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.
We Love Roo, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah
‘WE, like all the papers, would like to announce our intention to divorce David Beckham.
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| Rebecca Loos was in charge of Beckham’s personal affairs |
We now love Wayne Rooney, who is not only more handsome than the tattooed monogamist, but far younger and more available than our former paramour.
But divorces can be messy. We need some help. And, thankfully, the Mail has news that Tesco is selling a handy guide to the millions of us who wish to be separated from Mr Posh.
For £7.49, shoppers can read the ‘DIY Separation & Divorce Kit’ and in so doing find out about the right way to go about ridding themselves of the one they once loved.
With the average expense of a divorce solicitor priced at £600-£700 plus VAT, the book is designed to help the millions of us who will be turning way from Beckham this summer to save some cash.
The kit contains the ‘forms and advice you need to conduct your divorce’ and explains the ‘legal and financial issues involved and provides commonsense advice on how to conduct your divorce, taking you from the petition to the final decree’.
But first you need grounds for ending the marriage. And the emergence of Rooney is not enough. You need more.
As the guide says, divorce is generally linked to at least one of five triggers – ‘adultery, unreasonable behaviour, desertion, two-year separation when both consent to divorce, or five-year separation, in which case no consent is needed’.
Since Beckham has only been in Spain for a season, the two and five year options are voided.
Judging by his performance against Croatia, desertion is a possibility, and you might think it unreasonable to expect us to love his revolting new neck tattoo.
But neither is a clincher – which just leaves us with adultery. However, since of course he’s never done that, it does look like this will not be an easy separation.’
A Load Of Rubbish
‘WHEN cinema emerged as a form of popular entertainment in the early part of the 20th century, the old vaudeville players found themselves performing before dwindling audiences.
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| Victoria managed to find three copies of her latest album among the rubbish |
Conjurers and illusionists either packed up their acts completely or took them to remote parts of the world where the locals were ignorant of cinema’s existence.
And something about Victoria Beckham’s trip to the slums of Peru reminds us of the route trod by those acts of a bygone era.
Where else but amid the desperately poor who eke out a subsistence living looking through other people’s rubbish can Posh appear as a singer of international repute?
But there’s no need to listen to our thoughts because the Mirror’s story of how Vicky went to the outskirts of Lima for two days as part of a Sport Relief campaign comes in her own words.
‘Been talking to Mum,’ writes Vicky, ‘and she has lots of helpful tips like taking pencils and crayons as presents rather than felt tips that dry out in the sun.’
Invaluable stuff that gets gilt-edged as Posh tells us how ‘the kids in Peru have nothing…I’ll see families who have absolutely nothing’.
No, not nothing Posh, crayons. And darn fine, non-drying out ones at that.
And the desperate should take care not to confuse their new crayons with the rubbish they forage for each day.
And neither should Posh, who joins in the daily scramble in the dirt and for four hours sifts through the rubbish dump with a knife.
And she finds ‘there are lots of kinds of rubbish here’ – on the rubbish dump.
‘Here I stand in a patch of syringes, intravenous drips, soiled incontinence pads and used dressings. It’s truly awful. Dinah [the 11-year-old girl with crayons] soldiers on in her flip-flops.
‘I ask if she’s worried. ‘No,’ she says. She amazes me.’
And upsets her, because the poverty soon gets to Posh who ‘loses it’.
‘I feel so sad and helpless, yet I really want to help,’ says she.
‘People shouldn’t have to live like this. I’m finding that everything I’ve seen and experienced is taking its toll on me – as it would any mum.
‘Although I’m tearful, I feel like I should be strong, like the people who live there.’
But don’t worry about Posh falling into a state of despair and losing sleep because she has reached the comforting conclusion that ‘despite the poverty here, I do get a sense that people are having a go and are happy’.
And why would they not be? They’ve just met with a Spice Girl, a member of the world’s biggest act. And if that wasn’t wonderful enough, they’ve got crayons…’
The Butler Inquiry
‘PAUL Burrell is a family man. Princess Diana’s former butler kept a collection of his former employer’s dresses at his home for safekeeping. He runs a family florist business.
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| As straight as an Olympic slalom course |
As such, he is as un-gay as they come. But when a member of the audience at his one-man show Paul Burrell: In His Own Words announced himself as a reporter from Gay Times, Burrell for some reason blushed.
According to the Mail, he eased off his line of attack (in the show’s Q & A section the reporter had asked him how much money he was making off his multimedia Diana project, and Burrell had dismissed him as member of the press) and said that lots of his friends were gay.
He of course isn’t gay. Burrell is as straight as the manly hip from whence he shoots.
Not many people were in the line of fire last night, however, since only around 300 souls forwent the delights of Portugal v Spain on the telly to be entertained by Burrell’s live show.
Most of the throng, the Mail opines, were members of the dreaded press, although there were several Americans keen to see history in action, and a women from Mauritius who may or may not have been the theatre’s cleaner.
