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.
Only Obeying Orders
‘BRITISH workmen are the best in the world give them an instruction and they will follow it to the letter.
|
| Warning: creases ahead |
Unfortunately, give them a map with a bit of a crease in it and the results can be disastrous.
That at least is the explanation from Hampshire County Council for the wibbly wobbly markings along the road through East Boldre, as reported in yesterdays Anorak.
Villagers were told that the lines beside the road were deliberately wavy to try to persuade cars the road was narrower than it is and so slow down.
But now the council insists that it was all a simple mistake.
What we really wanted was simple straight parallel lines, one down each side of the road 480cm apart, council leader Ken Thornber told the Express.
Unfortunately, there was a problem with the drawings, which were badly folded and creases made some of the measurements look like 430 and 420cm instead.
The painter followed the instructions which resulted in a straight line down one side of the road and a wavy one down the other.
There was no plot to confuse motorists. It was a simple human error.
Nevertheless, we congratulate contractors Raynesway Construction Southern for following the instructions so exactly.
Itll be a sad day when British workmen are allowed to use their own common sense…’
Out Of Line
‘HOW well do you know your Highway Code? Would you pass the written theory part of the driving test? Lets see…
|
| ‘You can’t park there, mate’ |
Q1: What does a dead badger at the side of the road with two yellow lines painted over it mean? Okay, thats an easy one the council workmen couldnt be bothered to move it.
Q2: What does a single yellow line painted around a parked car signify? Correct again a car that was parked legally is now parked illegally.
Q3: Finally, what do white squiggly lines beside a quiet village road in Hampshire mean? No, sorry it doesnt mean the workmen have spent too long in the local pub.
You have scored 67% – which is in fact a FAIL. The right answer to Q3 is that the lines are in fact the latest traffic calming measure from Hampshire County Council.
The Express reports that highway officials decided that the wibbly wobbly line beside the road through the village of East Boldre would force drivers to slow down by convincing them that the road was narrower that it actually is.
Parish councillors dreamed up the lunatic scheme after their application for a 30mph speed limit was turned down because the area was not an accident blackspot.
However, the good news is that East Boldre will very soon be an accident blackspot and therefore get its 30mph limit thanks to the introduction of the freestyle road markings.
Villagers were queuing up to give the Express the benefit of their opinion.
I think it is crazy and dangerous, says Ian Stead, a retired civil engineer. It looks like a belated April fool joke.
And Michael Mayes warned that motorists driving through in fog or poor visibility could become totally confused trying to follow the lines.
But if the pilot scheme in East Boldre is successful, the scheme could be extended across the whole country as part of the Governments drive to baffle motorists.
Already plans are underway, for instance, to paint wavy lines down the middle of the A42 to convince drivers that they are too drunk to be at the wheel of a car.’
Everyone’s A Winner
‘THE problem about sport is that there has to be a winner (the Aussie) and a loser (the Brit).
|
| Learning to empathise with the less able-bodied |
But, with Tiger Tim Henman bowing out of Wimbledon yesterday, it appears we have at last found a way to bring up our children not to be losers.
We have abolished school sports day and replaced it with a non-competitive fun day a day in which everyones a winner (except theyre not because that would imply that someone lost).
The Mail reports that 50% of schools have not scheduled a school sports day this year and the trend is very much away from competitive sport.
As you would expect, Sport England (the body set up to promote sport in this country) have got a few words to say about this.
But wait for it it appears that they think its a jolly good idea. In fact, they are the body that is encouraging schools to go down this route.
The paper says schools are urged to adopt a zoned approach with teams of pupils moving around a range of activities, which could even include corporate-style problem-solving exercises.
As so often, where Britain leads the rest of the world will follow and it is only a matter of time before Building A Tyroleon Rope Bridge becomes an Olympic sport.
Of course, in the spirit of the event, all countries who enter will receive a gold medal, which could make for something of a crowded podium during the playing of the 197 national anthems.
But were sure thats not anything our corporate-style problem solvers can’t sort out between them…’
Four Smashers
‘WIMBLEDON is a throwback to a bygone age when sport was not just about taking part in a zoned approach, but about winning and dare we say it losing.
|
| Racquet abuse will make you go blind |
The tournament has now reached the semi-final stage and there are only four women left in the competition.
So who is the new Anna?
The Express follows the Mails lead this morning and serves up the semi-finalists Tatiana Golovin, Maria Kirilenko, Elena Dementieva and of course Maria Sharapova.
And its sister paper, the Star, urges its readers not to give up on the tournament just yet theres still plenty of top tennis totty on show to keep fans happy.
Its just a pity that there has to be a winner. And she is…drum roll…
Wait whats this? Weve just received an urgent message from Sport England instructing us to call off the contest and get the girls to take part in some non-competitive group activity instead.
