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.
Battered Ronan
‘WHEN it comes to the business of pop music, image is everything.
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| Ireland’s under-11 brawling champion |
So what if you can’t hit a note, dance or play the triangle without skipping a beat – with the right backing singers, lovers and hairstyles, you can still be the new big thing.
It’s only after the latest sensation has been around for a while that we get to see and hear what they are really like. And today we learn of two pop shocks.
First, the Mirror reports that a woman who made her neighbours’ lives a misery by blasting out music from her stereo has been kicked out of her Birmingham flat under the terms of the Anti-Social Behaviour Order.
In itself, this is no great surprise – the Mirror’s ‘RECLAIM OUR STREETS’ campaign loves highlighting the likes of Sharon McLouglin, who has been banned from owning a TV, stereo or radio.
The surprise is her choice of ‘ear-splitting music’. McLoughlin is a fan of…Dido.
Yes folks, the insipid looking mousy blonde whose softly-sung ballads have provided the backing music for a million polite dinner parties and rainy Sundays is so offensive that Judge Alistair MacDuff ordered that she be turned off.
But this is not where things end, for, over in the Sun, readers see another pop star unmasked.
When we read that a singer has gotten into a fight in a chip shop, we wonder whom the brawler could be.
Is he the lead yeller in a heavy metal band, a hardcore rap artiste or an ageing rocker reliving the hell-raising excesses of his youth?
No. He’s Ronan Keating – Ireland’s pale and none-too-interesting answer to Michael Ball.
In ‘RONAN THE BARBARIAN’, the Sun reports that, while waiting for his fish supper, Keating heard someone in the queue warbling his seminal thrash metal hit Life Is A Rollercoaster.
‘Very funny,’ said Ronan. ‘But then he starts going, ‘Who do you think you are?’ So I said, ‘Come on, then, let’s go.’ One of his mates then squares up to one of my mates and then it all kicks off. It was bam! out the door, the police turn up.’
Is this the real Ronan Keating, scrapping in the street like a thug? What happened to the clean-cut weedy looking chap with the trademark line in nice?
‘I’ve been in lots of fights in pubs,’ Ronan goes on, his victim, like the Sun’s readership, reeling from the shock of it all.
‘But my mates are very protective of me. If there’s a scenario, they’re like, ‘You get out of here. We’ll sort it.’ It drives me mad because I want to get stuck in.’
Only he can’t, what with his image to protect – to say nothing of his hands, face, ribs…’
Thrill Squeakers
‘SHHH! Can you keep it down a bit? You, the poor soul about to plunge 70 ft into a gaping black hole – can you please try not to scream?
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| ‘Shhhhhhhhhhhh!’ |
And you, the boy with the massive ice-cream – can you make the effort to choke back the vomit and not retch quite so loudly as the pirate ship tips you upside down and shakes you around like a stray sock in a washing machine?
It’s not us, you see, it’s Stephen and Suzanne Roper.
The couple live pretty close to Alton Towers theme park and, says the Mirror, are being upset by the noise of people puking their guts out and begging for mercy.
Before you argue and label the Ropers killjoys, please note that Deputy District Judge Timothy Gascoigne has heard their pleas for quiet and agreed with them.
After a hearing at Stafford Crown Court, Gascoigne ruled in the Ropers’ favour and issued a noise abatement order against the operators of white-knuckle rides with names like Nemesis, Ripsaw and Oblivion.
They whispered that they were ‘very disappointed with the verdict’, but it’s something they will have to abide by.
So sit back for the ride of your life – and scream your lungs out into the soon-to-be official Alton Towers sick bag and muffler…’
Looking After No.1
‘DO you know how far you have to walk to rid your body of a McDonald’s Big Mac? Go on, take a guess. And here’s a clue: it’s further than the dash from the counter to the bathroom.
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| Gone to the big Raiki centre in the sky |
According to nutritionist Natalie Savona, you’d have to walk for 16 miles to burn off the calories from one of Ronald McDonald’s full-fat meat and sauce sandwiches.
What would we do without nutritionists and the other new professions which have revolutionised not only the way we look at our lunch but do our shopping too?
The Mail has seen a survey of the Yellow Pages, and notes with some horror that the number of greengrocers listed has fallen by 59% over the last ten years, while butchers are down 40% and hardware shops down 34%.
This, to the Mail, is ‘astonishing’ – and has nothing to do with the fact that massive supermarkets now sell everything and have put Mr Spud and his ilk out of work, but down to the way we are more into ourselves than ever before.
The Mail reaches this conclusion by also noting that over the same decade, listings for aromatherapists have risen by 5,200%; cosmetic surgeons are up 1,780%; dieticians up by 1,440%; make-up artists by 1,006% and reflexology by 830%.
And let’s not forget our friend Ms Savona and her fellow nutritionists, which are now 969% more likely to be listed in the telephone directory than in 1994.
