled, amazed, stunned, gobsmacked and shocked that her gossamer orange dress should have let her down so dreadfully.
But shes a game girl is Javine, and tells the paper that she loves the outfit and plans to wear it again for the big Eurovision sing-off in Kiev this May, albeit with some extra stitches or tape.
The last thing I want is to have my nipples flashed to 200 million people across the world, explains Javine.
Quite so. And, in any case, thats Jordans job…’
Shooting From The Lip
‘IF its not wannabe singers showing their nipples, British TV is full of foul-mouthed footballers showing their displeasure with the referee.
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| Rooney tries to think of a word that rhymes with luck |
And, in the opinion of Martin Ward, deputy general secretary of the Secondary Heads Association, it is time to transfer football to after the 9pm watershed.
As any parent who today discovers their child pretending to be a popstar by dancing in front of a mirror and popping out a nipple in a wardrobe malfunction knows, the young ape their heroes.
And do not be in any doubt that copying the likes of Wayne Rooneys effing and blinding is wrong.
When a player tells a referee to f*** off – in full view of millions of people on television he should be sent off, first time, every time, however famous he may be, says Ward in the Mail.
He would soon learn how to behave in civilised society and an example would be set to young people.
But not everyone agrees, and the Mirror hears from Jimmy Hill. The man who once equated a comment on his elongated chin with racial abuse, says swearing is part of the game.
Most of the time its not audible on TV anyway, says Jimmy. It makes you wonder what the kids have heard already to recognise the words.
Sure it does. And the sooner dad stops calling Jimmy Hill a complete and utter w***** everytime he appears on the magic box, the better off well all be…’
Harry’s Flame
‘ANYONE who has seen the new teenage fashion of dressing up as a Nazi cannot help but agree that role models have a responsibility to their public.
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| Chelsy considers giving her bracelet to Paul Burrell for safe keeping |
But while Prince Harry sets trends, he can also set hearts fluttering, and we read in the Mail that hes just given his lover, Chelsy Davy, some jewellery.
And the paper has a shot of the 19-year-old wearing her gift.
But dont worry about being dazzled by some multi-carat sparkler, because on first inspection this bracelet looks very much like a bit of leather with some cheap shards of brass hammered onto it.
And on a second look, it appears to be just as mundane and cheap as it did on that first glance.
But Chelsy shouldnt be too downhearted; these Windsors take their time before they start dishing out the good stuff just look how long it took Camilla to get that glittering engagement ring.
Chelsy should hang on in there…’
Bubbles Rap
‘LAIR is a funny word, isnt it? If you look at it quickly, or if you are dyslexic, or just semi-literate, then you might easily misread it as liar.
| Bubbles are made to be blown |
Interesting, then, that both the Sun and Mirror choose to use it in their front-page headlines, which relate to an ongoing court case.
The Mirror sails closest to the wind with JACKOS LAIR, which is a single letter and a slip of the finger away from a very serious and possibly expensive accusation.
The Sun plays it straight with INSIDE JACKOS LAIR, although that headline is just about the only straight thing relating to Michael Jacksons Neverland nest, if its coverage of the court revelations is anything to go by.
Life-sized dolls, kids photographs, mannequins of boys and a portrait of star with Jesus Christ, announces the paper on page 4, describing some of the objects displayed in a video of Jackos lair shown to the court.
In other words, the same sort of thing you would find in most homes, judging by a cursory glance at eBay.
But this is no joking matter. Serious allegations have been made. A boy claims to have been molested.
According to one witness quoted in the Mirror, even Bubbles the chimp suffered abuse, after a nappy-changing session during which Jackson got carried away.
The paper says that Jackson was caught pleasuring his pet, and if this is true, then things look bleak for the pale-faced former prince of pop.
Then again, with a word in the right ear, and a duet with Rebecca Loos in aid of animal welfare charities, he could be back at the top of the charts by Christmas.’
He Who Dares
‘DO YOU lie awake fearing for the safety of Prince Harry?
| Harry laughs in the face of snakebites |
Oh. All right then, be like that. But even if you dont care about Harry, you probably do care about how your taxes are spent.
So the Mails story about Harrys SAS minder will be of interest, because it explains how the hot-headed royals new bodyguard will be providing value for money by preparing the prince for public life.
Unlike most SAS men, who spend their lives making spectacular cock-ups and then writing fictitious accounts of their imaginary heroics, it turns out that Jamie Lowther-Pinkerton (for it is he) is the real deal a proper hero and a former boyfriend of royal nanny Tiggy Legge-Bourke to boot.
Not only that, but he likes a drink. The Mail tells of how the Queen Mum once approached him as he left a riotous stag party at St Jamess Palace: Did you have a party here last night, Jamie? the Queen Mother asked sternly as she stepped into her carriage, adjusting her colostomy bag with effortless grace. Its just that Im so glad to see the place being properly used at last.
