Celebrity news & gossip from the world’s showbiz and glamour magazines (OK!, Hello, National Enquirer and more). We read them so you don’t have to, picking the best bits from the showbiz world’s maw and spitting it back at them. Expect lots of sarcasm.
Rutger Hauer (23 January 1944 – 19 July 2019) is best known for his starring role in Blade Runner (1982), a take on Philip K. Dick’s Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep. He gave sic-fi movies an ending to rival that of all other genres. “I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe,” says his character Roy Batty. “Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Time to die.”
Here he is telling us how the ending came about – “At the same time I was doing this film, I saw the future”:
Indiewire have listed their 100 best movies of the decade. Any movies released later this year stand not a hope of making the list – because it’s closed. Top of the pile is “Moonlight” (Barry Jenkins, 2016), ahead of:
2: “Under the Skin” (Jonathan Glazer, 2013)
3. “Certified Copy” (Abbas Kiarostami, 2010)
4. “The Act of Killing”/”The Look of Silence” (Joshua Oppenheimer, 2013/2015)
5. “Inside Llewyn Davis” (Ethan & Joel Coen, 2013)
No – I’ve not seen any of them. But a tip’s a tip so will do…
The NASS Festival has been exciting Somerset locals. Sited at the Bath Show Ground around 6 miles from Castle Carey mainline train station, music fans arriving by rail can catch a coach to take them to the venue for £6 return. That’s on top of the cost of the festival ticket. Why the extra charge? The shuttle buses should be free.
On Thursday people getting off the train were stood in a queue waiting for one of the buses. Many waited well over an hour. It was hot. The police handed out bottled water. Understandably some decided to walk the 6 miles. Cue much moaning in the local newspaper about youths slowing down traffic and asking for lifts.
Nass treats customers as fools. Doubt that? Get a load of some of the advice on its website.
Please DO NOT WALK in the road. Help us keep you safe. Hop on a bus. #NASSSafe
If you opt to walk you have to walk in the road. It’s all road. There is no pavement. Nass knows this. Nass should make the buses free and provide more of them. Or provide bicycles, rickshaws, a bag collecting service and more. Do something more than treating their customers with disdain and having them stand in the sun waiting for an overpriced bus.
And then this:
Everyone deserves to have fun and enjoy themselves at NASS. Because of this we have a zero tolerance policy towards any kind of sexual assault or harassment. We also don’t tolerate any racism, discrimination or any other anti-social behaviour. To make it clear, this is what we classify as unacceptable behaviour and may get you ejected from the festival:
• Any unwanted physical contact
• Verbal or physical intimidation
If you experience any of this or see it happening, please call it out and/or report it to the nearest steward or security guard.
“Unacceptable behaviour” is leering – i.e. looking intently – and rape. Rape “may get you ejected from the festival”. Or it may not. If you’ve been the victim of a violent sexual assault call the police.
Welcome to planet Nass.
The 1990 album Red Hot + Blue features features pop performers reinterpreting several songs by Cole Porter (June 9, 1891 – October 15, 1964) – the title of the album comes from Cole Porter’s musical Red, Hot and Blue – with money going to AIDS research. The album kicks off with Neneh Cherry singing “I’ve Got You Under My Skin”, which was released as a single, peaking at number 25 in the charts. But the real highlight is Iggy Pop and Debbie Harry’s version of “Did You Evah,” written for the 1939 musical DuBarry Was a Lady, and famously sang by Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra in the movie High Society (1956). The single failed to break into the Top 40, hitting 42. (Btw – the B-side was The Thompson Twins asking us “Who Wants to Be A Millionaire?”)
Iggy and Debbie’s video was produced and directed by Alex Cox of Repo Man fame. He told Spin: “Iggy had always wanted to make a video with animals and Debbie had always wanted to publicly burn lingerie so I let them.”
Sing-a-long if the know the (new) words:
Debbie: I have heard, among this clan, you are called the forgotten man.
Iggy: is that what theyre saying? well, did you evah!
Both: what a swell party this is!
Iggy: and have you heard the story of a boy, a girl, unrequited love?
Debbie: sounds like pure soap opera. I may cry.
Both: what a swell party this is!
Iggy: what frails!
Debbie: what cocks!
Iggy: what broads!