The figures would seem to speak for themselves. And Dr Tim Leunig, billed as an expert in economic history (figures available on request), is one hearing the news loud and clear.
‘Just as changes to the Oxford English Dictionary reflect the evolution of language, changes to Yellow Pages reflect the evolution of business,’ says he.
‘Rather than keeping up with the Joneses, we are running to keep up with ourselves and the pressures of modern life.’
Which thanks to that hastily-eaten Big Mac has made us all fit to burst. Out of the way, you Shiatsu practitioners and yoga gurus, we’ve got (bleugh!) 15 miles still to go…’
Tight Wad
‘THE Queen is so tight with her cash that, had she designed the Princess Diana Memorial Fountain, chances are it would have been a simple muddy ditch alongside a B road with ‘Di’ spelt out in weed killer.
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| ‘PG Tips, anyone?’ |
Of course, Her Majesty would defend her corner and say with confidence that such a design would have been a marked improvement on the current effort, as well as being more dog-friendly.
And before we go on (to the Tower), allow us to say that the Queen is not really mean or tight – she is frugal or what the Sun calls ‘thrifty’.
She is careful with the pennies which, once looked after, have secured her a £250m coin mountain.
And today the Express tells its readers how they too can live like the monarch, it having seen a tape of a new TV show called All The Queen’s Cooks.
This cutting-edge programme will show avid viewers how Liz doesn’t like tomatoes because the pips get stuck in her teeth.
And she doesn’t like curries and spicy foods, preferring solid fare like lamb cutlets and roast beef, with a bread-and-butter pudding or ice-cream for afters.
For these invaluable insights into the Queen’s palate we have Gary Rhodes to thank – the spiky-haired TV chef once worked as a Buckingham Palace footman.
While Rhodes waves goodbye to any chance of receiving a gong for services to hair gel, readers of the Mirror must be wondering why Ryan Parry, the paper’s own bogus lackey, never got this scoop.
Perhaps this is why Parry yesterday returned to the scene of his greatest triumph, taking a £12.95 sightseeing tour of the Windsors’ inner-London mansion where he and Rhodes both toiled.
Disappointed that the tour did not take in the Queen’s breakfast plate or ye olde Royale bins and rubbishe chute, Parry seems content to recall past glories, like the time he saw the Tupperware in which Liz’s cornflakes were stored and a pot of Waitrose natural yoghurt (31p).’
Doggy Paddle
‘IF James Hewitt does go, it’s unlikely many people will notice, let alone mark his passing with a memorial of the type bestowed upon his lover, Princess Diana.
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| Show some respect, girls! |
Not that everyone would like be remembered in the form of a strip of granite guttering that transports children straight from Hyde Park to the nearest hospital.
But don’t blame Diana, Hewitt or the designer for the debacle that is the Princess Diana Memorial Fountain, the so-called Circle Of Tears.
Better to blame yourselves – it’s you the people who are at fault when it comes to the fountain’s inability to run properly.
Not all of you – the Express says Culture Secretary Tessa Jowell is only blaming a rogue minority, a ‘small number’, for ‘behaving irresponsibly’ and spoiling everyone else’s fun.
‘The critical issue,’ says Jowell, ‘is that this is a memorial. It is not a strip of guttering [we stand corrected]. It is not a waste of money. It is not a toy.
‘It requires both a management regime by the royal parks and good sense by the public. I don’t think any responsible member of the public would want to see people allowing their dogs in it.’
Jowell then asks: ‘How can we maintain the purity of the water if some people allow their dogs to paddle in it?’
This is not a dog bath. It is a memorial, and, as such, we should – as Rosa Monkton, the chair of the committee that picked the memorial’s design, says – show ‘a little bit more respect’.
So, can we stop letting our dogs use it too cool down in, please? Can we stop paddling our feet in it? Can we stop walking in it, falling over in it, laughing at it?
Indeed, can we just do nothing at all until the entire drain is buried beneath a mountain of leaves around October time and then can we forget about it entirely?’
Rat d’Amour
‘FROM Sven Goran Eriksson, we now make the unlikely leap to tell you about James Hewitt.
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| Jacques Hewitt, cad et bon vivant |
Hewitt is the truest love rat of them all, the red-haired former cavalry officer who wooed our dear Diana and than basked in the post-coital glow.
But the Express says that he has had enough and plans to leave this fair land with its ‘dreadful pigs’ (police) and move to one more in tune with his outlook.
He’s going to live in France.
Just days after his arrest for possession of something that might or might not have been cocaine, Hewitt is making plans.
‘I hate this bloody country,’ said Hewitt in conversation with a journalist over dinner. ‘I’m gong to sell up and move abroad, buy a little cottage in France and get out of this damn place.
‘There’s nothing for me here. I just want to get out and be left alone, my life here is over.’
And, as the Mirror says, it might well have been over in America too had Hewitt decided on making his exit more permanent.
‘I stood on a balcony at a friend’s flat in New York a few months back and seriously considered throwing myself off. Would anyone care? I doubt it.’