Meanwhile, a small crowd had gathered outside the show and, unless our eyes deceive us, that is Her Majesty and young Prince William raising their clenched fists in anger and looking to deck the toadying little ‘rock’.
Perhaps we have been duped by the Sun, which might just have hired two look-alikes for the job of screaming ‘WE HATE YOU, BUTLER’.
But there can be no mistaking the presence of Arthur Edwards, the Sun’s Royal snapper.
‘Burrell is a traitor cashing in on the Princess’s memory,’ says Arthur. ‘Some people believe he was her ‘rock’, but I’m told he was one stage away from losing his job before she died.’
Which sounds like her death might just have been the best thing that could have happened to Burrell.
Not that he would dignify that notion with a response. Well, not unless we paid £19.50 for a seat in the audience…’
On Her Metal
”IT’S hard to look sexy when your legs and body are inflamed.’
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| Donna found the wooden pole gave her splinters |
The undisputable truth as uttered by Donna Cleeve, who, the Sun reports, has been forced to give up her career as a pole dancer owing to an unfortunate condition.
After three months on the job, ‘scantily-clad’ Donna realised that the nickel used in the poles was triggering an allergic reaction on her skin.
‘I tried to ignore it but in the end it wasn’t worth the pain,’ says Donna, who has quit dancing for a job in sales.
Her removal has been a great loss to the industry, and many will miss the sight to Donna’s (stage name Honey) lithe, if slightly chapped, thighs wrapped around a pole.
But Muriel Simmons, head of a body called Allergy UK, is fully supportive of Donna’s decision.
‘Nickel and chrome allergy is quite common,’ says she, ‘and the only treatment is complete avoidance.’
So next time you go to place a few tenners’ worth of cash in a pole-dancer’s knickers, think on – she might be allergic to the nickel; best use copper pennies instead…’
Den Does The Dirty
‘POOR Sonia talk about jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire. Her young life has been tough enough – having to give her daughter up for adoption and then seeing the love of her life die.
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| Den of vice |
Now shes had to move from Dot and Jims house into Paulines. Even by EastEnders standards thats serious suffering.
Sonia and Martin returned from Southend to sheepishly announce that theyd already got married. Dot and Pauline were furious that their plans for a massive do had been spoilt theyd flown Robbie back from India (i.e. the dole queue) – but Dot eventually came round when she realised how selfish she had been.
Not so our Pauline though, the toxic witch was determined to make Sonia suffer. Worryingly, she accused Sonia of taking me place in Martins life, not quite seeming to grasp the fundamental differences in the roles of wife and mother.
Sonia managed to allay her fears. Martin and I will always be there for you Pauline, she said. Youre family now.
Pauline took this to mean that the happy couple would be moving in with her and announced as much to the whole Vic. Dot was furious, calling Pauline; a selfish, bitter old woman. Shes also a deranged one doesnt she realise that Sonias going to eat her out of house and home?
Elsewhere, Kat and Alfies marriage looks about as stable as Fat Pat up a stepladder. Alfie is still refusing to sleep with Kat (sensible man) and now hes talking about leaving The Square so its not all bad news.
The Ferrerias, however, look like theyre going nowhere. Without any money or jobs, theyve still managed to find themselves a convenient, empty flat in The Square.
The least offensive of the family, Kereena, is going, however. She and Kelly have got jobs as holiday reps in Ibiza and theyre going over to do the season. Spencer is gutted as his relationship with Kelly was going really well. Ill call ya every day, Kelly promised/lied to Spencer.
Dirty Den is also about to be caught out when wife Chrissie discovers the identity of his mistress. This can hardly be news to her though, surely. All shed have to do was pick up any tabloid in the past month.’
What A Riot!
‘ENGLANDS reputation for hooliganism is a well-earned one, as the residents of Marseilles, Charleroi and Albufeira will attest.
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| Not every English idiot is in Portugal |
And to that list of shame we can now add the Big Brother house in Elstree, after police had to be called in to deal with a mini-riot among housemates.
The Star says it was the most shocking night of drunken violence and vandalism ever seen during the spy-on-the-wall show.
And things got so bad that Channel 4 actually took the programme off air for an hour while they tried to restore order.
The catalyst for the violence was the reintroduction of Emma and Michelle into the house after they had spent the past few days secretly watching the other housemates slag them off.
Emma, who is so thick she gives planks a bad name, had been seething after hearing Victor call her stupid, boring and a racist.
Which particular epithet she was unhappy about we are not sure, but trouble flared when she decided to confront him about it.
What you gonna fucking do about it, you fucking dirtbag, he responded (according to the Suns record of the conversation), before throwing a glass of wine over Emma.
She then responded by hurling food at him, followed by a volley of pots and pans.
Youre a fucking bitch, Victor raged. Ill sort you out.
Youll sort me out, the Plank replied. A joker like you acting like some kind of black guy.