Debbie: what jocks…
Iggy: what furs! theyre beautiful!
Debbie: why, Ive never seen such…
Debbie: neither did I.
Iggy: its all just too…
Debbie: this french champagne…
Debbie: so good for the brain.
Iggy: thats what I was gonna say!
Debbie: well, you know youre a brilliant fellow.
Iggy: thank you, I am!
Debbie: hehe, drink up Jim.
Iggy: so… have you ever been out to L.A. lately?
Debbie: well no, not recently.
Iggy: well, I went there and had a rent-a-car and all…
Debbie: oh, really?
Iggy: yeah and I got invited to Pia’s house… Pia Zadora’s house…
Debbie: really? oh.
Debbie: was it nice?
Iggy: well, I didnt… I didnt go!
Debbie: oh! hehe.
Iggy: it woulda been swell though!
Debbie: shoulda gone!
Iggy: it woulda been elegant!
Oh wait, look… look whos coming in now… can you believe it?
Iggy: …I hear they dismantled pickfair.
Debbie: they did.
Iggy: it wasnt elegant enough. hehe!
Debbie: yeah. probably full of termites.
Both: its great!
Wa wa wa wa wa wa wa wa wonderland!
La la la la la la la la la la la la la.
We sing so rare, like old camembert.
Iggy: have you heard that Diane Star – she got bit in the Asster bar.
Debbie: sauced again! well, did you evah…
Both: what a swell party this is!
Have you heard?
Its in the stars.
Next July we collide with Mars.
Well did you evah!
What a swell party.
What a swell party.
What a swellegant elegant, (sm) party…
Iggy: party… yeah!
Debbie: a smarty party?
Iggy: I am! a smarty! Im pretty smart!
Debbie: you are a smarty for coming to this party.
Iggy: yeah, thats right!
Debbie: well piss off.
Iggy: hehehe, thats good! I like that.
Freddie Starr (9 January 1943; died 9 May 2019) never ate a hamster, at least not Supersonic. In 1986 the Sun told how the entertainer had put the rodent between two slices of bread and bit into it. It was just his loveable, madcap way of punishing the critter’s female owner for her refusal to make him a sandwich.
“Freddie Starr Ate My Hamster,” said the Sun. The story was false, cooked up by Starr with his agent, convicted paedophile Max Clifford. Starr noted in his autobiography: “I have never eaten or even nibbled a live hamster, gerbil, guinea pig, mouse, shrew, vole or any other small mammal.” It’s the kind of line Starr would have ended with “But I bet he had a cockatoo”.
Starr’s dead now. But the story lives on, the Sun modestly hailing the original as the “greatest headline in the world”. Back then the story promoted Starr’s career. Told now the casual misogyny and cruelty would have ended it.
The job market is looking bleak for topless stunnas. The Daily Star says it will no longer feature pictures of topless women on Page 3, following the Sun’s move to end its Page 3 feature 2015. Readers looking for tit-bits of news will be lost to the web.
“The Daily Star is always looking to try new things and improve,” says the paper’s editor, Jonathan Clark. “In that spirit, we’ve listened to reader feedback and are currently trialling a covered-up version of page 3.”
Do Daily Star readers do feedback in anything other than sales?
How different things were when the Sun sacked Dannii from Basildon. “The Daily Star is proud to continue the great British page 3 tradition,” announced the paper. “It brightens the day for our readers during tough times and has launched many successful careers. We will continue to listen to what our readers want and put a smile on their faces with our lovely, bright, talented and independent young ladies. Page 3 is as British as roast beef and Yorkshire pud, fish and chips and seaside postcards. The Daily Star is about fun and cheering people up. And that will definitely continue!”
What the Star is about now is unsaid. Maybe it’ll be about a different kind of hard news?
In a move that has sent a chill wind through the offices of the Hollywood PR industry, actress Felicity Huffman offered no sympathetic backstory or refreshingly dishonest non-denial denial as she accepted “full acceptance of my guilt” in buying her daughter a place at college. She is in a state of “deep regret and shame” over her actions.
“I am ashamed of the pain I have caused my daughter, my family, my friends, my colleagues and the educational community,” says Huffington, the voice barely audible over the din of wailing spokespersons.