We don’t know if anyone would have cared. The only way to really know is to try it and see – something that Hewitt seems reluctant to do.
So instead of the mystery of instant death, Hewitt’s opting for a slow one in France – unless he decides to mumble his cry for help in a Parisian tunnel…’
Goran, My Son
‘SVEN Goran Eriksson’s affair with Soho Square secretary Faria Alam looks good on paper, but like his England team fails to really gel when it really matters.
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| ‘So, who wants a job as my secretary?’ |
At first look, some vital elements are in place to make this a decent scandal.
We have the randy love cheat boss (Sven), the aging would-be model (Faria) and a love triangle completed by Mark Palios, the FA’s now former chief executive, who, as the Mail says, was seen as the person capable cleaning up football’s tarnished image.
We even have the shadowy spin doctor, the FA’s communications director Colin Gibson, who apparently told the News Of The World that he’d give them all the goss on Sven if they left Palios alone.
For a man supposedly well versed in the ways of the press, Gibson’s looks foolish to have even contemplated such a deal – to give it full throat in a conversation with the paper’s reporters is plain dumb.
The result of Gibson’s off-the-record chat – transcribed by the Mail – is that Palios has resigned his post and Sven says that he fears he’s next.
Indeed, the Mail says that other FA heads might roll, listing those who will be ‘next for the red card’ – the organisation’s executive director, David Davies, the idiotic Gibson, FA chairman Geoff Thompson and our favourite Swede.
But while we have a tawdry tale of illicit sex with the staff, half-truths and double standards, the lack of truly explicit revelations means that the red light has not yet been erected outside the FA’s Soho offices.
Where are the stories about five-times-a-night Sven being an animal in bed; how ‘I made love to Mark as Sven waited downstairs’; and even what formation Sven and Mark preferred?
Without these salacious staples of the tabloid diet, the story lacks oomph.
But we might be about to get some titillation – the Star reports that Sven is all set to tell the FA his ‘SEX SECRETS’ in a meeting with his employees today.
FA ‘insiders’ (Gibson and his media team?) tell the paper that the ‘ice-cool Swede’ will be made to spill the beans on his love life, to ‘reveal every sordid detail’ about his relationship with Ms Alam.
And with the likes of Gibson is charge of keeping a lid on what’s said, we can expect to hear the minute details of Sven’s bedroom antics sometime tomorrow.
Which will give us all something to get our teeth into – and, perhaps, explain what is about the robotic Swede that women find so attractive.’
Curl Up And Dye
‘WHERE to start with the deconstruction of the Decline and Fall of Albert Square?
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| ‘Make me look like Phil’ |
When producers would have us believe that hapless Adi Ferrairas best mate is a gorgeous blonde lap-dancer? Or that Dirty Den is supposed to be Walfords own George Clooney? Or that gangster Andy could terrify anyone other than his acting coach?
EastEnders continues to stagger on like the Warmington-On-Sea Homeguard, desperately hoping no ones going to realise how tired and half-dead the storylines are.
This week, Pauline and Chrissie stayed up all night to finish a dress for Vicky. Vicky had come down with the flu and needed to finish off a dress design for her art college application, so, of course, it made logical sense to get a pensioner who lives in a cardigan to finish it for her.
Over the sewing machine, Pauline took the opportunity to speak her mind which is so unlike her. Youve got yer hands full wif that Dennis Watts, she told Chrissie. Hes not what youd call the faithful type, she continued.
Chrissie has been getting increasingly concerned that her old goat of a husband is seeing someone else. Although, one would think that it would be a merciful relief to her, knowing that if he was getting his action elsewhere, he wouldnt be pawing her with his corpse like hands.
When Den stayed out the night of their anniversary, she was convinced that she had a love rival and set about tracking her down. When Kate left her mobile lying around as people do in soaps, Chrissie took the opportunity to check her text message and found several that shed saved from Den.
Unknown to her though, Kate has already given Den the brush off (the drugs must have finally worn off) and Chrissie sets about getting revenge on her love rival by giving her a short back and sides. Lets see ow he likes you wif no hair, Chrissie screams at Kate, wielding a pair of scissors.
Somehow we suspect its not Kates hair that Dens been interested in. Another typically far-fetched storyline involves the Ferreira family. Although not one of them has a paying job, theyve managed to set up a mini cab firm in the old car lot.
Pat introduced them to the local mini cab Mr Big who shes known since her days of (Fat) Pat cabs. He promised them a big contract providing they proved themselves.
Im gonna set you a test, he told them, pick up my mystery fare properly and the contracts yours. The Ferreiras arent known for their sharp business minds (failing to manage to raise £800 to save their house) but even they surpassed themselves by sending Idiot-in-Chief, Adi out to do the pick up.