Ooo I say, as Dan Maskell would have said…’
Kour-nographer In Chief
‘ANNA Kournikova is gone, her appearances on a tennis court even more fleeting these days than when she was a full-time professional.
|
| No visible panty line, service line nor tramline |
However, if it took even tennis aficionados the best part of a year to realise that the Russian had retired from the game, the papers felt her absence immediately.
And none more so than the Mail, which looks to tennis as the perfect excuse to publish pictures of scantily clad women.
Short And Sweet may have described Kournikovas participation in any tournament she graced, but today it introduces the papers three Page 3 stunnas in skimpy skirts and the hottest of hotpants, the Wimbledon babes who match Kournikova.
From left to right, they are Maria Sharapova, 17 years old and in a dress with spaghetti straps, split to the hip to reveal tiny white shorts; 16-year-old Tatiana Golovin, whose hipster hotpants sat dangerously low; and Karolina Sprem, whose 19-year-old body was thrown around the court yesterday in a crop top and tiny tight skirt, slit at one side.
Of course, tennis fans will have already realised that none of these girls can ever be the new Kournikova their participation in the second week of a tournament would seriously interfere with their modelling engagements.
But they do at least provide the Mail readers with an opportunity to ogle at some teenaged flesh in the morning while they mutter into their marmalade about the decline of the nations morals, the amount of pornography on TV and the number of paedophiles teaching at the local school.
And for that we have Mail editor Paul Dacre to thank…’
Down To A T
‘SUCH is the importance of tennis to the social fabric of this country that it is no surprise to find players gracing the news pages of our papers.
|
| Deuce! |
That the person in question happens to be leggy Russian Maria Sharapova only serves to emphasise the depth of the relationship between our two countries.
But the Sun does not need to take its camera down to SW19 to fill its Page 3 it has eight stunnas on parade this morning, all of whom are auditioning for a role in a multi-million pound movie.
Film chiefs, the paper explains, want a babe to star in Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo, and have asked our army of readers to choose which one.
So will it be Nikkala or Krystle, Nicola T or Anna, Michelle or Ruthie, Katie or Zoe?
Pick up the phone and make the call the top four will go to Amsterdam next month where they will be auditioned by the films lead Rob Schneider.
It could be the start of something beautiful for whoever is chosen after all, many great acting careers have started out with a role as T-Shirt Girl…’
Hanging On The Telephone
‘WHAT with all the calls to the various phone polls, sex lines and reality TV shows, your telephone bill has probably got more noughts than an England batting card.
|
| Since Saddam left, Samira has felt like a new woman |
But it is worth it for instance, we can tell you that a whopping 96% of Star readers think St Werburghs Park school was…drum roll…WRONG to turn down Christopher Townsend.
You may remember yesterday that three-year-old Christopher was refused a place at his local nursery school because he was English and lived in a house with a garden.
The results of an Express poll Has political correctness gone crazy in Britain? – are still being counted, so we cannot yet bring you the full picture.
But we are still disappointed in the 4% of Star readers who failed to follow the simple instructions.
See if you can do a bit better today. To answer the question Should Saddam Hang?, phone 0901 8902900 or text DSVOTE A to 61616.
We will not be happy with anything less than 100% – and nor, we bet, would Saddam.’
Let Freedom Reign
‘HAS political correctness gone crazy in Britain? No, its not a rhetorical question we really want to know your answer.
|
| Foreigners get all the best houses |
Well, to be more accurate the Express wants to know what you think and it has set up a special phone poll to find out.
To vote yes, call 0901 8902300 or text DXVOTE A to 61616; to vote no, well, thats not information youre really going to need now, is it?
We will publish the results of the poll later in the week, confident of a result even more overwhelming than the Suns regular Do you want to be part of a Euro superstate? vote.
The occasion for the Express poll is a story of a three-year-old boy who was apparently denied a place in his local primary school because hes English and his house has a garden.
That at least is the Stars interpretation of the criteria St Werburghs Park Nursery School, near Bristol, used in refusing to take Christopher Townsend.
The new admissions policy fast-tracks kids from disadvantaged backgrounds, the paper says.
Children of asylum-seekers, travellers and refugees, plus disabled children, are all given priority.
Can this be right? The Star wants to know, urging its readers to call 0901 8902901 (or text DSVOTE B to 61616) to vote no and, well, you know you dont need to know the rest.
Having done your duty by voting (early and often) in both the phone polls, we urge you to strike a further blow against political correctness on the Daily Mail message board.
And dont go leaving it to the next man (or woman, as the PC brigade would have us say) yesterdays poll in the Star shows that none of us can afford to rest on our laurels.