“I want to apologise to them and, especially, I want to apologise to the students who work hard every day to get into college, and to their parents who make tremendous sacrifices to support their children and do so honestly… In my misguided and profoundly wrong way, I have betrayed her. This transgression toward her and the public, I will carry for the rest of my life.”
Says one Hollywood PR: “Maybe therapy can save her – and us! I think she must be ill.”
They were playing Michael Jackson’s Off the Wall in Selfridge’s department store in London today. BBC radio DJ Craig Charles says there’s no “official ban” on the singer but they’ve not played a single Jackson song on his show since the TV show Leaving Neverland aired last month. The show featured accusations that Jacksons was a paedophile.
The accusations were compelling and convincing. But, then, they can be unchallenged because Jackson remains dead. So it comes down to taking sides: do you believe guilt should be proven or is an accusation enough to try and convict? The lawyer for the two men who detailed the abuse they says Jackson subjected them to said the singer “was running the most sophisticated child sex operation the world has ever known”. If sophistication is a grown man putting on a sing-song, girlie voice and inviting kids over to ride his Ferris Wheel, then a Florida bride in hot-pants is the stuff of monarchy.
Circumspection is overrated.
In 2014, a top copper said said officers had spoken to a man known as “Nick”, who said he was abused by a paedophile ring, and that his account was “credible and true“. This year Nick was charged with 12 counts of perverting the course of justice and one count of fraud. Radio stations have banned his music.
So what of journalistic standards and the BBC not playing Jackson? Radio DJ Paul Gambaccini was falsely accused of sexual abuse. Gambaccini has presented shows on BBC Radio 1, 2, 3 and 4. He accused BBC bosses of persecuting old presenters in the wake of the Jimmy Savile scandal. Last year Gambaccini spoke to the Times. He called the Metropolitan Police “the most dishonest organisation I have ever encountered”, adding:
“The Metropolitan police of Bernard Hogan-Howe was a third-rate Stasi. If the police are allowed to do what they did to me, and to so many other people in the witch hunt, this country is now unliveable.”
If it can happen to one of your own, the BBC should reserve judgment. Presuming guilt is a travesty. If we need to wonder and investigate something, let’s marvel at how a man as rich as Jackson could get away with what he’s accused of and why big media never saw it?
And to think they said it wouldn’t last. Days after “rugby ace” Danny Cirpriani was linked with Stanislavsky-honed Love Island presenter Caroline Flack, the Sun, the paper that broke the news on its front page, says he’s “bedded” a mum of two.
Meet Amy D’Ambrogio, whose kids will be the toast of their school playground as she tells the paper of her alleged shagging. Amy’s fluent in the kind of language that requires no work from the Sun’s busy sub–editor’s, revealing: “After sex he was saying, ‘I feel really bad now. I feel guilty’ and told me he had cheated on someone.” Who? No matter because we get to the maul, tackle and ruck, which according to the scummy mummy (come on, Sun subs) went like this:
Another alleged shag is explained: “He stopped outside my bedroom, took all his clothes off and folded them in a neat pile.”
No word from ‘Copping some’ Flack, but after Danny and she were “caught” together at Babington House, a members’ club in Somerset, where spotting a frotting celebrity and their PR is akin to spotting the sky, we look forward to another series of Love Island very soon.
The Cure’s Robert Smith was on the red carpet as part of the band’s induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. His reaction to a hyperventilating TV host neatly showcases the difference between the UK and the US.
Love Island presenter Caroline Flack and “rugby’s bad boy” Danny Cipriani “shared a romantic getaway” in… Somerset. The Sun peers into the Celebrity Petri Dish and spots the “smitten rugby ace” and Flack sharing a “passionate goodbye kiss” after a “raunchy” weekend. An anonymous source adds: “They did start tongues wagging quite quickly.” Wagging Tongue might be the celebrity sex aide we need, one up on Love Island’s‘ Under Duvet Hand Assister and rugby’s maul, ruck, scrum, praise of the “nice tackle”, lots of “playing with one another” and a “hooker” pressed on with cries of “heave” – to think they broadcast that stuff before the watershed.
