Anorak News | Kiss ‘N’ Chantelle

Kiss ‘N’ Chantelle

by | 6th, February 2006

‘ON Monday, we heard a tapping sound. Tap! Tap! Tap! It was the sound of those bureaucrats at the EU chipping away at our British way of life.

Already they’ve taken our patriotic pounds and our island-race inches and, buoyed by those successes, were plotting to strip us of our honest pints.

The Mail said that the traditional pinta was under threat from the EU, which wanted to replace it with litre and half-litre bottles.

For your information, the Mail said that a half litre of milk was 64millilitres smaller than a pint for milk, prompting “fears” that customers will be short-changed.

Terrible! Quite so. What’s this about 64millitres? Had the world gone stark raving bonkers? Once the Mail goes the way of the metric masses, we are surely racing pell-mell to Hell in Marcel’s handcart.

Who would save us? Where was Britannia? We needed a champion. And – hurrah! – if it wasn’t the blonde tresses and puckered lips of Chantelle, riding in on a white limo to save the day.

How the Mail cheered. It compared the Big Brother winner to Eliza Dolittle. It called her “natural” and “unexpurgated”. She was “herself with such a sweetly artless and unspiteful sang-froid that the viewing public…became entranced”.

Chantelle had bottle. The cream had risen to the top. She was the full British pinta.

Little was heard of Chantelle on Tuesday. Doubtless, she, like Anita Singh, spokesman for animal rights campaigners People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (Peta), was incandescent with rage at the sight of Camilla Windsor planting a tree with a dead rabbit hanging from her throat.

OK. A bit over dramatic. In truth, the rabbit was dead. It might not have fought for its life, happy to give up its skin for so noble a cause as keeping Camilla’s wattle warm and, dare we say, snug.

On Wednesday, we were not told what Chantelle thought of the news that Oslo was the world’s most expensive city, nor what she thought Cocaine Kate Moss had said to the cops during.

As for Moss, the Sun thought the case against her was over. It said Moss had enacted “THE GREAT ESCAPE”. It heard one cop admit that the case against her was “a dead duck”.

The Star was less certain. It said that police were going to prepare a report for the Crown Prosecution Service. The CPS would study the case against Moss and decide what to do next.

And the judiciary must tread carefully. The Star said that it, and we, should not get “starstruck”. “This was a really important investigation into serious claims of cocaine dealing.”

Sure. Just as the Star’s more prominent story on how chav-tastic Coleen McLoughlin’s new pet Maltese terrier wore a pink hoodie was a comment on corruption in British football.

On Thursday, we read with interest that Jordan was downsizing. What was more, her implants would be auctioned off on the Internet. Who would not want a pair of Jordans of their very own?

This was terrific news for Katie’s fans – although perhaps not so marvellous for the mo-del’s pint-sized husband, Peter, who may by forced by his health insurers to wear eye protectors when in close proximately to his uplifted wife.

But there was also bad news. We cancelled the crabsticks. Stopped the jellied eel machine. Called off the agents. News was that Chantelle was not going to marry her Big Brother housemate Preston. At least not until Preston had first married and divorced Camille Aznar, or taken up polygamy.

The Mirror, which specialises in this kind of hard news, said that Preston had proposed to his French girlfriend (a claim later denied by the would-be groom).

For her part, Chantelle remained upbeat and was keen to focus on the positives. “I’d love to be a bridesmaid at his wedding to Camille,” said she bravely.

But on Friday, the Star had sensational news. “CHANTELLE & PRESTON BABY SHOCK,” announced the front page of the paper.

Gripped, we read on. But – for shame! – things were not as they seemed.

Take this headline: “QUEEN IS COKE ADDICT.” It looks and sounds sensational when splashed across a front page.

Only, the story behind the headline – Queen is a Yorkshire terrier who drinks nothing but Panda Cola – undermines the tale’s lurid suggestion of Her Majesty screaming for Charlie while lying face down in a silver salver of Grade A narcotics.

Deprived of a decent news story, a well-crafted headline can often stand in place of the scoop.

Not that Chantelle is anything other than premier news fodder, it was just that the Star didn’t bring news of any Chantelle-Preston baby (even if it did mock up a picture of what such a creation would look like). The story was that expectant mums were “racing” to name their newborns Preston and Chantelle.

“I’m living the dream,” said Chantelle in the Mirror. Indeed. Could any of it be real..?’

Posted: 6th, February 2006 | In: Broadsheets Comment | TrackBack | Permalink