Meanwhile, Scottish beefcake Jason had lost it with Marco, who had taken to dancing, shrieking and waving his fingers at him in an ultra-camp attempt to destroy Jasons life.
Gimp boy Gollum dont dance in my face, he shouted. Dont fucking disrespect me. I will fucking kill you. I will fucking take your head off.
And Nadia was threatening to press charges against Vanessa after an unseen brawl in the bathroom in which the she-man claimed her housemate had lunged at her.
The shows producers responded to the violence by sending Emma back to the bedsit and splitting the housemates up into two groups as police tried to get to the bottom of what went on.
With the 11 suspects already locked up and video recording of every moment of the scrap, this is one case that even Hertfordshires finest might just about solve.’
Virgin Births
‘WHEN Mary tried to explain to her neighbours in Nazareth just how she had managed to get pregnant while still technically a virgin, she got a few disbelieving looks.
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| ‘What, she couldn’t find a nice Jewish boy?’ asks Mary’s mother |
But what was something of a rarity in the Holy Land 2,000 years ago is a common occurrence in Britain of 2004, with the Mail reporting that one in five children have no fathers.
Thats a lot of immaculate conception even the Holy Ghost must want a night off occasionally.
However, it seems that not all of these fatherless children were the result of virgin births in some cases the father has abandoned the mother; in other cases, the mother doesnt know which one of the local football team is responsible.
But it goes without saying that the Mail is shocked and appalled at the statistics, which are all no doubt the direct result of that unholy alliance between Tony Blair and the European Union.
Research, it says, has indicated that children who grow up without fathers are likely to do worse at school, suffer worse health and face a more difficult start to adult life than those with two parents.
Jesus is a case in point. He left school with only one GCSE in woodwork; he never had a girlfriend (although he did display an unhealthy attachment to prostitutes); he quit work and spent the last few years of his life drifting from place to place; and he eventually died at the age of 34.
How different things could have been if the Holy Ghost had stayed around and faced up to his responsibilities…’
It’s A Fake
‘YOU would have thought that in the wake of Piers Morgans departure from the Mirror the other papers would have been especially wary about publishing fake pictures.
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| As real as you want her to be |
But the forensic experts at Anorak Towers have been poring over a picture of Page 3 girl Michelle Marsh in this mornings Star…and their verdict is that its FAKE.
No, were not talking about Michelles EE chest, although it is possible that there is some silicone involved.
Nor are we talking about Michelles lovely blonde hair, although we suspect that it may well have come straight from the bottle.
Were talking about Michelles Cross of St Georges bikini bottoms (needless to say, shes not wearing a top), which have quite clearly been added on with the help of a computer.
Is Michelle not quite the patriot that we had her down as? Is she not cheering on our boys in Portugal with as much gusto as she was cheering on our boys in Iraq?
Or is there something even more sinister at work? Does Michelle even exist outside the pages of the Daily Star? Has anyone ever seen her in her home town of Oldham?
And, if not, then what can we believe? Lucy Pinder…’
VIP Heaven
‘ALL of us in Anorak Towers are wearing a piece of red string tied around our wrist these days as part of our new-found devotion to the Kabbalah religion.
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| Kabbalists do it with tongues |
We figured that when we die and go to Heaven we want to be surrounded by bona-fide celebrities Madonna and Guy, Demi and Ashton, Britney and, well, if shes still single…
The problem about boring old Christian heaven is that not only do you have to listen to Cliff Richard all day and all night but you have to sing along as well.
Its really just a giant Butlins behind the pearly gates with God as the chief redcoat.
We admit that we flirted briefly with Scientology, but it was just too whacked out even for us and, besides, we were worried we might be expected to sit through the whole of Battlefield Earth.
No, Kabbalah is very much the one for us a pass to the roped-off VIP area in eternity.
The only problem is how are we going to recognise all the celebs when we get there, especially the ones who keep changing their names.
For instance, we read in this mornings Mail that Madonna now wishes to be known as Esther.
Esther (from the Persian word Satarah, meaning star) was an Old Testament queen who saved her fellow Jews from mass killing.
And The Artist Formerly Known As Madonna explains in an interview on US TV that she wanted to attach myself to the energy of a different name.
Kabbalists believe in immortality, she explains. They believe that you can overcome death, overcome illness, whatever, so its incredibly good to be a rebel.
Of course, this is bad news for us. Overcoming illness, overcoming death it sounds like the VIP area in Heaven might be a bit empty.
Anyone got L Ron Hubbards number?’
An Udder Country
‘IF England are to beat Switzerland in their Euro 2004 clash tonight, they have got a number of obstacles to overcome.
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| Heifer good time |
First, they must they beat their own fans, or at least the sad losers whom the Sun names and shames on its front page this morning (see broadsheets).
Then, they must beat the Swiss, who, according to the Mirror, are on a cow-a-man bonus to beat Sven Goran Erikssons men.
