Not since the classic 'Fleet's Lit Up"/"Woodrooffe Incident" have I laffed aloud at a reporter's discomfort. Our intrepid journo is standing down-wind from a pile of maryjane that the troops have indisputably lit up. The effects are immediate and obvious and this clip may well haunt him all his days.
On the heels of Copenhagen, a shocking environment-busting story to rival Exxon Valdez and put you off Spandex forever.
Just click and read the copy. You will not be disappointed.
I am proud to widen Ms Thiers-Bense's readership and, of course, aspire to one day join her clientèle.
Every time I play them, I miss that girl falling off my Messenger radar. Kronia polla, you sweetie! If you see this, mamzel, get in touch and I'll remove this post and simply ask you for more musical tips to further my education.
That Miss Dragoumi ... what a serendipitous meeting that was on the flight to Athens ... steeped in Beckett and crushed on her film director guru ... and she sent me the best songs I have ever heard.“Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better.”
The Wesley Harding album is under-saluted.
I *was* going to spend a fruitful Saturday morning finishing a short story for a woman's mag under my 'Shelagh Cowdray' nom-de-plume and then go out to Profi and buy all sorts of gadgety toys that I will use for a weekend and then leave around the garden ne'er to be found again ... but idle surfing has landed me on this page of rarther funny skits that remind me of ... me.
Good God!
The school rock group I was heading in 1964 added this to our repertoire in time for Martyn Dyer-Smith to sing it at the St Mary's Burgess Hill gig - me on borrowed Hofner with heavy sweeping plectrum work over the f-hole.
I never realised Newman had done it - why would he? - and to have Knopfler on what sounds to be a pretty superfluous guitar presence ... go figure.
Then let me offer the version with which I most enjoy plunking along - and believe me, I have no idea WHO that sweet-faced unfortunate is, landed with that burdensome rack.
Carol ~ I can't leave this page without slipping in this ace Chuck Berry. Look at how sexy Mick is and how wonderfully unseriously the band mugs to camera.
No girls as I can see in that winning shot up there but it was 16-year-old Albanienne, Katerina Mungulin, who whupped local ass when she
'broke with tradition by retrieving a cross from the bottom of a wintry Ionian Sea ahead of a dozen boys and men diving for it as part of a male-only Orthodox ceremony.'Yee haw! Go Kate!
Superb photos: That astonishing almost Goya-esque tableau centre top came from here and there are more.
Now something else has emerged that, if true, deserves a wider reading:
"Beginning February 16th, a new law will go into effect in the United Kingdom which would make it illegal to photograph “members of armed forces, a member of the intelligence services, or a police officer."BADASS ALERT: Oh, and when you check out Bonomo-gate, be sure to read the excellent Baddeley Comment with his ace links.
I can read the Runes.
Twice in as many days I've been reminded that no-one expects the Spanish Inquisition.
Less funny has been the time spent explaining to those too dull or too young the precise Pythonesque reference.
What clinched it was the arrival of a friend of a friend of a Special Forces friend of maman's - gushing intro, natch - who exactly defined one of my father's favourite quotes from Waugh, a
"lean, scarred man with hard grey eyes ... the sort who'd done well out of the war."
Turned out Gimlet Gaze was known to his friends as 'Biggles' - not that any of us tried using it over the Pimms and nibbles - but that decided me to shove the wretched sketch up here before there's further trooble oop t'web.
“I adore him ... He calls me, he tells me he has some free time and I join him in Milan or Rome.
I stay there listening to him. That’s what he wants from me.
"Veronica will have to publicly apologize to me.And I don't know if that will be enough."
Showgirl has video
Perfect sleaze storm: Hookers and Haut-Jinx
Silvio the Sex Addict - of course he won't enter for a cure. What a vote loser. (But I see that SB turns 73 soon - he and the luscious Veronica should connive on some @s---myhusbandsays Twitterous scam.)
Berlusconi fights back: attack on the media
No resigning
Miss Italia ~ Maria Perrusi ~ and don't tell me Silvio wasn't glued to his chair waiting to see whose next birthday he'd be attending
Italian women backlash against sexist SB
R&R with a hottie: You absolutely have to hand it to Silvio. He gets his face smashed about by some nutter with a model cathedral, blood everywhere, yadda yadda. First thing goes thru his mind is, 'Dude! This is what the chicks totally go for." And he's right.Expect to see a different 'nurse' each day as poor hammered Silvio struggles his way back to health and bauty. (I would love to have seen the cake with her outsize boobs and him giving the finger)
I would meet Baroness James of Holland Park at various book events and a formidahble lady she is, to be sure. Not one to suffer frippery faffers like me
As I read this report of her razor job on BBC Director General Mark Thompson, I could hear her measured rasping grilling and his stammered scurrying for cover.
Read it, not for this particular coal-hauling but as a model task-taking of any bloated swinging big dick who's forgotten his duty.
I was introduced by her publicist of the time at some book event. I edited the review page in some trade mag and was thought 'important'.
I kept myself short and to the point and her basilisk scrutiny never left me - reminded me of Enoch Powell's disconcerting laser gaze.
What, she was interested to know, did I think of the 'portrait' that had recently appeared in a booksy mag?
I confessed that it had drained somewhat of credibility when I saw that her Adam Dalgliesh was spelled throughout as 'ei'.
This seemed to let me thru to the next round and she asked me about my flamboyant MD and how one went about promoting the likes of Carlos Fuentes, Saul Bellow and Gunther Grass.
I replied that one didn't, one simply fielded the countless requests for interviews and tried to choreograph them in order of importance down so that none of the big beasts backed out in pique at being double dated.
I turned to PDJ's publicist, "Much like *your* job, I suspect." Toady flannel ooze.
I then dutifully trotted off to fetch something preferable to the aspro plonque, and that was my famous encounter, one of the few I've been sensible enough to leave unembroidered.