Adi ended up bumping into Hayley, an old friend of his who was running out of a lap-dancing bar. Fanks Adi, you saved my life, she told him, hopping into his cab. Hayley has now moved in with the Ferreiras, taking the population of their two bedroom flat to marginally less than the Indian subcontinent.
Hayley has obviously been introduced to inject some much-needed glamour into the Ferreiras but, unfortunately, not even a make over by Elton John is going to achieve that.’
Bra-vo!
‘HAPPY birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear bra-a, happy birthday to you.
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| Making her Presence felt |
Yes, today we join the Mirror in celebrating the 90th birthday of New York debutante Mary Phelps-Jacobs’ uplifting invention.
And what better way of celebrating than in the company of a heavily airbrushed Kirsty Gallagher showing off her 34D chest and Debenhams’ new Presence range of underwear.
The Mirror looks back over the past nine decades in which the bra has changed from being two silk handkerchiefs tied together to industrial-strength corsetry to flimsy barely-there styles.
To not being there at all in the case of Star stunna Michelle Marsh or the Sun’s Page 3 girl Zoe.
However, Zoe is so much more than a pair of slightly strange shaped breasts. She’s got her opinions and she wants to share them with Sun readers.
Today, for instance, she tells us that she’s not worried by the news that consumer debt in Britain has broken through the £1 trillion mark.
‘If I see a must-have dress,’ she says, ‘I go out and buy it.’
She just doesn’t wear it…’
Here Comes The Sun
‘DIFFERENT papers have their different ways of celebrating what the Mirror calls ‘the first proper week of summer’.
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| The first sign of summer |
As the barometer soars and temperatures threaten to go above 30C in some parts of the country, it thoughtfully provides ‘The A-Z Of Surviving Scorchio’.
Eagle-eyed readers might observe that this A-Z bears more than a passing resemblance to last year’s A-Z and, for that matter, the A-Z of every previous year.
After all, if Z is not for zinc oxide creams, then what is it for?
The Sun meanwhile publishes two pictures of Bournemouth beach, one taken a month ago, one taken yesterday, to show what a difference a month makes.
And what better way to illustrate this change than with a picture of topless beach babe Elizabeth Lamb lapping up the sun in Southsea and hoping to become this year’s Lucy Pinder.
Talking of the lovely Lucy, the cosmopolitan Star looks abroad for inspiration and finds it in the shape of four Hollyoaks babes on holiday in Ibiza.
‘The girls really enjoyed letting their hair down,’ an ‘onlooker’ (with a long camera lens) said.
‘They’ve all got really fit figures and drew plenty of looks from all the blokes on the beach.’
One swallow may not a summer make, but four Hollyoaks babes certainly does…’
The Third Man
‘IF Sven Goran Eriksson’s fate lies in the hands of Express readers, we advise the Swede to start packing his bags now.
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| Alam belle |
This week already, the readers of what improbably styles itself ‘the world’s greatest newspaper’ have cast their votes on issues from bringing back national service to, er, bringing back hanging.
And this morning they get to vote on Sven’s future, deciding whether the England coach should be sacked by the FA over his affair with Soho Square secretary Faria Alam.
We fear the verdict will not be kind – 97% voted to reintroduce national service, 97% voted to bring back hanging and we suspect a similar amount will opt to have the promiscuous Swede strung up by his balls.
And that is not the only bad news for Sven in this morning’s papers – the Sun says Faria was disappointed in him as a lover compared with FA chief executive Mark Palios.
Palios was an ‘amazing’ lover, according to Ambreen Sheikh (who has been given the task of putting across her friend Faria’s side of the story).
‘Faria said he was amazing in bed,’ Ambreen tells the Sun. ‘The best. She loved that he was older and she felt great with him.
‘It was Palios Faria loved. Sven was a poor substitute.’
He wasn’t the only substitute – the Mail says there is talk of a third and even a fourth man at the FA who made it onto (and under) Faria’s team-sheet.
And the Star suggests that the 38-year-old it has dubbed the FA Trophy could make £1m from selling her story if FA bosses decide to sack her.
‘The sexy secretary,’ it says, ‘who has kept dynamite diaries of her time in FA HQ, is poised to reveal the name of her third lover, as well as 56-year-old Sven’s views of star players like David Beckham.’
A mystery third lover; a possible fourth. A diary. Potentially embarrassing revelations about our top footballers
If we didn’t know better, we would suspect the hand of a Max Clifford engineering a bidding war between the FA and the newspapers.’
Britain’s Biggest Boobs
‘BRITAINS Biggest Boobs, advertises the Sun on its front page this morning next to a story headlined Church Wedding Or Red Herring? about an engagement ring mystery.
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| Charlotte pulls a Cupid stunt |
Put the two together and its as close as youll ever get to a mea culpa from the Sun over its coverage of the Wayne Rooney and Coleen McLoughlin affair.
However, it turns out that the boobs in question are not the papers own, but the 32L pair belonging to Kate Rollason, weighing in at half a stone each and the result of 25 plastic surgery ops.