The paper explains that, while England players receive £109,000 a man just for being in the squad, the Swiss will receive the traditional gift for sporting triumph a heifer.
Finally, they have to beat the ITV jinx. The Express reveals this morning that England havent won a game for eight years that has been screened exclusively live on ITV.
Since the 4-1 win over the Netherlands in Euro 96, England have been beaten by Romania and Argentina in the 1998 World Cup, by Portugal in Euro 2000 and by France at the weekend.
The only blot on the BBCs copybook during the same timeframe is the last-minute defeat by Romania in Euro 2000.
However, if England do manage to overcome all three obstacles, there is a real treat in store for one Star reader who can win a dream trip to Portugal to watch the vital Croatia game.
Not only that, but the winner’s travel companions will be two Star sizzlers.
Great news after all what could be better than watching a football match in the company of two people who havent a clue whats going on.
But, although Lucy Pinder and Michelle Marsh are promoting the competition, we cannot say if they will be the two sizzlers who will accompany the lucky winner.
In fact, we rather doubt if the Star will let its two prized assets go.
One look at the udders on Lucy and she might find herself being handed over to a Swiss player as a traditional sporting gift…’
Follow The Van(essa)
‘HELL hath no fury like a Geordie slapper scorned and Big Brothers Michelle yesterday let fly at housemate Vanessa after seeing her move in on Stuart.
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| What came first, the chicken or the fried eggs? |
The would-be mo-del branded the up-herself blonde a fat cellulite slag and a spiteful, selfish bitch.
It is interesting that the worst insult Michelle could dream up was to accuse her rival of having cellulite but, as luck would have it, help is at hand for Vanessa in todays Mirror.
If Nessa follows the papers exclusive diet, exercise and beauty plan for the next 28 days, she too can have dimple-free thighs.
And then Michelle will have to find a new avenue of attack. We suggest that maybe she should take the other housemates by surprise by, say, taking her top off…’
Cherry Picking
‘IF 50 years there had been auction for Robert Kilroy Silk’s virginity, we feel sure the bids would have reached up into the hundreds of thousands, even millions, of pounds.
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| ‘How am I going to explain this on eBay?’ |
But student David Vardy is no Kilroy – for a start, his face is a worryingly pasty colour caused no doubt by spending too much time in front of his computer.
And he has only been able to put a £6,000 reserve price on his cherry when he decided to auction it on eBay.
But the Express says the 19-year-old geek had already received offers from eight would-be Mrs Robinsons before the auction site pulled his ad.
‘The ideal situation would be if it was a really nice woman,’ he said. ‘If she did offer £6,000, then, sure, I might as well do it.’
The paper says David’s stunt comes months after 18-year-old lesbian Rosie Reid auctioned off her virginity, receiving £8,400 for sleeping with a divorced middle-aged father-of-two in a Euston hotel room.
‘It was horrible,’ she said of the experience. ‘It was very uncomfortable but it was over quite quickly, I suppose.’
Vardy said he had never had a serious girlfriend because ‘I’ve been wrapped up in multi-media projects, so I’ve not had time’ but added that bidders would have to trust that he was a virgin.
If they’re not convinced, a quick glance at his picture in the paper should remove any shred of doubt…’
At Cross Purposes
‘POOR old Tony Blair – he can’t do anything right these days.
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| England bikini, now with free Kilroy Silk tan |
This morning, he’s getting a ticking off on the front page of the Sun for not abandoning the whole of his European policy because a few loonies voted for Robert Kilroy Silk.
And the Star this morning accuses the Prime Minister of banning ‘our flag’ – by which it means, of course, the Cross of St George rather than the Union Jack.
‘Tony Blair,’ it complains, ‘is refusing to fly the England flag as the nation’s heroes battle it out in Portugal’.
These would presumably be the same ‘heroes’ who went on the rampage in Albufeira, throwing bottles at the police and, in the words of one Portuguese father, behaving like ‘animals’.
As evidence of Blair’s treachery, the Star notes that ‘not one Government building flew the St George’s Cross yesterday’.
We could of course observe that Tony Blair is the BRITISH Prime Minister and is the leader of the BRITISH Government.
But such constitutional niceties are lost on the Star, which does its bit for English national pride by dressing up Jennifer Ellison in a St George’s cross bikini.
Never one to miss an opportunity to promote itself (under the guise of supporting ‘our boys’), the Sun packs off ‘sexy’ 24-year-old Maddy Ford to Royal Ascot.
‘Punters cheered when they saw her dazzling dress based on the cross of St George,’ it reports. ‘Then she hitched up her frock to reveal her cheeky red Sun knickers.’
We are sure that the twin efforts of Maddy and Jen will propel England to victory against Switzerland tomorrow night whatever Tony Blair and his euro-cronies do to scupper our chances.
But we at Anorak were disappointed to see that the Queen had also failed to get into the spirit of the occasion, wearing a non-descript bright lemon outfit to the races yesterday.
