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i need a word about bbc newsnight’s interesting science editor and more specifically her eclectic wardrobe.

as a bit of a fashion victim myself i’m only too aware of the danger that my adoring public might one day turn on me for abusing my more than generous wardrobe budget, particularly in these straightened economic times, but gordon bennett, would some kind soul please throw this tedious creature an oddment?

anything to give us a break from the endless recycling of these two, admittedly charming linen numbers. you know, the one in pillar-box red and the other a fetching nappy-contents mustard. could have been a job-lot from halfords. you can’t have missed ’em. seriously that fetching criss-cross high-waist effect, admittedly irresistible at it’s premiere just ain’t doing it for me anymore.

when were we first dazzled by these entrancing little confections? was it perhaps while the eminent boffin was alerting us to the dire possibilities of a mass outbreak of recombinant cjd in about 2001? it seems longer.

beguiling as they may be to the casual observer, for the newsnight regular paxo’s mere mention of her name has you wondering “which will it be tonight?” surely enough already!

and as if the repetition weren’t bad enough these rags are beginning to look like she’s kipped in them. for a week. or two.

don’t misunderstand me here. i’m not suggesting she should blag any of maitlo’s spangly little are-you-kidding-i’m-off-clubbing-straight-from-here numbers: come on, we don’t want to scare the horses, but surely a modest effort from time to time would not seem unreasonable?

perhaps a quick root around gloria hunniford’s capacious ragbag. or a riffle through julia somerville’s “woollies for the charity shop” pile. hurry-up and choose woman before i move on to ann widdecombe’s titanic cast-offs. (see what i did there?) that’d learn ya.

alright i’m embroidering it for effect now: hey, maybe she could try that. well it’s a thought.

anyhow can’t stop : just clearing out last week’s wardrobe for ebay.

see you saps on the runway.

newsnight’s maitlis; what a poppet,
but what’s that dress sense all about? just stop it!

though oft in cold and winter gloom her
scripts suggest a sense of humour.
but the trick which seems to most enamour her
is pointing her left shoulder towards the camera.

well, i expect you’re all relieved to see the back of the general election; for a few months at least.

how did you enjoy the wall-to-wall tv coverage? sadly, with exit polls achieving unnerving levels of accuracy, it soon became clear that almost all the excitement of the event had come and gone in the four week run-up. shame ;-(

to make matters worse, as if there wasn’t enough hot-air around at election time, sky tv subjected us to the nauseating spectacle of adam bloater’s repellant burp-fest, this time in glorious hd. cut down on the nose bag and ditch some ballast fat boy.

(surely high-time he was replaced by the lovely ‘botto’ of whom i caught no more than a tantalising half-second glimpse in some media melee)

at the bbc we were at least spared any repetition of the now-infamous ‘surreptitious mars bar incident’ which is widely believed to have set an incurable rot into election results reporting worldwide.

we were however forced, once again to endure repeated spasms of the ludicrous jeremy vine, lurching around like some deranged stick insect with his virtual toys.

mr mugabe called the bingo. mrs banana-republic and mrs lockout made the sandwiches and we sang ‘things can only get better’, which they probably won’t in a hurry, if ever.

miss bugger-off-home-now accompanied, one-handed on the harmonium and a good time was had by all.

looking forward to october’s return match already.

catch you later couch-potater :-0

i’m almost ashamed to be writing about this but last night’s semi-final of the bbc’s strictly come dancing took the piss a bit too far. or rather it’s simpering female audience did.

the public’s elimination of talented, elegant, leggy bill-actress ali bastion in favour of some cheruplegic sports monkey made my normally tepid blood boil. (well it warmed-up a bit)

i would have spat the dummy if my minders had not dipped it in special brew.

to be honesht i have not been sho angry shince the lasht time they forgot to dip my dummy in shpecial brew.

mine’sh a pint.

so ‘the apprentice’ returns to bbc tv perhaps for a series to far.

the candidates are the usual bunch of of up-themselves young gits and it’s a treat each year to watch them show the holes in their smug arses to an audience of millions, whilst speculating as to which will meet with most displeasure each week. obviously they deserve all the humiliation they get.

