David Beckham Saves Us All
EVERY new musical age pushes the boundaries back a little further.
And for punk rockers gobbing at their fans, we introduce the popstar vomit.
The Mirror raised an umbrella and looked on as Amy Winehouse took to the stage at London’s G.A.Y club.
Winehouse was due to sing some of her songs. And having been out with human mushroom Kelly Osbourne for some pre-match liveners, Amy was in top form.
This would be the night Amy made her mark on stage. And she did. After stumbling through her opening number, Amy threw up.
The Winehouse signature move is a work in progress and rather than give full throat to her audience, Amy chucked up at the side of the stage.
Very soon everyone will be doing it. Promoters at the venue positioned two buckets on stage for Jason Donovan’s imminent performance.
And as impressionable music fans practiced their projectile vomiting in their bedroom mirrors, we journeyed to the Alpine resort of Chamonix-Mt-Blanc, France.
The Sun looked on as Charlotte Church got in training to overreach Winehouse’s mark by necking ten sambucas and six vodka redbulls on a night out.
But booze may not be enough. Music’s new technicolour wave needs substance. And, luckily, Charlotte happened upon a Pepperoni Delight pizza. “The pizza’s lush,” shouted Charlotte to her orangey-skinned lover Gavin Henson, the Welsh rugby player. She wanted Gavin to try it. “Gavin, eat the f******* pizza or I’ll rub it all over your face. Eat it or f*** off. I mean that.”
Charlotte was then off for an impromptu performance at Le Privelege bar. She grabbed the microphone and began to belt out a rendition of Sting’s Fields of Gold.
Would she now do a Winehouse? But as Charlotte prepared for her big sambuca and pepperoni fuelled finale, we moved on.
Britain’s musical gift to Europe will not only be the gutsy, soul-filled chunder. It will be the sound of Morrissey. Manchester’s favourite musical miserabilist was making ready to write and possibly sing the country’s entry in this year’s Eurovision Song Contest.
And Morrissey is certainly capable of creating a song for Europe. Was it not he who sang “Now I know how Joan of Arc felt/ As the flames rose to her roman nose/ And her Walkman started to melt”? Joan of Arc was French, her nose Italian. Such tributes to foreign nations and their notables will surely impress judges and score easy points.
The only wonder is that it has taken this long for Morrissey to be called upon to serve his country. Recalling last year’s dire UK entry, Morrissey said: “I was horrified but not surprised to see the UK fail again. There’s a question I keep asking myself – why didn’t they ask me? It keeps going round in my head.”
Even Morrissey’s questions are catchy.
And if Morrissey was looking for inspiration he surely got it from the Independent. “EUROPE: the future,” came the headline. “This was how global warming will ravage the continent, reveal the EU.”
The Independent led with a map. It was a picture of the European Union surrounded by a wagon train of stars.
But these stars will not keep the enemy out. Nothing will. Global warming is in the very air we breathe. And it is coming to get us.
Portugal burns. Spain starves. Hungary is washed away. And in Blighty life is good. The Indy said that Northern Europe will benefit initially from this surge in temperature, “with a longer growing season, more tourism and fewer deaths.”
Sounds good. Bring it on. Start your engines and leave them running. Buy another fridge. Plant melon seeds. Make hay and wine while the sun shines.
Little wonder Tony Blair had been jetting off to foreign climes for his holidays, on his way burning all that warmth-inducing fossil fuel. What a patriot. Tony knows what’s best for the county he serves.
Tony’s carbon footprint is huge. Tony and the Blarios stomp about the planet wearing size 42 DM boots, like those worn by Elton John in the film Tommy. Rock on, Tony.
Britain will be mighty again. And if it is not, you can always move to America.
The plan to enable Brits to live the American dream is progressing well. David Beckham has secured a deal to rescue us all.
News was that David has signed a £128million deal that will see him end his playing days in the United States. David has signed for the Los Angeles Galaxy, an ambitious team whose name alone dwarfs the plans of some of Europe’s clubs to merely dominate planet Earth.
It’s a lot of money. Not that Dave is doing it for the money. Said Day-vid in all papers: “Soccer in America is the biggest played sport up to a certain age, and that’s where I want to take it to another level.”
As British football fans winced at the mention of “soccer” – the public schoolboy version of the game’s name that Americans insist on calling it – we knew better.
With this money Beckham can pay for thousands of Britishers to make the long haul move to America. Dressed in the kit of the Los Angeles Galaxy soccer team, the new British should blend in unnoticed.
Thank you, David. Thank you for giving us hope. Thank you for saving us from a doomed and sweaty Europe, Eurovision and ourselves…
Posted: 13th, January 2007 | In: Broadsheets Comment | TrackBack | Permalink