When we phoned to ask why she wasn’t wearing anything from our Euro 2004 commemorative range of EZ-Slax (on top of the pair of Anorak knickers that we sent her), a Palace spokesman declined to comment.
How dare you turn your back on the nation in its moment of need, ma’am!’
A Proud Racist
‘FANCY that! It turns out that our friend Robert Kilroy Silk isn’t quite the white-haired knight in shining armour come to save us from flag-banning Tony Blair after all.
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| Scratch the orange surface… |
In fact, it appears that the orange face of the UK Independence Party conceals a rather nasty piece of work, his carefully cultivated image belying ‘the hypocrisy of a man whose tendency to berate single mothers for their own lapses in morality is not reflected in his behaviour’.
Well, blow us down with a feather!
All of us here at Anorak Towers were staggered to discover in this morning’s Mirror that Kilroy was anything other than a fine upstanding pillar of our multicultural society.
‘This is a millionaire who, despite having been married for 42 years to wife Janet, fathered a love child he has never met,’ accuses the paper.
‘He is a bully who has been violent and is said to have cut off the water supply to his neighbours’ home.
‘He is an ambitious political chameleon who has attacked races from Arab to Irish and insulted Muslims.
‘He is an egotist and so astonishingly vain he once thought himself ‘too handsome for politics’.’
In fact, it appears from the Mirror article that Kilroy, one of 12 UKIP MEPs elected last week, is the political equivalent of the English thugs that ran amok in Portugal two nights ago.
We already know that he thinks Arabs are ‘suicide bombers, limb amputators and women repressors’, but here are his views on some other nationalities.
Ireland is ‘a country peopled by peasants, priests and pixies’; Pakistanis ‘want to generate hate’; the French are ‘devious’, Germans ‘truculent’ and Spanish ‘not to be trusted’.
And as for Muslims, ‘they are backward and evil and if it is racist to say so…then racist I must be – and proud and happy to be so’.
And we are so proud and happy to have you representing us in Brussels…’
The Stepford Wives
‘ENGLAND coach Sven Goran Erikssons tactics worked like a charm against the French for 90 minutes on Sunday, only to be undone by two injury-time mistakes.
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| And you are? |
It is to be hoped that the Swede is just as good a tactician off the pitch after he decided that the best way for his squad to get their collective pecker up was to, well, get their collective pecker up.
He relaxed the bonking ban for the night after the game, allowing wives and girlfriends to stay with the players and give them a bit of a boost.
And the Sun is sure the tactic is a masterstroke, quoting an insider who insists that morale is now higher than ever.
Im sure the girls will have done all they can to lift the lads spirits, he says.
All well and good but, after studying pictures of the girls in the crowd watching the game against France, Anorak has spotted a potential problem.
How do the players tell which girlfriend belongs to which player?
Obviously, for some players its easy David Beckham need only look out for a pouting toothpick standing away from the rest of the group and Sol Campbell just heads for the one who looks like everyone elses mother.
But what of the rest? How does Wayne Rooney tell fiancée Colleen McLoughlin from Frank Lampards Elen Rives? How does Stevie Gerrard make sure he ends up in bed with Alex Curran instead of Michael Owens partner Louise Bonsall?
Not only do the girls all look identical, they have exactly the same hairstyles, designer outfits and bling bling jewellery.
The potential for confusion is horrendous, but short of making the girls wear name tags or training them to answer to simple commands – how can it be avoided?
The answer, we see in the Star, is so simple that its brilliant each of the players has bought his other half a slightly different watch.
As you would expect, Victoria Beckham leads the way with a £75,000 diamond Frank Muller number.
Elen Rives has a £10,000 yellow Bulgari watch strapped to her wrist, Alex Curran wears a £10,000 Jacob and Co number, and Colleen McLoughlin sports a £6,000 timepiece, also from Jacob and Co.
All the girls need to do now is learn how to use them.’
Big Cups To Fill
‘IF one of the footballers wives develops a malfunction or takes a wrong turning and goes missing in Portugal, it is good to know that there are plenty more where they came from.
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| This beach is not big enough for the two of them |
And the Star has made it its mission in life to track them down under the guise of looking for the new Lucy Pinder.
Of course, there is only one Lucy they broke the mould when they made her…and a very big mould it was at that.
Her story how she was discovered by a Star photographer last August soaking up the rays on Bournemouth beach and catapulted from obscurity to international superstardom – is already the stuff of legend.
Lucys only 20 now and looks like she could go on forever, but time and gravity are cruel mistresses and the day will eventually come when she has to hang up her bikini top.
When it does, she will obviously leave very big bra cups to fill, but filled they must be and already the Star is on the look-out for the breasts that can do that.
The competitions been whittled down to 13 finalists, seven of whom present their case in this mornings paper.
The remaining six will feature in tomorrows edition, after which Star readers (or those of them who know how to work a phone) will be able to vote for their favourite.