And the engagement ring mystery has nothing to do with Coleen, prostitutes or squirrels, but with another 18-year-old, Charlotte Church.
The Sun says the Welsh singer emerged from a Cardiff jewellers (where she had been buying a present for ex-HearSay singer Noel Sullivan) with a diamond ring on her engagement finger and, with boyfriend Kyle Johnson by her side, announced: Were engaged.
However, it turned out the ring was actually four months old and, says the Sun, it was all just a stunt to wind up her mum.
Talking of attention-seeking stunts, pint-sized Aussie popster Peter Andre has also paid a visit to the jewellers recently and bought a £5,000 diamond ring for girlfriend Jordan.
The singing shrimp then turned heads at a restaurant in the Maldives by pulling out the sparkler and presenting it to the model.
Jordan was really emotional and it genuinely looked like he had just proposed, an onlooker tells the Sun.
They were kissing and cuddling all night after that.
The paper says the couple are taking a break at an exclusive resort on the Indian Ocean island of Rangali with only fellow lovebirds and a ten-man TV crew for company.
They are apparently filming a pilot for a new show called VIP Get Me Out Of Here an idea so tragically unimaginative that it is certain to be a massive success.
And we cant help thinking that an on-air proposal wont hurt viewing figures either…’
The Courtship Circuit
‘WHEN Faria Alam announces in the Star that she wont go down alone, our mind boggles.
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| Like any circuit, Sven’s been around the block a few times |
We have visions of the whole FA typing pool on their hands and knees taking, er, dictation from England coach Sven Goran Eriksson.
But it appears that Faria is just doing a very good job of boosting her pay-off by threatening not to go quietly if she is sacked for her romps with Eriksson and FA boss Mark Palios.
However, the big question in this mornings papers is not whether Sven will stay or Sven will go, but what it is about the Swede that makes women go weak at the knees.
Gorgeous, intelligent women like Faria Alam, Nancy DellOlio and Ulrika Jonsson have positively fallen over themselves to bed the brute, says the Star.
So, why do attractive women find some ugly men so irresistible?
The Star thinks its just a question of cash the reason the failing 56-year-old is so lucky in love is because he has power and money and is able to take his dates to nice places.
But the Mail provides a more likely answer, saying that some men are born seducers and some are born blunderers.
The ability to do everything right in sweet-talking a female could be hard-wired into the brains of certain fortunate men, it says.
But others are doomed to be unromantic losers who cannot control their wandering hands.
Its all to do with something called the courtship circuit in the brain and, on recent evidence, it would seem that Svens is switched to overload…’
Just Say No
‘UNTIL Sven Goran Eriksson moved to Britain, he was a once-a-week with the light out kind of guy and would no more look at another woman than play an old-fashioned 2-3-5 formation.
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| No! |
But after a couple of years in bonking Blighty, the Swede is like a rabbit that has just broken into a Viagra factory.
And hes not alone – it turns out that were all at it morning, noon and night.
And the Express wants to know: Why cant the young just say No in sex-mad Britain?
It is a good question and one that is particularly relevant given the epidemic of sexually transmitted diseases that is apparently sweeping the country.
That is why we are particularly glad to read in the Star that award-winning columnist Vanessa Feltz is throwing her not inconsiderable weight behind the Just Say No campaign.
Weve all forgotten how to say no, she says (although one suspects that it is not a problem our Nessies had to worry about too much.)
Were too used to getting what we want in bed, or up against a [specially reinforced] wall for that matter, when we want it.
It has stopped even occurring to us that there is a price to pay.
So, next time youre out and about and your courtship circuit is working overtime, think about Vanessa for a couple of minutes.
If youre still feeling horny after that, youre a very, very sick person…’
Clap Trap
‘WHO is to blame for the epidemic of sexually transmitted diseases sweeping the country?
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| Tony remembers what life was like before Cherie had Leo |
Big Brother lovers Stuart and Michelle?
Professor John Ashton, North West Regional Director of Public Health, certainly thinks so, accusing the programme of making no mention of safe sex or condoms.
It sends out a signal to viewers that casual sex with a comparative stranger, with no regard to the risks, is OK, he complains to the Mail.
Who else? Sven Goran Eriksson? The papers all agree that the England coach is going to get the sack over his affair with Soho Square secretary Faria Alam.
And the Mail even publishes a Sven Must Go car sticker for its readers to stick to their back windscreen.
Prince Harry? He may be the prince with a roving eye who wont settle for just one girl, but hes still Royalty.
And what is, in the Mails eyes, a sad example of our ignorant and irresponsible youth when your home is a council estate is just sowing your wild oats when your home is a palace.
But if not Stu or Sven or Harry, who should the Mails readers really blame for this whole sordid mess? Why, none other than Tony Blair, of course.
Sven may be sexually incontinent; Jemima Khan may have lied about her marriage troubles; John Major may have had an adulterous affair.
But, for the Mail, theres only one man to blame Tony Blair.