this week a baby-faced butty tycoon met his chicken marengo waterloo in the boardroom having, hilariously, failed at his own job. brilliant! extraordinary that even he could lose to an ‘award-winning restaurateur’ whose food i would not have offered to my pet pig. (alright; if i had one. don’t start)

but what’s this change i detect in the sucrose one? could it be that having exhausted his meagre repertoire of native ribaldry, some sap has been tasked to script gags for the business guru? is the great man, heaven forfend, scripting his own?

either way they ain’t working. sir al may have made a few quid but a stand-up, he ain’t.

take my advice, big-boy, “bang-bang and off”. ooh, missis, where’s me washboard?

oh please jacqui, no, you’re too kind! a gift like this is just too much! i’ve been waiting since i was an egg for any government to do me a favour but this story truly take the cake!

just when she might have hoped that the fuss over her disgusting second home expenses claims had faded into the background comes news that home (homes, surely?) secretary jacqui smith has claimed parliamentary expenses for the cost of viewing pornographic videos at her home. whether or not she enjoyed them remains undisclosed at this time. i think we should be told. (my little joke)

the cost? a trivial £10 you say. i say this might just be the wispy little straw which finally breaks the camel’s back of public opinion on this ever more sordid government.

of course the £10 is trivial; but that makes this claim more offensive, not less. the fact that they feel free to simply broad-brush even the most demeaning expenses of their trashy lives into the taxpayers’ lap is a perfect example of the contempt with which these grasping creatures treat the public purse, not to mention the public who fund it.

if, in the absence of her resignation, brown does not fire this woman now, i predict it will come back to bite his arse.

on a happier note, for me at least, i further predict that this tangy snackette is no more than an appetizer to the smorgasbord of disgrace sure to be disinterred when shortly, courtesy of the long overdue freedom of information arrangements, mp’s expenses are revealed wholesale.

lip smackin’.

so long sleazebags 😉

okay suckers, prepare to be dazzled; i’ve had an idea for a great new tv game show.

“what’s the winning format?” you’re saying. alright already, let’s choose some lucky contestants first.

yeah, they’re lucky alright because they only need (1) an iq in single figures and (2) not to have been locked-up for their own safety. anyhow, once we have steered enough of these fame-hungry jar-heads into the tv studio the game can begin.

here’s how it works: each brain-donor, scuse i, great contestant has to gaze ernestly at the outsides of a series of randomly numbered shit bags, pretending that any one of them has any significance whatsoever.

now, strap yourselves in because here’s where the killer format really kicks-in. for each shit bag, the preening, self-obsessed host with a joke 1960’s hairstyle, geography teacher beard and personality lifts enquires of the knuckle-dragger “shit, or no shit?”

needless to say the pond-life, after trying monosyllabically to build up their parts are persuaded to give it their best shot, i mean shit.

when they’ve all done this so many times that the average viewer will have fallen into an irreversible coma, assuming they weren’t in one before their carer tuned-in for them, a highly-trained shit-counter with an iq in double figures goes to work, advising the host as to who guessed correctly most times, and they get to take all the shit home.

of course, in reality the winner will always be the one who guessed “shit” most times, because obviously, it’s all shit!

holy shit, or no shit, it’s a winner! where do i sign? 😉

wow! jeremy clarkson is mildly disrespectful to our sainted prime minister. hold the front page!

another case of much ado about nothing dominates the news media.

so no surprise there you might think, and you’d be right. knee-jerk outrage has lately become the standard reaction of the british press to the slightly off-colour utterances of any gob-on-a-stick, however low down the food chain. (more…)

wall-to-wall cooking shows on tv … what’s that about then?

still watching tv programs about decorating (wrecking your house), antiques (flogging-off your old tat), gardening (covering every square inch of your garden in hardware to avoid the inconvenience of plants)?

where you been boy? they’re all so passe. cooking is the new black. it’s the way forward. in fact it’s the way backwards and sideways as well. you can’t avoid cooking on tv whichever way you look! (more…)