But already we have a winner for her name alone, Anorak is swinging its block vote behind the bikini-clad frame of 23-year-old Terri Tibbles, from Essex.
She wins a modelling contract with the Daily Star, a Jacob and Co watch and a series of dates with a Premiership footballer of her choice*.
* Subject to availability. Offer is limited to players from Charlton and Southampton only.’
Tiger Shoot
‘WHILE our footballers wives are busy boosting national morale and the Portuguese economy, what are their rugby-playing equivalents up to?
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| Another summer of loving |
Well, if youre Diana Stewart, 25-year-old girlfriend of Jonny Wilkinson, youre wearing a white tennis skirt and acting as ball-girl for a match between Tim Henman and John McEnroe.
Except it isnt John McEnroe at all, but impressionist Alistair McGowan in what, as presented in the Express, looks suspiciously like an Ariel advert.
Meanwhile, the real John McEnroe was busy getting his claws into The Tigerish One, branding Henman boring and robotic.
Obviously, he didnt say that at all, but the Express is never one to let facts get in the way of a good story as anyone who has read its lies about immigration can attest.
What he did say was that the treadmill of modern tennis had drained much of the charisma and excitement from the game.
And he urged Henman to get with the fans.
They are rooting for you, he said. Respond to them, harness their energy, love them back.
Sound advice no doubt, but easier said than done. Has McEnroe seen what the average Henmaniac looks like?’
The Gag-O-Meter
‘QUESTION: Why did the rooster cross the road? ANSWER: To prove he wasnt a chicken.
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| What happend next scored a rib-cracking 200 in Scotland but a zero in England |
Okay, so its not very funny but just how not very funny is it?
To find out we put the joke through a new humour rating calculator devised by two scientists for the Science Museums comedy research project.
The formula, outlined by Helen Pilcher and Timandra Harkness, suggests that the funniness of a particular joke is dependent on the length of the build-up and the absence of puns.
It states that X (the humour rating) = (fl+n to the power of o)/p, where f = funniness of punchline, l = length of build-up, n = slapstick factor, o = ouch factor and p = number of puns.
Thus, if we feed our rooster joke into the system, we learn that its humour rating is (8 x 5 + (9 to the power of 2))/1. In other words, 121 out of a possible 200.
We can therefore tell conclusively that it is not as funny as the joke the Sun uses to test the formula this morning.
It goes as follows: A woman slips on a cow-pat. She gets up only to see a man slip on the same cow-pat. I did that, she says. Well, next time clear it up, he replies.
Well take a brief pause to allow you to dry your eyes and rest your aching ribs before telling you that that little jest has a humour rating of 172 fully 51 chortle points ahead of our gag.
But veteran comic Bernard Manning thinks the idea of a formula for jokes is rubbish.
After all, hes been using the same formula for his jokes for years and hes rubbish. (Boom! Boom! And a humour rating of 145.)
Tommy Cooper, he tells the Sun, could make people laugh just by standing silent.
Indeed, 20 years ago he brought the house down during the Live From Her Majestys show by falling to the ground and clutching his chest…until the audience realised he had suffered a fatal heart attack.
But mathematicians will have noticed a rather large flaw in the formula, namely that any joke that does not contain a single pun will have a humour rating of infinity.
Thats why Tommy Cooper could make people laugh just by standing silent or keeling over dead. And thats presumably why Frank Skinner and David Baddiel are still in paid employment…’
In A Stu
‘HOW funny was it to watch would-be topless model Michelle Bass burst into tears as she watched her Big Brother lover Stuart flirting with the other girls in the house?
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| For viewers watching in black and white, England are kicking from left to right |
(We fed the data into our new Anorak Gag-O-Meter, constructed from an old bicycle, a broken Etch-a-sketch and a lock of Bob Monkhouses toupee, and blew every fuse in Anorak Towers.)
Less scientifically, the Star (Big Blubber) thinks its so funny that it splashes the Geordie lasss tears all over its front page.
Poor Michelle, it says, was left fuming after a fake eviction on Friday allowed her to witness events in the house from behind a screen.
She saw hunky Stuart getting aroused in his swimming shorts while bathing in the spa pool with Shell; sexy Vanessa making a move on the long-haired student as she painted his nails and massaged him; and gay Dan rubbing suntan oil into the lads buttocks.
Hes my little chicken, she wailed. Get your hands off him!
We tell you all this because quite clearly you are not watching the programme itself.
In fact, it appears that the only people tuning in are the hacks who work for the Star, which explains why the story of Michelles tears is exclusive.
Perhaps, the other papers were too preoccupied watching Shell mow the lawn naked to notice. Or perhaps, like everyone else in the country, they were watching the football instead.’
Boom Or Bust
‘MICHELLE reacted to Stuarts flirting in the only way that a would-be glamour model should by taking her top off.
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| Our cups runneth over |
She may have the dodgiest boat since King George V uttered the famous words God bless the Titanic and all who sail in her, but its her chest that Michelle hopes will be her fortune.