Go figure…’
The Ring Cycle
‘A MERE 24 hours after chucking her engagement ring into the woods near her Formby home, Wayne Rooneys fiancée Coleen McLoughlin was photographed yesterday…with a ring on her engagement finger.
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| An artist’s impression of what the Sunday Mirror’s story might have looked like |
How could this be? It is a riddle wrapped in an enigma inside a mystery and the Sun struggles this morning to make sense of it all.
Was it the same £25,000 sparkler she flung away in a rage? it asks.
Well, were no expert at rings, but we called in someone who is the oft-engaged Tracy Shaw and she informs us that it is the very same diamond and platinum ring that Wayne gave his 18-year-old fiancée.
There was speculation last night, it continues, that Coleen had found it herself after throwing it into a wooded squirrel sanctuary.
But how did she succeed where scores of children and Sun reporters had failed?
The Sun even brought a metal detector into the woods, despite the fact that theyre explicitly banned by the National Trust, without any success.
And National Trust warden Louise Mitchell warned that the ring would probably have gone already anyway, pocketed by a red squirrel or a magpie.
So, if its not a replacement ring and Coleen didnt find the one she threw into the woods, how could she have been wearing the ring when she took her dog Fizz out for a walk yesterday?
The Sun is stumped, but luckily the other papers have a theory yesterdays front-page exclusive in the Sun was a pack of lies.
So, while the Sun buries its follow-up on Page 9, the Mirror gleefully plasters a picture of Coleen on its front page with an exclusive tag under the Were Fine headline.
It speaks to Coleen herself, who dismissed as a lie a ludicrous report that she had thrown away the ring.
I cant say much, she said, but were fine.
But others had more to say on the subject.
Its one lie after another, a family member tells the Mirror. Its like some people want to see them ground into the dirt. Its a bloody disgrace.
And most disgraceful of all is the paper that started the whole thing, the one that broke the story about Wayne Rooney sleeping with a prostitute the, er, Sunday Mirror.’
Poultry Packet
‘WE in Anorak Towers do not have much experience of, or interest in, chicken genitalia as long as we get our boiled eggs in the morning and our roast bird on Sunday, we are happy.
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| Will Stu choke under pressure from Michelle? |
But this morning we have to acquaint ourselves with whats underneath our feathered friends after learning via the Star that Big Brothers Stuart is hung like a chicken.
Hung like a horse we can understand, just as weve got a fair idea that people who are hung like a gnat are not packing much of a punch in their boxer shorts.
But chickens are they Ron Jeremy or Jeremy Clarkson?
Well, judging by the story in this mornings Star, it appears to be the latter and we learn that Stu is packing a poultry package in his pants.
A cameraman on the show tells the paper that Stus lover Michelle Bass has been telling fellow housemates that her chicken is not that well-hendowed.
Im sure Stu doesnt mind, says the cameraman, because he may not be the biggest, but he is the best in Michelles eyes.
And judging from the noises she was making when they were under the table, he knows how to keep a woman happy.
Which just leaves one question which came first, the chicken or the..?’
A Fighter, Not A Lover
‘ARE you a Marlon, a Ralph or an Edward?
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| How many times a year? |
No, theyre not types of potato – although all of them do share several of the physical characteristics of the humble spud.
Theyre grades of sexual performance, specifically of stamina between the sheets.
A Marlon, for instance, can keep going longer than a Duracell bunny an eight-times-a-night marathon runner like the recently departed Marlon Brando.
A Ralph (named after Sir Ralph Five-Times-a-Night Halpern) is more of your Sebastian Coe a middle-distance runner par excellence.
And an Edward is most definitely a sexual sprinter a 10-second man like Once A Night Prince Edward.
The Mirror travels to New Zealand this morning to unearth Slap Eds bedroom secrets from a former second hand car dealer called Mike Bell.
Not that Mike has first-hand knowledge, of course – Eddie is a red-blooded Englishman who is never happier than with a pint in one hand and a dolly bird in the other.
But his ex-wife Alison Bell, the newsreader caught up in last weeks alleged drugs bust with James Hewitt, does she lost her virginity to the Prince when she was 16.
She had a fling with 19-year-old Edward in 1983 while he was working as a junior master at a school in Wanganui, New Zealand.
He apparently made the first move after they co-starred in a school production of Charleys Aunt.
He gave me a surprise kiss, Alison later said. He has lovely soft lips. He is definitely not shy with girls.
But Mike tells a different story, claiming that the couples sex life was quite restricted.
It sounds like he was a oncea-night man and then he wanted to go to sleep, he says.
Alison did describe him to me as an emotional desert and, reading some of his letters to her, which she showed me, I could believe it.
This doesnt sound like the skirt-chasing, beer-swilling, rugby-playing ex-Marine we at Anorak know…’
Wayne, Wayne, Go Away
‘IF you go down to the woods today, youre in for a big surprise thousands of Scousers on their hands and knees looking for Wayne Rooneys £25,000 engagement ring.