Asked whether the Government should give empty asylum seeker houses to young couples, only 76% of readers voted yes.
Even given the 10% margin of error caused by Star readers inability to follow the simplest instructions, that is a worrying sign.
We can only hope that the rogue 24% baulked at the word empty…’
Burrell’s Rock
‘PAUL Burrell was Princess Dianas rock. Princess Diana was the Peoples Princess. Ergo, Paul Burrell is also our rock.
|
| ‘I’m thinking of having it pinned to my scrotum’ |
So, Anorak wont have a word said against the man whose only wish after the death of his beloved mistress was to live a quiet life as a florist.
It was hardly his fault that he was forced to write a book containing all the Princesss secrets (or all the ones he hasnt held back for the inevitable sequel).
The very title of the tome, A Royal Duty, is evidence of a man who was only doing what the Princess herself that paragon of Royal duty – would have done in similar circumstances.
And if he happened to amass a £4.5m fortune as a result of all the people with a keen interest in Royal history who bought said book, then who are we to cavil?
Indeed, when we see the 46-year-old with a new £40,000 diamond stud in his left ear on the front page of this mornings Express, it is as if Diana were born again.
And if the former butler wants to dress up in the privacy of his own home in some of the Princesss dresses that he had for safekeeping, what greater tribute could he pay to the erstwhile Queen of Hearts?
It doesnt make him gay. No, hes as straight as the day is long…in northern Norway…in December.’
Spoon It Like Beckham
‘WE all witnessed the minor earth tremor that took place in Lisbon at the very moment David Beckham ran up to take his vital penalty against Portugal in the Euro 2004 quarter-final.
|
| Storm in a tea cup |
We were amazed that under such conditions Goldenballs managed even to make contact with the ball, let alone get it so close to the goal.
But now it turns out that the England captain was battling against more than just a few rogue tectonic plates.
Uri Geller, friend of Michael Jackson and enemy of cutlery everywhere, tells the Sun that he is to blame for the miss.
The co-chairman of Exeter City (relegated out of the football league under Gellers guidance) admitted that he had sent out wonky telepathic vibes by mistake.
Im not a miracle worker, he tells the paper (modestly overlooking his central role in The Miracle Of The Bended Fork).
But I do believe in the power of consciousness. I was trying to send positive energy.
But before you dismiss Geller as a complete charlatan, consider that perhaps he created too much positive energy, causing the minor earthquake that caused Becks to spoon the ball over the bar…
Knife one, Uri, you stupid forker…’
Tiger & Scorcher
‘THERE are no more frightening sights in sport than a Tim Henman-supporting Centre Court crowd on Peoples Sunday at Wimbledon.
|
| ‘Same old balls, please’ |
It is a sea of Union Jacks, Crosses of St George, tooth braces and HRT. It is – in short – the Daily Express made flesh.
And the Express is there to celebrate its incarnation, the cries of Come on, Tim and We love you, Tim drifting out of its pages.
Even Tiger Tims dad Anthony got into the spirit of things, ditching his lucky tie in favour of a rather daring open-necked shirt.
And if course the feline one did his stuff, beating Moroccan Hicham Arazi 3-1 after the obligatory scares along the way.
Thank heavens for Tim Henman, says the Express. In a weekend of sporting setbacks, Henman kept our hopes high at Wimbledon yesterday. Its all up to you now, Tim.
Middle England is counting on you…’
Paying The Penalty
‘READERS have been calling into Anorak Towers all weekend claiming to have spotted David Beckhams penalty kick streaking across the sky.
|
| Like Dave, the ball is now something of a star |
And holiday traffic to the Iberian peninsular was briefly thrown into chaos after air traffic control reported a spherical object on one of the busiest flight paths.
But the question this morning is whether the ball – if and when it does eventually come down to earth – will find the world the same as when it left.
In other words, will Becks and Posh still be together?
The Daily Mail thinks not, claiming that Planet Beckham and the starship that was Posh and Beck are about to come falling to earth closely followed by a grey adidas football.
The pressures on this iconic public couple have become all but intolerable, writes Geoffrey Wansell, and sadly, I believe, will almost certainly cost them their marriage.
Wansell does not share with us the basis for his conjecture, but it must be remembered that this is a man who gave the marriage only six months…seven months ago.
But a stopped clock is right twice a day and, if he continues to predict the couples demise, the chances are that one day he will be correct.
The basis of this mornings rumour is an overheard conversation in which La Posh reportedly told her husband she was bored with football, bored with having to be round other players, bored with matches and bored with his behaviour.
She then insisted that she wasnt prepared to live the rest of her life in his shadow, didnt want fish fingers for her tea and would only go to bed when she wanted to.
But Poshs mum Jackie Adams downplayed the row, insisting that Dave and Vicky were the happiest couple ever.