However, a report in the Mail suggests that the woman who gives Geordie slappers a bad name might need to wait for an economic downturn before she makes it big.
According to a survey, when times are good men set their sights on younger girlish-looking women with big eyes and softer features, but when times are bad they seek solace in curvaceous women with comforting maternal figures.
In short, we want someone to have fun with when times are good and someone to take care of us when times are bad, says the reports author Dr Terry Pettijohn, who came to his conclusions after studying Playboy centrefolds over the past 40 years.
If the research turns out to be true and flat-chested Ruth Lea, director of the Centre For Policy Studies, has her doubts then it could provide a useful tool for economic forecasters.
All we can say is that, judging by the picture of stunna Louise Thomas in a St Georges cross bikini on the front of the Star, weve never had it so good…’
Imperfect Match
‘SONIA and Martin tied the knot this week, with only granddad Jim, a taxi driver and the 15 remaining EastEnders viewers as witnesses.
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| ‘There were three of us in this marriage, so it was a bit crowded’ |
The pair had eloped to glamorous Southend to escape from Pauline and Dot; a perfectly understandable decision. Pauline and Dot were determined to out-do each other in the wedding preparation stakes.
Dot had ordered ham sandwiches for the reception. Thats a bit common, sniffed Pauline. I was thinking more along the lines of pate and roulades. And that from a woman who lives in a cardigan and a tabard.
The pair then had a stand-up row in the church at the dress rehearsal when Pauline revealed she was going to read a poem at the wedding.
I dont old with this sacrilegious stuff in the ouse of the Lord, Dot wailed. Well, its my wedding too! retorted Pauline, which obviously came as something of a shock to Sonia and Martin.
The unhappy couple decided to escape the madness by running off to Sarfend and getting married in a registry office.
Jim managed to find them just as they were exchanging their vows (promising to cherish each other in misery and misery no doubt), and persuaded the couple to come back to Walford for their reception.
Its lucky they did because of course no wedding is officially a wedding without a reception in The Vic.
Back in Walford, another recently married couple were also having their problems – Alfie is refusing to sleep with Kat after she slept with Andy.
Kat has taken to wearing a series of revealing/horrific outfits in an attempt to woo him back into her arms.
Unfortunately, unless Alfie is turned on by the sight of a butchers shop window, shed be much better off applying the less is more approach in her choice of nightwear. Or blinding him.
Kats daughter is also employing her feminine charms to trap a man but, as an 18- year-old who doesnt paint herself orange, shes been far more successful.
Zoe has decided that Dennis is the love of her life and hes decided shes the love of the next 30 minutes. I cant elp meself, she moaned to Kelly. I just ave to ave im.
Its good to see that she takes after her mum in so many, many ways.’
Spencer For Hire
‘EARL Spencer is no Marcus Antonius, but he has achieved some renown for his funeral addresses.
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| Available for funerals, weddings, christenings… |
His finest hour came seven years back when his cloying, mawkish rhetoric about how terrific his sister Princess Diana was captivated an already sodden-eyed, emoting audience.
Here was a man who seemed to have learnt his English from Hello! magazine. Who can forget lines such as ‘Diana was the very essence of compassion, of duty, of style, of beauty’?
It was great stuff. But rather than produce a new career for the Earl as a celebrity eulogiser, Di’s brother was forced to wait and wait and wait until someone would die and give him another booking at the pulpit.
And then his mother, Frances Shand Kydd, the woman with a name made for circus, shuffled off. And up to the lectern stepped good old Charlie Spencer.
But before he could speak, others, chiefly his princely nephews William and Harry, had first to arrive at St Columba’s Cathedral in Oban, Scotland.
And the party included the Mail, which anticipating much from the good Earl slipped into language familiar to him.
‘By the time Prince William took his place at the pulpit, the church was bathed in sunlight,’ it writes as the heir to the heir to the throne prepared to read his lesson.
‘William was a tall, bronzed figure, looking slimmer and with his hair longer than of late. His facial expressions still recall his mother, especially that downward gaze.’
Oh yes, things were gearing up to the big speech very nicely.
And then, the Express reports, the time was ripe for Earl Charlie Spencer to ‘put the knife in again’.
‘The true love Diana had for her mother was evident in her will,’ he said. ‘She left my mother executor and principal guardian of her sons.’
He then prated on about how his mother was ‘sparky and sporty’ (the Earl can just as easily employ his speechmaking to adverts for Pedigree dog food as deceased peers – remember Diana’s ‘boundless energy’?) and how she was ‘a woman who was the most dazzling of her generation’.
But the pointed remarks about his nephews had already been made. Granny should have looked after them as their ‘principal guardian’.
However, one small man with large ears stood in the way of that, although the Earl could forget about Prince Charles because he’d been expressly uninvited to the ceremony.