(By the way, as part of Anoraks policy of adding value to your news coverage, we have inserted seven extra words into the above paragraph from the Mail, as part of our new Readers Quiz. Just for fun, can you spot them?)
Anyway, Jamie Lowther-Pinker is a bloody good bloke, and hes done lots of brave and exciting things and hes jolly well going to take young Harry in hand and make a man of him.
One place he could start is by paying a trip to the Rattlebone Inn, young Harrys favourite rural watering hole.
The Mirror relates admiringly how Jamie survived snakebites during his 20 years in the army.
All well and good, but can he survive 15 snakebites and a spliff the size of a polo mallet followed by an impromptu game of nude rugby on the village green?
We here at Anorak think he can, and well fight any man who says otherwise.
Godspeed, Pinkie. A nations hopes rest on your broad shoulders.’
Pork Pies
‘TALKING of risky juxtapositions, we draw your attention to two other stories in the Sun.
| For the last time, stop playing with your implants |
On page 19, we find the curious headline: Pigs grow our breast. Whose, breast is that, then? The Suns?
No, of course not. Instead, it turns out that women will soon be able to have their breasts reconstructed using tissue grown inside PIGS.
On a previous spread, the paper splashes on Jade Goody. (Thats a newspaper term, by the way, and isnt as bad as it sounds – although in this particular case, it is pretty awful.)
For there, in all their 36DD glory, are Jades new bay-bees, as the paper comically refers to Ms Goodys fun-bags.
Readers with long memories or even long mammaries (get on with it – Ed) will recall that in Jades Big Brother days, she was unkindly known as The Pig.
Of course, there is no danger of any embarrassing confusion between the two stories. The porcine transplant report states clearly that the donor tissue grows to the size of a tennis ball.
Barely enough for the cherry on one of Jades cakes. (Youre fired Ed)’
But Is It Porn?
‘THE Express may well have access to a vast collection of erotically charged photos of Asian Babes through its owner Richard Desmonds publishing empire, but it would never soil the pages of the Express with such tawdriness.
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| Vanessa Feltz |
There is no room for Stripping Sunita from Solihull in the pages of the esteemed organ, which continues to proudly call itself The Worlds Greatest Newspaper.
Instead of sleaze, Express readers are treated to a serious study into Why this is the body women want.
The body belongs to Kelly Brook, and over two pages the Express uses photographic evidence front and back shots of the actress in a white bikini – and many words to say how terrific it is.
Those arent the tits or fun bags of some low-rent porn title, but breasts. Consider her bottom and ignore Kellys ass or arris.
While the papers legion of readers wives consider their own bodies – and those of their peers through another of Desmonds titles – we turn on a few pages to look at Vanessa Feltz.
Vanessa strikes a blow for women everywhere, says the headline to piece in which a furious Feltz is said to have poured a class of iced waster over John McCriricks head.
Theres even a photo of La Feltz doing just that, tipping her drink over the cowering horseracing presenter.
And the reason for this outrage is that while debating fidelity on TVs The Wright Stuff, the man whose sexists remarks on Celebrity Big Brother made a nation chuckle, made the clear mistake of calling the blonde one ugly.
While telling the world in a loud voice about how faithful she was during her 16 years of marriage to surgeon Michael Kurner he left her for another women Vanessa said she should have had a few skirmishes herself.
Quick off the staring gate, McCririck countered: But would anyone want to have an affair with you? Surely not. He went on: As for Vanessa she can know nothing about this because no one could possibly fancy her.
So Nessy stood up and doused the man in cold water.
And lets not doubt for a second that McCririck is wrong. As next months issue of Big Ones International will certainly prove…’
Tally J-Lo!
‘ANOTHER woman whose body we have long been asked to study and deliberate on is Jennifer Lopez.
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| Get thee to a waxing salon |
We have spent days and weeks talking about the stars backside. Is it too big? Is it just right? Is she lucky that she is the only person who doesnt ever have to look at it?
But today we get a break from the usual polemic as we turn to the Mails story about J-Los shoulders and back, and, more vitally, what is on them.
And the word of the day is fur, lots of lively soft fur. But the problem for those who turned out to berate the singer was that J-Los fur was not her own, having once belonged to a fox.
As Lopez celebrated the release of her latest album in New York, the Mail watched members of the group People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals scream their displeasure.
Around 100 members of Peta held aloft placards bearing the legend JENNIFER LOPEZ: FUR SCUM and distributed DVDs of animals being skinned.
The amount of fur J-Lo has worn recently, and now uses in her clothing line, shows she is blind the horrific cruelty of the fur industry, says Dawn Carr, a UK director of Peta.
So it would seem. And we suggest that if the peaceful campaign is not working then maybe Peta should make some noise.
Sound the bugles! Arouse the hounds! Theres a fox fur on the loose…’