There is nothing wrong with their relationship, she tells the Mirror. They are as happy as they have ever been.
And Posh is really a very talented singer…’
The New Becks
‘AS one Becks fades into obscurity, another rises to take its place in the form of Becki, a bisexual, toe-sucking belly dancer.
|
| We’re tyred of Michelle |
The Sun welcomes the latest inmate of the Big Brother house, who wasted no time flashing her breasts at her fellow housemates and the dozen or so remaining viewers.
Big Brother goes all upmarket, it says sarcastically, as it plasters pictures of Beckis fake DD chest across its pages.
The Star (which, judging by the exclusive tag on its front-page story, reckons it is the only person still watching the show) devotes four pages to the new arrival.
Within hours of her arrival, the paper says the bisexual florist had FLIRTED with Jason, SENT Dan green with envy, RUFFLED Michelles feathers, LEFT Victor fuming, Marco screaming and the rest of us reaching for our remote.
But if Michelle wants to keep Stuart away from Beckis clutches, the Star says she might have to lay off the grub.
The would-be Geordie glamour model has piled on the pounds since she entered the house and has been nicknamed Michelin Woman by the shows fan(s).
Shes always first in line if theres chocolate cake going and fans often see her pigging out on food from the fridge, the paper says.
And she is starting to squeeze into her bikini rather than slip inside it.
Or slip out of it, as she spends most of her time doing.’
Bodge It Like Beckham
‘DID the earth move for you last night? It did for David Beckham – and no, since you ask, there was not a lover or wife with him at the time. It moved on its own.
|
| Rebecca Loos gives her verdict on Beckham’s penalty |
Indeed, Rebecca Loos, his former paramour, is nowhere to be seen as the Express runs its eyes over the crowd who watched the drama unfold.
Posh, aka Mrs Beckham, however, was in the football ground when the mini-earthquake shook her husband and a small patch of Lisbon grass.
The paper shows the captain of the England wives dressed in an England vest, a pair of massive oversized sunglasses and a white cap broad enough to double as a cricket sightscreen.
She sure knows how to stand out in crowd – and, at the moment of what the Mirror calls ‘DISASTER’, she and her hat would have made an ideal focal point for a fleeing crowd to gather around.
But just as quickly as she arrived, she and her hat are gone. And now all the Sun can see are the other England wives and girlfriends who spent the night before last night’s England game on a five-hour knees-up.
Only Posh was missing from the do, which was no small shame when readers learn how, after ‘downing the booze like there was no tomorrow’, a few of the girls began an impromptu karaoke session on the way back to their quarters.
We’ve counted the numbers on the bus, consulted our big book of PR and can confirm that, had she been there and had she performed, Posh could have claimed the event as her most successful solo concert.
She might even have sold some official Posh merchandise, and the girls, rather than stepping out in ‘stunning outfits’ (Mirror) of designer dresses and killer shoes, could have been snapped in some of Posh’s trademark hats.
But it wasn’t to be for her, her husband or for England…’
Flights Of Fancy
‘LOOK up in the sky. What is it? Is it a bird? Is it David Beckham’s penalty kick? No, it’s Prince Andrew.
|
| ‘Anyone know where the 6th tee is?’ |
We all know how much the prince loves to fly, but few of us realised until today that it’s British taxpayers who fund his hobby.
Not that we begrudge him his fun. The Prince is a man who works tirelessly to promote golf in an official capacity the world over.
In his line of business, speed is very much of the essence – and that often necessitates Andrew dashing to the golf course and moving between shots in a helicopter.
We only note that the Mirror says the Prince spent £315,000 from the public purse last year zipping around the world.
He deserves every penny, and it’s only right and proper that he has used RAF aircraft to ferry him up to Scotland’s Royal & Ancient Golf club, thereby allowing him to make up a foursome and present some prizes to members in his role as club captain.
And the £17,288 we spent on getting Andrew to the Caribbean last February, plus the £90,001 for an RAF BAe146 to shuttle him between islands as he went on a coconut fact-finding mission, is money invested in all our futures.
The Prince’s work represents genuine value for money, especially when the Mirror tells us that the Royals as a whole cost us a mere £36.8m to operate.
Alan Reid, Keeper of the Privy Purse, is correct when he says: ‘This year’s expenditure per person…amounts to 61p or less than two pints of milk.’
This is great value, a thought shared by the royal raspberry, the Mirror’s James Whitaker.
‘I find it unbelievable that ‘running’ our Royal Family costs just 61p for every man, woman and child in this country,’ says the beetroot one. ‘They’ve got to be the bargain of the century.’