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| ‘Finders keepers’ |
The Sun says Coleen McLoughlin chucked the diamond sparkler into the densely-wooded squirrel sanctuary near the couples home in Formby to signal the end of her relationship with the cheating 18-year-old striker.
A sobbing Coleen apparently told Rooney that she was leaving him over reports that he had sex with a £140-a-trick prostitute called Charlotte Glover.
And before he could stop her she hurled the platinum and diamond ring, designed by Rooney himself, into the undergrowth of the National Trust property.
The squirrel sanctuary is full of trees and bushes, a friend of the pair said. It will be a nightmare to find the ring.
Not that that is likely to stop people trying although, because the Sun is still newspaper non grata in Liverpool, true Scousers will have to rely on the Star or Mirror for directions.
And both papers this morning insist the couple are still together after watching them give each other a big kiss as they left Coleens parents house in Croxteth.
The Star says Coleen puckered up to prove shes standing by the ace, while the Mirror says the kiss quashes rumours that the pair have split.
But the Sun is sticking by its version of events, claiming the kiss was a set-up and all a pantomime.
With Rooney as King Rat…’
The Naked Truth
‘IT is Day Two of Michelle Marsh week in the Star and readers of that esteemed publication are treated to yet another of the 21-year-old Oldham babes sensational poses.
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| Michelle in her Anorak anti-radiation bikini |
But sadly Michelle is a dumb blonde this morning, choosing not to share with us her thoughts on the burning issues of the day.
Not so 22-year-old Anna from London, who tells the Sun that she is shocked the Government has taken so long to release its terror attack leaflet (see broadsheets).
So shocked in fact that her clothes have all fallen off.
Why has it taken so long to bring out a 22-page pamphlet on basic planning for emergencies like keeping a supply of batteries, food and water? she asks.
This should have been rushed out after 9/11.
Strong words, indeed and ones were sure that Michelle Marsh would wholeheartedly agree with. Wouldnt you, Michelle?’
Scoring For Fun
‘IF Englands footballers were as good at scoring on the pitch as they are off it, then the European Championship trophy might now be on display in London rather than Athens.
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| The new Posh |
Wayne Rooney is just the latest in a long line of England players to have been caught banging the ball into the back of someone elses net.
And, says the Sun, the 18-year-old has been dumped by devastated fiancée Coleen McLoughlin after confessing to cheating on her with leggy prostitute Charlotte Glover.
No-one is sure quite why Rooney felt he needed to pay for sex when the pubs and clubs of Liverpool are full of girls who would happily do it for free.
We can put it down to inexperience and refer the Everton teenager to some of his England colleagues for advice.
The Sun has lined up what it calls a Leg-Over Eleven, who could help Rooney to adjust to life at this level.
They include, of course, David Beckham, whose wife Victoria stood by him despite his fling with Rebecca Loos; Emile Heskey who was dumped by his lover over a two-year affair with lap dancer Chantelle Tagoe; and Ashley Cole who, we are told, invited model Sammi Fugil and a pal home for a threesome.
But if Rooney really wants advice on playing away, then he could have no better coach than Sven Goran Eriksson, who is this morning fighting to keep his job after the revelations of his affair with Faria Alam.
The Football Association spent last week furiously denying any sexual relationship between Eriksson and Alam.
But, says the Mail, it was forced over the weekend into a humiliating U-turn when it not only confirmed that rumour but admitted that Alam had bedded FA boss Mark Palios as well.
However, Eriksson is expected to emerge unscathed from the whole sordid business, with 38-year-old Alam the most likely casualty.
The Mirror wants an apology at the very least from Eriksson and Palios for allowing the FA to mislead fans, while the Sun accuses the Swede of showing contempt for the fans.
Football, it says, has been dragged through the mud in the past few years with endless stories of sordid behaviour by players.
Now the England manager is at it too. How can he possibly keep his eye on the ball?’
Ell To Pay
‘IT may be Michelle Marsh Week in the Star for fans who just cant get enough of the 21-year-old blonde bombshell but it appears to be Jennifer Ellison Day everywhere else.
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| Always suck before swallowing |
The former Brookside actress tells Mirror readers how she lost a stone during her appearance on Hells Kitchen.
It is revolutionary stuff she advocates, for instance, swapping from high-fat to low-fat junk foods, eating plenty of veg and salad and eating cherry tomatoes instead of chocolate.
I visit the gym once a week, the 21-year-old adds, and Im always rushing around Tonys always going on at me to sit down as Im constantly on the go.
Thatll presumably explain the picture on this mornings Sun which shows Jen having a furious bust-up with fiancé Tony Richardson after she had performed at Londons G-A-Y club.
However, the Mirror suggests that sunbed salesman Tony was jealous over all the attention Jen was getting.
She was looking very sexy, a source says, and he wasnt happy about his girlfriend being ogled.
