Wednesday, February 28, 2007


New Addition


I've only just got back from Rotterdam, but when I got back I welcomed in the new addition to my home, who comes in the shape of Mitzi.

Monday, February 19, 2007




Is the question that I couldn't get out of my head early one morning last year somewhere in Sunny Beach.


Having been out the night before, and over-indulged I was idly looking out towards the sea.

I don't know if it was the air conditioning unit or just the voices in my head, but I couldn't get Agadoo out of my head.


I propably haven't listened to Agadoo since the last primary school party I went to, where I would inevitabally ended up dancing with the girl who stunk of Spaghetti Bolognese.


In fact, if the truth be told, my last primary school disco saw me play DJ for the first (and not the last) time, although my wheels of steel where then limited to a very basic Midi Hi-Fi (if that word itself isn't a blast from the 80s, I don't know what is), and my stack of vinyl was limited to some 60s, 70s and 80s seven inchers, as well as the then newly released Je Ne Sais Pas Pourquoi by Kylie Minogue - who at that point was considered to be completely naff, and had yet to transform herself into the Disco Diva that she became.


Stock Aitken & Waterman at some point give way to Simon Cowell and Nigel Lythgoe.


Black Lace, however, never pretended to be tender than thou and made honest-to-god party music that was still being played in discos in the aresehole of England as late as 1989.


I was reminded of their greatness other night when I drank a bottle of wine and watched Rita Sue and Bob Too, a film which really shines after more than twenty years.


If hearing "We're Having A Gang Bang, We're Having A Ball" doesn't bring a smile to the lips, then it's a poor do indeed.


I would have thought then that they would now be retired living in palatial mansions in Sussex, lving off the royalties of their music.


How wrong was I.


It transpires that "Cottom Eye Joe" by Rednex was actually the last thing Black Lace released - one of the duo was knocked down by a London bus not long afterwards, and the sole surviving member appears to be living on benefits on a run down council estate in South London.

Poor Michael Barrymore


It looks as though the Murdoch press have gotten their way at last, as I have read that entertainer Michael Barrymore is to leave the UK permanently for a new life in New Zealand with his boyfriend.


Never have I seen the country turn on a celebrity so viciously for announcing their sexuality.

My mother, who in the 80s would not miss an episode of Strike it Lucky, will now no longer watch him claiming he's a pervert and an abomination in the name of Christ.


The reason I find myself siding with Barrymore comes down to the way that facts have been distorted to make Barrymore look like Hitler.


Michael Barrymore is a gay man, and unfortunately he had to remain in the closet for a ridiculous amount of time, whilst at the same time, his freeloading wife was fully aware of his predicament whilst running up huge Visa bills at Harvey Nicks.


I would have thought that the raciest and most debauched showbiz parties would have been hosted by rock legends or heavy metal bands - not the man famous for My Kind of Music.


Something which has been blown out of proportion is the death of Stuart Lubbock, a closet homosexual who was a regular attendee at Michael Barrymore's parties, as well as less savoury events.


There are two main theories about the death of Stuart Lubbock - the first being that he was force-fed cocaine by Michael Barrymore, before being fucked to within an inch of his life, then drowned in a swimming pool cheered on by a crowd.


The other school of thought is that the "internal injuries" were administered after death, in a very Savillesque way by a hospital porter.


What angers me is the constant presence of Lubbock's father Terry who never misses an opportunity to hog the limelight, badmouth Barrymore, and convince the world that his son was a red blooded heterosexual.


The only person Terry Lubbock is trying to convince is himself.

Although it's a tragedy that his son died - Stuart Lubbock was gay.


To blame someone else for his shortcomings as a father is a bigger tragegy.

Monday, February 12, 2007


Charlie With Rick Stein


Have finally now switched my blogger account over to a google one, so any absence of posts can be summed up in a few lines.


Celebrity Big Brother was a sheer disappointment, and nothing short of a media circus. Whoever thought Jade Goody would be a South London version of Kofi Annan is obviously in need of a trip to the real world. At the end of the day, in the wise words of the very first housemates, it's only a gameshow. Don't hate the player, hate the game.


Christmas is now well and truly over, apart from the fact that the UK had some snowfall last week, none of it landing in Stretford, so there have been no early finishes or office closures for me. I suppose there's always next year.




Your Personality Is Like Cocaine
You're dynamic, brilliant, and alluring to those who don't know you. Hyper and full of energy, you're usually the last one to leave a party. Sometimes your sharp mind gets the better of you... you're a bit paranoid!
What Drug Is Your Personality Like?