And if you doubt that, Whitaker wants you to consider what else you could do with that 61p investment. This includes buying a packet of crisps, a choc ice and a small packet of doughnuts -collectively known as Whittaker’s lunch
‘Every country has a head of state,’ says Whitaker knowingly, ‘and I’ll fight anybody who doesn’t think she’s [the Queen] best.’
Well, for argument’s sake, let’s say, we don’t.
Come on Whitaker, let’s get it on. And we’ll even waive our normal 61p purse…’
The Phantom Menace
‘IT’S happened to the best of us. You dial a number with the intent on pledging money to charity and instead you get through to some depraved chat line.
|
| ‘And then the vicar put his hand on my knee…’ |
You ask if that is Thurne 9870, but the caller on the other end fails to hear your question and just whispers something about whipped cream.
It’s time to hang up. But people in Thurne, Norfolk, are a fundamentally polite and terribly decent bunch so they stay on the line, while the voice on the other end tells them what they are wearing and then they are not wearing.
Our advice is to simply hang up. Remove the receiver from your ear and replace it on the handset. If you have a hands-free phone (ideal for such calls), just depress the switch. And then forget the entire thing.
Not there is anything to forget, because such a call never really happened.
Because, as the Mail says, the people of Thurne are immersed in the riddle of the ‘phantom of the phone sex lines’. And, as is the way of the phantom, he’s hit Middle England.
The Mail says that dozens of homes in Thurne have been hit by massive phone bills for calls made to 0909 (you know the rest) premium rate numbers.
Some individual calls have cost as much as £34.
Liz Duffield, who runs the local gift shop, says her bill has trebled in recent times. ‘These bills were filled with calls to those smutty chat lines,’ says she.
Another resident, Ann Lamb, is equally appalled. ‘The calls were supposedly made in the middle of the night, between 12:30 and 1:15am,’ she says. ‘The thought of so many people using these lines in Thurne is ridiculous.’
And she and her Thurne cohorts are not alone. The Mail tells how ex-headmaster Edward Barber, also of Norfolk, has been hit with a bill for £714.
And retired company director George Rodwell, also of Norfolk, saw that £390 of his £463 bill was for ‘mystery premium rate calls’.
All are patently innocent of making calls to any depraved sex lines.
Although, how they knew what was broadcast over the numbers listed on their bills is not revealed…’
The Dragon Slayer
‘A FIRE-BREATHING dragon caused carnage in Albert Square this week – no, not Pauline Fowler for once, but a funfair ride, brought in to celebrate the Squares centenary.
|
| ‘Did it at least get the Ferreiras?’ |
Apparently the fact that this little hell on earth has been around for 100 years was seen as a cause for celebration by its residents but, as regular soap viewers know, theres no such thing as a celebration in Walford: every episode has to end in misery for at least one cast member.
As this was a centenary celebration, however, producers pulled out all the stops and ensured that pretty much everyone ended up in tears.
Ian Beale, that great Walford business magnate, had set up a giant inflatable dragon in the Square and charging people a pound a ride (clearly having taken advice from Kat on what the going rate is in East London these days).
And who could have predicted that the ride would collapse, trapping half the cast under it? Only anyone with an I.Q. over 4.
Sonia rushed in to help the wounded, Wif my training I fort I might be able to help, she told Dr Leroy. Her training in what? Being able to survive off her own body fat for months if needed.
The tragedy has made Sonia realise that she wants to go back to her nursing training after having announced to Pauline and Dot that she was going to give it up to become a full-time housewife.
Pauline and Dot were also trapped under their cake stall when the ride collapsed. The pair hadnt been talking to each other, having fallen out over, amongst other things, who had the nicest hat and who made the best cake.
The hours they spent trapped under an enormous monster made them realise that they needed to change their lives.
Which is exactly the same reason that Alfie had decided to walk out on Kat after six months of marriage. I cant carry on living like this, he told Spencer before packing up all his belongings (which of course managed to fit into a tiny holdall) and leaving the Square.
The news of the accident, however, sent him scurrying back and he and Kat were united together as they waited for Spencer to get dug up.
Other casualties of the great inflatable disaster were Ian, who seemed to be trapped under a small sheet of plywood and Lynne Slater. I think Ive lost me baby! she screamed (youve also lost your contract, love.)
The most depressing thing about the entire contrived episode though was the fact that the Teflon-like Ferrarias were nowhere near the accident and have lived to bore another day.’
TV & Other Perverts
‘THE Mail is disgusted and outraged. And today more so than ever as it lists how ‘BIG BROTHER HAS DESCENDED INTO DEPRAVITY’.
|
| For more depraved pictures, turn to Pages 26, 27, 28, 29, 30 |
Illustrated by stomach-churning photographs whenever the story demands it, the paper invites its readership to be as shocked and appalled as it is by the endless stream of buttocks, breasts and even a blast of full-frontal nudity appearing on the TV show.