The Sun sees romance but perhaps this was an audition for the much-awaited Celebrity Love Island, in which Cirpriani, a man whose entire rugby playing career appears to be an audition for the moment he shares a televised hot tub with drip-dry incarnations of Kate Price, and Flack, a woman whose genitals are often accused of being a PR stunt – Flack, presenter of an X-Factor spin-off show enjoyed a “romance” with a teenage Harry Styles (who he?) enacted before anonymous sources and passing paps. Celebrity Love Island is the show we need.
That Celebrity Love Island line-up in full:
Want to write well? Harvard Professor of Psychology Steven Pinker has outlined his 13 rules for good writing on Twitter. That Twitter keeps things brief is a clue to what Pinker thinks works best. Editor’s should be like vultures.
Spotter: Big Think
Renowned spoon bender Uri Geller says he can stop Brexit with the power of this mind – just as he’s stopped Jeremy Corbyn becoming Prime Minister.
Geller’s powers are mighty but, alas, he has been unable to prevent his old mucker Michael Jackson from being dug up and beaten with sticks:
Jean-Claude Junker dines with the long spoon.
Two stories about Comic Relief, the BBC’s tired telethon. What is about the BBC that shows are celebrated chiefly for their longevity? And those presenters who go on for eons – but at least Dr Who gets to regenerate his genitalia every couple of years. Maybe it’s about institutions needing other institutions to make the mob bow to their edifices of permanency and legacy? Or maybe it’s just laziness?
The first Comic Relief story is that some Tory MPs are angry (natch.) that the fundraiser dresses to the Left. The Mail on Sunday calls it an “AD FOR CORBYN”. In which case, hard cheese, Jezza, because the Sunday Times says Comic Relief raised £8m less than last year – £63m compared with £71.3m.
The blame for less cash is apparently rooted in Labour MP David Lammy citing tin rattlers for their “white saviour” complex. When the Beeb’s pro-celeb dance champion and journalist Stacey Dooley, 32, uploaded a photo of herself posing with a young African child in Uganda she captioned it “Obsessed!”, “as if she was plugging a new face cream, not holding an unhappy Ugandan child.” Lammy saw it and tweeted: “The world does not need any more white saviours.”
The Times notes today: “Others said they had decided not to donate this year because they did not want to be accused of acting like a “white saviour”.” Nice one, Dave. Middle-class whites with spare cash will spend it on something else. What does Jess Phillips spend her money on? Farrow & Ball paint, festival tickets and Waitrose, possibly.
So how can we redistribute the world’s wealth and keep narcissistic politicians and celebs happy? Fair trade coffee, au pairs, cocaine and Filipino maids are a start. But this is about giving and who gets to give freely. We don’t tick a box declaring our race when donating money to Comic Relief, but maybe we should. In the current climate of identity politics, the State can use the data to work out which sort of people give the least and which give the most. Much fairer that way, right?
Africa’s poor will be waiting.
Hallmark Channel has severed business dealings with actress Lori Loughlin. Hallmark dims the lights to a 20watt soft-focus in rose-pink, tilts its head, and says it’s “saddened” by news of the allegations that Lori pays to game the college system.
Who knew? We thought America was a meritocracy. The fact that Ivy League schools take in more children of families in the top 1 per cent of the income distribution than from the bottom 60 per cent was surely just a weird quirk.
Loughlin, previously seen on Full House, the Garage Sale Mysteries films and When Calls the Heart, and her husband, fashion designer Mossimo Giannulli, are accused of bribing college officials to get their children into decent schools. They and others are implicated in a scam to pass their progeny off as bright and able, often as budding athletic stars.
The children of the accused parents were presented as nationally ranked athletes in tennis (Georgetown), pole-vaulting and rowing (University of Southern California), women’s soccer (Yale), and sailing (Stanford); but these “sailors” didn’t know a tiller from a toolbox. In some cases, photographs of athletes were Photoshopped to look like the applicants.
I sail therefore I math.
(Has anyone actually seen Prince Edward play real tennis? The Earl of Wessex scored a C and two Ds at A level. He was given a place at Cambridge to read history – a course kids with less hidden talents needed 3 As to attend.)
Investigators claim Loughlin and Giannulli agreed to pay $500,000 in bribes to help their daughters get into the University of Southern California, by pretending they were crew-team recruits… The fallout has also extended to Loughlin’s daughters, Olivia Jade Giannulli and Isabella Rose Giannulli. Sephora dropped its partnership with Olivia, a YouTube star and social media influencer. Critics are now calling for USC to expel both of the young women.