So William and Harry’s dad, and their principal guardian, was forced to cover up his disappointment at missing his ex-mother-in-law’s funeral by taking Camilla Parker Bowles to see Mamma Mia in London’s West End.
But don’t be hard on him, the show is something of a sing-along and the Earl did once tell us that his sister wanted people ‘immersed by duty and tradition’ to ‘sing openly’.
So join in, all of you, and that includes you, Earl Spencer: ‘You’re a teaser, you turn ’em on, leave ’em burning and then you’re gone.’
But only until the next funeral…’
Arse About Face
‘PRINCESS Diana was 36 years old when she was taken from us. That’s no age at all. But we now learn the more shocking news that her backside was a mere slip of a girl – it was just 16.
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| Top of the bottoms |
This is a cruel blow. But Diana’s posterior was not out of the ordinary and the Sun brings news that we are all blessed with backsides that look 20 years younger than our faces.
Of course, with some people it is hard to spot any difference between arse and face at all, especially when they speak.
But taking a broad look at the bum, tushy, call it what you will, the Sun has seen scientific proof that as a rule our rears look more youthful than our faces.
Skincare company RoC has looked into the matter and noted how, since most arses are covered up and the sun accounts for 80% of skin ageing, our buns look relatively youthful and carefree when contrasted with our faces.
The company’s chief of research, Dr Nathalie Issachar, says: ‘People like the sensation of warm sun on their skin and a tan makes people feel good. But they should be sensible about sunbathing.’
That’s sage advice. And while we chew it over, we are invited to gaze upon some arses and the faces that sit atop them.
So step forward and bend over Kylie Minogue, for whom this story was surely written. And know that at 36, Kylie has the backside of a 21-year-old. And that’s official.
What’s more, 31-year-old [sic] Geri Halliwell’s bum is closer to 20, the same age as 33-year-old Jennifer Lopez’s proud rump.
But hold on to your lunch, because that white expanse of puckered skin and crack belongs to 63-year-old Peter Stringfellow, the biggest arse of them all. And news is that it’s only 35-years-old.
As such, Stringfellow’s rear is only just entering the age when men experience a mid-life crisis.
But at least it will have Peter’s wealth of experience to draw upon as is it navigates the difficult days that lie ahead…’
Boning Up
”SIT! Lie down! Roll over! Play dead! Sniff another dog’s backside, frot the vicar’s leg and drop one in the garden! Theresagoodboy!’
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| ‘D is for dandelion’ |
It’s as clear as the massive turd on your neighbour’s front lawn that dogs are every bit as intelligent as the average three-year-old human child.
And it’s now scientifically proven.
The Mail has leant this fact from a study carried out at the Max Planck Institute in Leipzig, Germany.
In controlled experiments, researchers tested Rico, a nine-year-old border collie, to see how many words he could understand.
And some of the 200 that he could are listed for Mail readers to peer at and then look up in their dictionaries.
Most are words of other animals (‘Beetle’, ‘Chimp’, ‘Cow’ and ‘Duck’), some are names of his toys (‘Pinky’ and ‘Oscar’), while others display his Germanic roots (‘Fritz’ and ‘Kafer’).
But surely the most impressive word in this lexicon of dog comprehension is ‘Quark’.
The Nobel Prize winning physicist Max Planck, after whom the institute was named, would have been delighted to note that a dog has such a grasp on the sciences.
And such a determined grip on the vicar’s leg…’
Jumping The Shotgun
‘WHEN Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez cancelled their wedding, we were put out.
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| Et tu, Marc Anthony? |
We had looked forward to the do for months, and with it the chance to feast on la-di-da designer crabsticks and miniature sausage rolls.
But suddenly it was like the couple’s cheese and pineapple hedgehog wedding cake – it was off.
And then Marc Anthony happened along.
The vols-au-vent were taken out of the deep freeze, the jellied eels were given a thorough dusting and the invitations were touched up to now read Marc where Ben had once sat.
And the wedding went ahead. It was a low-key event, although the Star still found it ‘lavish’, and J-Lo and Marc were duly pronounced man and wife.
But now, according to the Star, it appears they may have jumped the shotgun.
Rumours abound that J-Lo is pregnant by her man and, being what the paper calls a devout Roman Catholic, couldn’t face the idea of having a baby outside wedlock.
But in her haste to marry, the Express says J-Lo should have first waited for her husband’s divorce to be finalised.
In a bid to rid himself of ex-Miss Universe Dayanara Torres, Anthony had flown to the Dominican Republic and untied their marital knot in a mere three days.
However, the mighty US State Department says the procedure usually takes 60 days, allowing plenty of time for either party to appeal.
‘This is very worrying for the couple,’ says an unnamed source. ‘If the divorce was not complete, then Marc is effectively a bigamist.’
There are question marks over the 60-day rule, but there is enough doubt to make us wonder as to the validity of the Lopez-Anthony union.
If they are forced to marry again, we’re not sure we can take yet another Lopez wedding. And neither are the crab sticks…’