Just look at Shell as she mows the lawn…NAKED! Stare in disbelief as Michelle and Stuart kiss…in a JACUZZI! Tut and shake your head as Jason touches Vanessa’s ‘breasts’ while in BED with her AND Shell.
But, dear Mail reader, be glad you’re not a reader of the Star, whose sickened readers are forced to hear how the show’s Michelle has issued the challenge: ‘Give us the booze and we’ll have loadsa sex.’
These people have no shame.
But what goes over here will no longer go over there, as the Mail tells how the keepers of the United States’ morals are clamping down on sex and violence on television.
This story, illustrated by a scandalous shot of Janet Jackson exposing her bejewelled nipple and droopy breast to a watching America at the Super Bowl final, could also point to the future for British TV.
In response to Jackson’s flash, the US Senate has increased the amount the network channels must pay in fines for breaches of the moral code.
For each incidence of turpitude, regulators can impose a fine of £275,000 on violators, up to a maximum of $3 million a day. That’s a massive jump from the previous rate of $32,000 per flash or stab.
To the American right-minded, and their Mail-reading kin, this is surely good news indeed.
The millions of Americans who exist on a diet of porn and shoot-’em-ups – to say nothing of the nightly news under the Bush regime – will doubtless be delighted that TV is cleaning up its act.
The Mail’s readers can only pray for the day when the same happens over here…’
Summer Holiday
‘TV is not simply a superior version of radio.
|
| Get him back on radio – NOW! |
For a start, the non-beautiful people can look good on radio. As can Tony Blackburn’s hair. And his T-shirt, which pictured in the Mirror commands: ‘JOCK ‘TIL YOU DROP.’
Radio is also a place where you can be spared Cliff Richard. If it rains during the radio coverage of Wimbledon, radio DJs can play any record they like to cover the break in play – so long as it’s not Cliff.
But last week, the paper says, Blackburn broke one of the golden rules of radio and played a Cliff Richard tune.
And on Monday he played another. And yesterday he played three more of what the Mail calls ‘classics’ – Move It, We Don’t Talk Anymore and The Young Ones (mainstays in any soundtrack to a mid-life crisis).
And he broke the rules banning any Cliff songs from being broadcast on Capital Gold when his manager, John Baish, was on holiday.
So on Monday, it was left to the station’s Head of Programmes, Paul Baker, to order Blackburn to stop it.
As we’ve noted, Blackburn ignored the directive, going as far as ripping up a printed version of Baker’s email (‘He [Cliff] doesn’t represent out brand values…you must stop playing him’) and filing it under ‘bin’ live on air.
And the result is that Blackburn has been suspended. As he tells the Mirror, ‘I want to resolve our differences, but at the moment it’s a bit of a cliff-hanger.’
And therein lies the rub. With Blackburn off air and out of his little box, he’s able to talk to the papers.
He’s even being photographed, the one thing no radio DJ should ever be subjected to.
So let’s campaign to get Blackburn back in his soundproof box and back on the radio. You wouldn’t want him doing something stupid would you – like turning up on the telly…’
Golden Ears
‘BY now you are wondering what in the world is going on. Which way is up? Is left where it was last night? Has the world gone mad?
|
| Sven’s expression hasn’t changed throughout the tournament |
The answer is that things are just as they have been all week, and today is a day like all others. Wayne Rooney is front-page news.
Make that McRooney, the name the Mirror claims has been given to the Scouse striker by the Portuguese, as Lisbon newspapers claim England No. 9 has been eating too many hamburgers.
Rooney fans shouldn’t worry – hamburgers may be to Rooney what spinach is to Popeye, Mars bars to Paul Gascoigne and nail polish to David Beckham.
But burgers may not be enough. So the Star wants us to pin up its Cross of Saint George flag with Rooney’s face at its centre and rub the lad’s gilded ears.
And why does he have golden ears in the Star? Chances are high that even the Star can’t answer that poser. And other than to say that Rooney is an enigma and has ears, neither can we.
But there is no need to puzzle over the Sun, which decorates its front page and Lisbon’s Parca Da Figueira square with what it claims to be the world’s biggest flag (an England flag).
‘FOR ENGLAND AND ST GEORGE,’ belches the headline, evoking the stirring rhetoric of William Shakespeare’s King Henry V.
Rousing words – and who cares that tonight England does battle not in ankle-deep mud as she did all those seasons ago, nor against the French, but kicks a ball on an immaculate grassy surface against her country’s oldest ally.