Not their fault, though, right, that their neurotic, vain, insecure and needy parents look like skinflints? Reports suggest Jared Kushner, Donald Trump’s son-in-law, got into Harvard after his father made the school a $2.5m donation. Look not at my thicko daughter’s apathy, dead headmaster, but consider instead the state of the taps in your bathroom and how solid gold ones never rust.
The system is flawed. A USA Today writer opines: “As Stanford and Yale and the University of Southern California scramble to distance themselves from these criminal corruptions, perhaps we might all consider all the legal corruptions of the entire college admissions process.”
Tyler Cowan adds: “First, these bribes only mattered because college itself has become too easy, with a few exceptions. If the bribes allowed for the admission of unqualified students, then those students would find it difficult to finish their degrees. Yet most top schools tolerate rampant grade inflation and gently shepherd their students toward graduation. That’s because they realize that today’s students (and their parents) are future donors (and potential complainers on social media). It is easier for professors and administrators not to rock the boat. What does that say about standards at these august institutions of higher learning?”
It all says one thing: school’s a racket. Learn a trade. Do a job.
Lee Scratch Perry has politely requested his fans relent from giving him weed. He has plenty. If you must give anything, give mirrors. The fabled reggae star tweets:
You know what’s coming don’t, you? Yep, mirrors being reclassified as a Class C drugs.
Joss Stone has sang at a bar in North Korea, as part of her Total World Tour. Stone intends to perform in every one of the worlds country’s. She’s ticked off North Korea, Iraq and Syria without problem.
“It was a little scary crossing the border as of course we have absolutely no idea what might transpire,” said Stone to her Instagram followers. “We just have to trust the people on the ground that are advising us and looking after us”.
In Mr Kim’s kingdom, Stone got to hang out with British ambassador to the country, Colin Crooks. “Amazing to meet @JossStone tonight in #Pyongyang and see her perform,” Mr Crooks wrote on Twitter. Given his usual entertainment diet of mime acts and the glorious leader on the telly boasting about the country’s 8th World Cup victory and moon landings, Stone’s show can only have been a huge relief. Crooks must have clapped loudly, and possibly whopped before sobbing about missing out on the Brazil job.
No-one’s dug Michael Jackson up and beaten the corpse with sticks. Nor have they set his remains alight – and given his latter-years’ waxy appearance, stuck a wick in his head and let him burn so that all the living can see what we do to dead stars accused of molesting children and getting away with it. For now we’ll have to make do with burning Wacko Jacko’s memorabilia, which is what anyone who tuned into HBO’s four-hour-long documentary Leaving Neverland saw as the closing credits rolled. Before we got to the burning pyre of branded Jackson merchandises, we heard the harrowing and credible testimonies of Wade Robson and James Safechuck. The two claim that they were abused as children by Michael Jackson.
But unless Jackson begins to speak and justice can grind and arrive at some incorruptible truth, facts are hard to ascertain, and people will take sides and turn hideous, grim alleged crimes into a shouting match.
All we have is a spark of light in the darkness that is soon extinguished, leaving us to flounder in search of its source. Maybe the next spark will alight on a new angle and flash us glimpses of different propositions, thing to stir our hunches and armchair investigations based on prejudice, righteousness, caprice and schadenfreude? After all, as Tim Black notes, “Robson was convincing and credible in 2005, when he took to the stand in defence of Jackson, over allegations of child molestation. And then he was not facing the sympathetic director of Leaving Neverland, Dan Reed, but fearsome prosecution attorney Tom Sneddon.” But that’s child abusers for you: they know their quarry are easily scared.
So what are you going to do with your Michael Jackson clobber and records? It’s not as if he sang about paedophilia and promoted it as a lifestyle choice. The music and videos were wildly entertaining. Can you ignore the man and delight in their product?
Last year, the Tate exhibited the work of English artist Edward Burne-Jones (28 August 1833 – 17 June 1898). The brochure says he “brought imaginary worlds to life in awe-inspiring paintings, stained glass windows and tapestries”. You can see his work at the National Portrait Gallery. When not making worthy art, Eddie was busy being a virulent anti-Semite. His Jew hatred was “blatant and repulsive“. And what of Phil Spector? He murdered a woman. You can hear his records on the radio and buy the house where the crime took place.