And he wont be any happier this morning as millions of Brits ogle at pictures of Jen almost bursting out of her skimpy top on the front page of the Star.’
Posted: 26th, July 2004 | In: Tabloids | Comment (1)
Botox Tale
‘IS it any coincidence that Tony Blair and Botox should both celebrate their 10th anniversary at the same time?
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| Dead soldiers, dead civilians, rubbish trains, superbugs and he still can’t stop smiling |
The licence for the wrinkle-buster drug was granted in Britain at the very time that Blair took over as leader of the Labour Party.
And since 1994 both have gone from strength to strength, smoothing our brows and numbing us against the travails of modern life.
The Mirror celebrates a decade of the drug which keeps Cliff Richard looking young, Cilla Black wrinkle-free and Demi Moore looking like a permanently started rabbit.
And it reveals that 100,000 of us now spend £75m a year injecting the bacterium into our face.
Optometrist Pauline Bowler was one of the first to become hooked, having her first injection at the age of 37.
In 10 years I have spent more than £6,000, she says, but when I tell people I am nearly 50, they cant believe it.
We cant believe it either – six grand injecting poison into your face?!’
Ian Takes A Walk
‘PLENTY of miracles down Walford-way this week. Ians suddenly regained the use of his legs, Garrys been brought back from the dead and two prodigal sons returned.
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| Chrissie knew it was a mistake to get Den a video phone |
To be fair, Ian was never really paralysed. When his new employee, Jane, discovered that hed been pretending, she urged him to come clean. But Kate wont feel sorry for me then and want to look after me, he wheedled, demonstrating his interest technique for attracting women.
It was baby Bobbys birthday this week and Ian blackmailed Kate into helping out with the party, I cant do it without you, he smarmed. Kate reluctantly agreed to help for the sake of his children, who have had two mothers die (notice a pattern developing here Ian?).
Ian pushed his luck too far when he plucked up the courage to actually ask Kate out again. Im sorry Ian, she stammered, but I thought Id made it clear, I just want to be friends. Besides Im seeing someone else. Ian was desperate to find out who, but Kate realised shed said too much.
Her affair with Den is on rocky ground as it is. Earlier in the week, shed angrily confronted him when she discovered from his wife that the money Den had been waiting for to start his new life with Kate has actually come through weeks ago. When Kate confronted Den, he simply smirked, leave if you want, but I know you wont. You love it.
And in gut-churning scenes, the aging pervert grabbed Kate and subjected her to a full-blown tongues and all snog.
More distressing scenes this week when Garry tried to take his own life in a fit of overblown bad acting. Garrys suicide bid seemed to have been triggered by his inability to paint a car properly – it cant have been the fact that his trout-faced loon of a wife had sent him divorce papers.
Luckily for him, Minty Walfords own Forrest Gump – happened to find him in time and took him to hospital. Like Forrest, Minty tried to cheer Garry up with some homespun wisdom: Youve always got yer family, Gaz. As Garrys family are the Slaters, that knowledge is more likely to have him reaching for the razorblades.
At least the Trumans were playing Happy Families this week as sons Paul and Anthony made a welcome return to the Square – fresh from the dole queue and Casualty respectively – to celebrate their fathers marriage. And no prizes for guessing which son is desperate to prolong his stay (and salary) down Walford way.’
Diana’s Water Fall
‘THE Princess Diana Memorial Fountain is even more emblematic of the good lady’s life than we first imagined.
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| Listen to the trickle of children’s tears |
According to the Mail, the circle of tears in London’s Hyde Park is made of a granite that becomes so slippery when wet that pilgrims paddling in the watery tribute can actually take a tumble, so reliving Di’s cry for help down those unforgiving stairs.
Yesterday, two adults and one child experienced this hidden extra and were immediately sent to hospital for check-ups.
We are pleased to say that the two adults have been discharged from hospital and that the child’s head injury was not as bad as feared and he too is now back at home.
But the bad news is that rather than being a fillip for the already troubled attraction, this ingenious chance for children and adults to hurt themselves, cry and thus fill the fountain with their own salty tears has not gone down well in all quarters.
Spoilsports on the Royal Parks staff have turned off the fountain, drained it of its waters and called for help.
And the news is not encouraging. Although Royal Parks spokesman Theo Moore is hopeful that the fountain will once again run, he is unable to put a date on its reopening.
And it might need a few alterations, especially if the likes of Karen Blanchette, of the Royal Society for the Prevention of Accidents, has any say in the matter.
‘We knew a combination of children, flowing water and a granite fountain was going to be a problem,’ says she. ‘We hope this investigation will throw up some ideas about what to do.’
And so do we. But how can we help make the Diana fountain any safer?
Turning the thing into a lake with an effigy of Diana on a central lily pad is one idea.
And if you have any suggestions, please add your voice to the debate.
Because right now, this fountain is a hazard. As the Princess herself might have put it, it’s like a landmine waiting to go off.’