And that the Sun is owned by an American citizen of Australian extraction…’
Wazza Rooney
‘THE papers are undecided about one thing today.
|
| ‘Boo-hoo! Someone’s stolen my comedy breasts’ |
The dilemma is not where to put those Wayne Rooney exclusives and opinions – they are just plastered everywhere – but whether the England footballer is more Paul Gascoigne or David Beckham.
‘So what can Rooney learn from Gazza?’ asks the Mail, which has taken a look at the peroxide-headed wife beater and the new wonder kid and noticed the physical similarities.
‘Both look fairly pugilistic,’ says the Mail’s Hunter Davies, ‘5ft 10in, 11-stone, thick-set bodies, and neither is an oil painting, although Gazza has always had his adoring female fans.’ And we’re sure Gazza always will.
But what can the young Rooney learn from the old master? How to belch? How to be daft as a brush? How to deliver the appropriate slap to his other half?
‘Is there some hidden vice, some secret in Rooney’s psyche which is yet to emerge?’ asks Davies. ‘Drink, drugs, wife-beating?’ Kebabs? A friendship with Chris Evans?
If there is a secret or nascent psychosis in Rooney’s locker, the papers have set out to find it.
The Mirror even digs out the teens who played with an 11-year-old Rooney for Our Lady and St Swithen’s Catholic Primary in Croxteth, Liverpool.
But nothing doing – all we get is to hear how great young Rooney was. There’s not even a story of a borrowed pencil never returned, a young Rooney in detention or how he once ‘did a Gazza’ with a pint of Malibu.
We do learn in the Express that he’s gong to be ‘richer than Becks’, and via the Sun how England fans are clamouring to buy the £3m home being built alongside the Rooney mansion.
But will any of this make him the new Beckham or Gascoigne?
Perhaps the Sun is right to move away from the lad himself and see how his fiancée, Colleen McLoughlin, measures up to famedom.
There she is on the paper’s cover (‘Roo Booty – Wayne’s Wonder Woman’), sprawled across the front page in England shirt and shorts.
And there she is again, splashed over the paper’s centre pages in a piece entitled ‘SCHOOLGIRL TO COVERGIRL’.
She looks nice enough does Colleen, a girl with ‘the world at her feet’. But is she more Vicky Becks or Sheryl Gazza?
It’s a real puzzle. But a lot will decided by what her man does next.
Will he get sent off in a big England match like Beckham or cry like Gazza? Will he cultivate a friendship with a fat Geordie or sidle up to a plump Elton John?
Will he fill pages and pages of the newspaper with his antics, dye his hair, move to the continent (where his reputation becomes tarnished) and advertise junk food?
Or will he, er, fill pages and pages of the newspaper with his antics, dye his hair, move to the continent (where his reputation becomes tarnished) and advertise junk food?’
In Rude Health
‘LOOKING at what passes for the typical Englishman drinking in the midday sun in Portugal, it’s hard to believe we once considered it our mission to venture forth and civilise the world.
|
| England’s gift to the world |
And the effect of so much vomiting in the gutter, fighting on the beach and holiday souvenirs that the doctor needs to clear up with antibiotics and an umbrella-tipped needle has dented our reputation with them over there.
What the Express calls a ‘major study of residents in all 19 European states’ (19? Has Kilroy caused some to quit the continent already?), has found that the English, together with the rest of the British kind, are ‘rude, narrow-minded, not very sexy’ and eat rubbish food.
Of course, those ruddy stupid foreigners know sod all about us and, if hadn’t been for the war, they’d all be eating enormous sausages. The analysis is wrong, obviously.
And besides, they are all the type of people who respond to a survey – ‘a major survey’ – in Readers’ Digest magazine, the read no statesman can do without.
But to the results. And the findings are, in truth, not that bad.
The UK is the fourth most poplar country among people who complete Readers’ Digest surveys in the Express’s 19 EU member states, with Italy coming out on top.
The UK is also the fourth most disliked country, with Germany securing the top spot in a move that will surprise only the Germans and cause Austria to wonder where it went wrong.
We did finish top when it came to our sense of humour and, when respondents had to select which country had contributed most to the world, the UK romped home.
For all the Express’s reporting, jingoism and bad maths, we are only the third rudest country (Germany wins), and the third most efficient (Germany wins again).
So things are not too bad. And enough for Bob Low, of Readers’ Digest, to say in conclusion: ‘The rest of Europe appears to view us as a nation of Mr Beans and Basil Fawltys.’
Neither or whom were football hooligans. Or indeed real…’
Jam Today, Jam Tomorrow
‘THE Anorak Diet is proving to be a sensation.
|
| ‘Hell, I’m feeling crazy. What about some marmalade today?’ |
Men and women in their thousands are enrolling on our correspondence course and a monogrammed ‘Grain O’Rice A Day’ is in the post to each and every one of them.
If you don’t receive your personalised meal by August (the post is unreliable), don’t worry – you may be about to die of starvation, but the pall bearers will know you to have been slim, slim, slim!
But still there are some of you not with us, some who play Russian roulette with your health.
And so we learn in the Express of 15-year-old Craig Flatman, who lives on a diet of jam sandwiches.
Since the age of four, Craig has refused to eat anything other than sandwiches.
To date he has eaten 70,000 servings of white sliced bread sandwiches, smeared with margarine and strawberry, raspberry or blackcurrant jam.
Despite representatives from each major food group and lashings of fruit, Craig’s diet is not one recommended by the Food Standards Agency – although they will be buoyed to note that Craig also enjoys two pints of semi-skimmed milk a day and a slice of chocolate cake, for medicinal purposes.
And the diet seems to have done Craig no harm at all. He stands at 6ft 1in, weighs 11 stone and, besides his glasses, has no visible defects.
But he craves for things to change.
‘I begin to feel sick if I put anything else in my mouth,’ says Craig to the Mail. ‘It is a shame because I would love to eat things like burgers and chips.’
And the odd grain of rice…’
Britney In Roo-ins
‘HAVING carefully unpeeled the three-ply Wayne Rooney wrap that covers the back and front of today’s papers, we reach the one or, at a push, two pages of non-football news.
|
| ‘Hit him, mother, one more time’ |
And it’s a sobering jolt to a world that’s going loony for Rooney.
The Mail reports from America where there’s been a ‘nightmare’ incident involving Britney Spears, a photographer and the singer’s new white Maltese terrier.
The dog-loving Mail readership has already feared the worst. Surely the little love hasn’t been incorporated into Britney’s sick, highly-sexed stage show!
But before Middle England raise their pens in disgust, ready to rail against what passes for entertainment these days, the Sun brings its readers the truth.
First up, and most importantly, the dog (Rooney) is fine. It may be a little shocked, but it should pull though.
But Britney is hysterical. An emergency ambulance crew has been summoned and she, although ensconced in ten tons of 4×4 mobile body armour, is screaming.
‘Oh no, oh no. Mom. Mom,’ she gibbers, as a paramedic holds her hand. Mascara is running down her tear-soaked cheeks.
Mom Lynne just sits behind the wheel of her massive vehicle, perhaps shaken but keeping a lid on things as mayhem envelopes the street outside a pet shop in Santa Monica, California.
But soon Britney calms down – allowing the paramedic to treat Calum Reavely, whom Lynne has run over.
An eyewitness explains that when emerging with her new pooch, Spears became the target of a phalanx of snappers (who just happened to be passing).
‘Most of them were on the pavement,’ says a man on the spot. ‘Calum didn’t throw himself in front of the car or anything…
‘Without warning, Britney’s mum drove off at high speed, straight through the photographers.’
And down went Reavely, writhing in a heap of pain.
At which point, according to witnesses speaking to the Star, Spears told her mum to drive off.
‘After the accident,’ says another witness, ‘Britney was hysterical, screaming and cursing as she urged her mum to get out of there.’
That would have been cruel on Reavely, whose foot is reported to be badly bruised and swollen, and could have landed Lynne with a hit and run charge.
So they stayed to face the music. And in keeping with the Spears’ oeuvre, it was reportedly a very painful experience…’
Roo-ling The Roo-st
‘WITH the entire staff enthusing about Wayne Rooney, the Mirror’s sent its last reporter/tea girl out to find a story to fill the little available space in the rag not dedicated to the footballing boy wonder.
|
| It’s open season on ex-Goodies |
(There would have been even less space had the Mirror not finally got rid of its WMD counter.)
So, armed with a pen, Emma Britton, in the guise of reporting legend Phil Space, stepped out to fill some, er, space.
And that foray into the unknown has resulted in the paper’s scoop on how TV presenter Bill Oddie ‘has started a Delia Smith-style stampede for bird-boxes’.
Delia, Emma reports, once caused 90,000 of us to dash out and buy an omelette pan she had described on TV as a ‘little gem’.
And now Oddie, who appears on the BBC TV show Britain Goes Wild, has caused thousands of us to rush out and buy bird boxes.
‘Our retail outlets have been extremely busy,’ says a spokesperson for the RSPB. ‘Sales of bird boxes, bird feeders and bird baths have all shot up and we have sold out of bee boxes.’
It’s nothing less than a miracle. And for it we have to thank Emma, her story ‘THE ODDIE EFFECT’ and, of course, Oddie himself.
But where is the great twitcher? It’s not like he who resembles an overblown, downy tit to miss the chance to enthuse about the wonders of bird watching.
Oh, there he is. Quick, fetch the shotgun. We’ll have him stuffed and mounted before sundown…’