Patience, Jackson diehards. Your hero will rise again. The smart investor will be buying up Jackson’s oeuvre and old tour jackets while prices plummet. One day they’ll put on a show at the Tate and that stuff will be worth a bomb.
On 08 December 1997, Jeremy Corbyn wanted to ban us from knowing about a song by The Prodigy. The groups’ frontman Keith Flint has died too soon at the age of just 49. The early day motion to ban the mesmeric, relentless Smack My Bitch Up went:
That this House expresses its disgust and outrage at the advertising billboard campaign to promote a record album entitled Smack my Bitch Up; and urges the recording company to withdraw this advertisement immediately.
Of the 41 people who wanted music banned, the following are notable:
Where are they now? Yep – ‘Disgusted of Westminster’ are threatening to lead the country.
Spotter: Keith Flint, the last punk
Labour MP David Lammy says “the world does not need any more white saviours”. He’s taken offence at the picture Stacey Dooley posted on instagram (see above) of her trip to Uganda with BBC’s Comic Relief.
Think not of the grandstanding, but of the good causes it helps.
Lammy says “the image she wants to promote is her as heroine and black child as victim”. When she told him he could always go there himself, he replied: “This isn’t personal and I don’t question your good motives.” Which is precisely the opposite of what he did.
Previously in celebrity colonialism:
Previously at the Labour Party conference:
Fact: The West knows best.
What’s it like to sleep with jobbing celebrity Gemma Collins? Jobbing celebrity James Argent knows – and he apparently wants us to know. So he posted a video of Collins snoring. The couple then had a row, during which Argent told her she has “more rolls than Greggs”. Can this be the world’s first sponsored barney?
It was only in late December that Arg was telling his Instagram followers:
“Happy 1 Year Anniversary to me & my beautiful girlfriend @gemmacollins1 ❤️ This woman deserves a medal 🏅 or at least a #bluepeterbadge for putting up with me! 😆
Many more years to come darling…
Check out our Exclusive Christmas shoot in this weeks @ok_mag.”
Such is their fame and the many accompanying to-deadline stories of undying love.
His more recent message tells Collins: “You are a fat joke of a woman. An absolute car crash! You’re nearly 40 f***ing years old, you embarrassment. You fat horrible lump. Nasty mean woman. Who the f*** do you think you are? You’ve got more rolls than Greggs.”
News is that the pair have now split. Or maybe they can be persuaded to set aside their differences for a Gregg’s Easter treat?
EastEnders actor Danny Dyer has yet to head to Syria to bring home Shamima Begum in a televised docudrama. But he was invited on to Good Morning Britain to tell us that Begum had “lost her soul” when she joined ISIS and should be allowed to come home. Lest you think it odd that an actor is invited to offer his opinion on world affairs on the mainstream telly, know that Geri Halliwell was (and still might be) a UN international ambassador. Her missions to heal the planet were picked up by OK! magazine, proving that when drought, famine and war strike any would-be refugee should ensure they possess a sympathetic backstory about miracle babies, being bullied at school and answer interrogators with the command “GIRL POWER!”. It’s enough.
What Dyer said has been picked up. In a clip posted somewhere on the internet, and picked up by the Sun, a man tells the camera: “This is a message for Danny Dyer, or anyone that f***ing knows him. I’m nearly 58 years old, a scaffolder and used to work for the Royal Marines Commandos… If you’ve got the bollocks to give all the s*** like that on TV and you don’t know anything about the armed forces with kids losing their dads, mums or anything like that then you need to get a grip. You’re making it out like you’re a hard man but you’re as hard as a f***ing lollipop.”
Mate. He’s an actor. But his mum’s up for it, telling us: “To all those w*ers out there slagging off my son for having an opinion. You do realise that he couldn’t give a tuppenny f*** what you think.”
Diplomacy reigns – until Jeremy’s Hunt’s aunty breaks ranks.
Bruno Ganz (22 March 1941 – Died: 15 February 2019) played Hitler in the 2004 film Downfall. “His depiction of Hitler’s final days in an underground bunker as the Third Reich collapsed around him spawned so many memes that maybe you never saw the original. You should”. So says Jerry Dunleavy. He’s right: