Tabloids Category
The news as told by the UK’s tabloid press – The Sun, Daily Express, Daily Mail, Daily Mirror, Daily Star and News of the World.
Soap Odds & Suds
‘LAST Christmas, EastEnders Jamie Mitchell lay dying in his hospital bed. As he slipped in and out of consciousness we wondered, like he did, what the future held in store.
| ”And then I did a season of panto…” |
Much we could have correctly guessed (Sonias tears; Slater family fights; assorted rows and promises to sort it), and much we could not have (Phil marrying copper Kate; Sharon sleeping with her brother; numerous people being attracted to Kat).
But one event was to outshine all others. Even in Jamies most fevered dreams he could have not foreseen that Den Watts would not only be found alive but return to Walford.
Hello, Princess,” said Den as he sidled up to Sharon. Thanks to Little Den (big Dens son by an affair) and Vicky (big Dens daughter by an affair), the man was back.
But still something was detracting our attention from the main man in the rapidly expanding Watts household.
We began to realise that Vickys accent was from the Dick Van Dyke School of Dialects.
She was American at first, then Irish, then, by the end of the sentence, a mix of Scouse, Brummie and West Country Cornish fisherman.
But soap acting was to reach its apogee in the leather-gloved hands of Richard Hillman, whose crusade to waste the locals of Weatherfield earned the soap the nickname Killer Corrie.
Hillman was all set to do for everyone, as hed done for his ex-wife, Doug, Maxine and part of Emily, when he was rumbled. His plan to frame the odious Aiden had gone wrong.
He was in a bind and knew the only way to garner any sympathy with the watching public would be to take Gail down with him.
The chosen route to an eternity together in panto was to park the car in the family garage and turn on the gas. For good measure, Sarah-Lou, Bethany and David were encouraged to come along for the ride.
As the scriptwriters prepared to celebrate the removal of the Platt clan, and Richard chortled out a comical ”We’re nearly there!”, Martin (Daddy Platt) arrived to bang on the garage door.
The rest is soap history, as Richard sees the doors open. He makes off, chased by the three stooges – Kevin, Tommy and Martin.
The result is one dead Richard. The killer is no more.
Another who tried suicide was Roy Cropper. But even Tracy Barlows poison has its limit and Roy was rescued by the returning Hayley, who made him sick.
How she did this is for another altogether more specialised website, but suffice to say that Roy upped the pills hed taken and all was well.
Or as well is it can be when the likes of Tracy luv are betting that they can sleep with you for a penny, and winning the bet by spiking your drink and taking you back to her mum and dads.
It could have been worse Roy could have end up in Peter Barlows room, thus becoming the third member of the bookmakers harem.
Peters two wives, Shelley and Lucy, were already more than he could handle, and when the juicy one had a baby, Peter was soon rumbled.
So Peter was off, joining his name to a list of cast members who fled the Street quick smart.
To give them their dues, we said See yer, our kid to Maxine Peacock (murdered), Richard Hillman (drowned), Joe Carter (run out of town), Curly and his bent-copper wife Emma (went to live in Newcastle) and Lucy Barlow (Australia).
It seems unfair to not mention the EastEnders who went their way. So here they are: Anthony Trueman (popped to the chemists), Mark Fowler (rode off into The Bill), Roy Evans (heart-attack), Robbie Jackson (left for India), Nita Mistry (see Robbie Jackson) and Barry Evans (done in by Janine).
We wish all of those that came and went (and the whole cast of Brookside, who just went) the best of luck and would like to remind them that in soap there is no such thing as death – there is only resting between jobs.
Although Jamie Mitchell has already been buried…’
Golden Balls
‘HOW the Aussies must be chuckling to themselves after the Sun sent a reporter Down Under to buy up all the balls used in the Rugby World Cup final last month.
| The Sun reporter struggles to rip the ball off the Aussie |
The paper doesn’t reveal just how much it paid for the four, but one imagines that it was considerably more than the $1,000 the owners had originally paid.
Indeed, the owner of the fourth ball Tony Woodward demanded that the Sun get him an equally famous ball as part of the deal.
Adolf Hitler’s missing testicle still being missing, that turned out to be two balls – one from the Australia v Argentina game (so famous that they were talking about if for all of two minutes after the final whistle) and one signed by the winning England team.
And with that the Sun returned home to a hero’s welcome – from itself.
One of the balls will be presented to Jonny Wilkinson, one to Martin Johnson, one to the national rugby museum at Twickenham and one to a lucky Sun reader.
After which, if the Aussies have any sense, four more official balls will mysteriously turn up and the Sun will once again strap itself in for the 12,000-mile flight.’
Good Morning, Mr Johnson
‘IF you’re a jobless teenager on a Cardiff housing estate, you have two real options – either you can work your bollocks off for next to nothing as part of the Government’s New Deal or you can go out with Charlotte Church.
| The similarity between Steven and Kyle was startling |
Okay, she might be a bit porky, but she’s not in Pop Idol winner Michelle McManus’s class – and she’s a lot, lot richer. All in all, a far better prospect than scrubbing toilets or emptying Poop-Scoop bins.
So, just about a week after she vowed never to go near men again after ditching 19-year-old Steven Johnson for cheating on her, Charlotte is going out with unemployed 18-year-old Kyle Johnson.
”The lads are no relation to each other,” explains the Express, ”although they have the same surname and come from tough Cardiff neighbourhoods.”
And – of course – Charlotte’s mother Maria is delighted finally to have got rid of one bit of rough only to see him replaced by an almost identical version.
”They would really like Charlotte to have a break from boys,” a family friend tells the Express.
”They think she should get on with her career and hang out with her girlfriends for a while.”
Friends say Kyle is more Charlotte’s type, although, as her type seems to require you only to be Welsh, unemployed and the kind of person your mum wouldn’t want you to go out with, he’s not exactly alone in that category.
”If mum thought she had problems when her daughter was seeing Steven,” one of Kyle’s friends tells the Star, ”it’s nothing compared with what could happen now.
”She will have her hands full.”
And so, judging by recent pictures of Charlotte, will Kyle.’
Fat Chance
‘IF Maria Church or Kyle Johnson has their hands full, it’s nothing compared with Simon Fuller and BMG who somehow have to turn Michelle McManus into a pop star.
| Mark was always punching above his weight |
The Glasgow heavyweight won ITV talent show Pop Idol on Saturday night after getting the majority of the 10-million votes cast and, with it, a £2m record contract.
But the result was not to everyone’s liking with Pete Waterman apparently storming out of the studio after it was announced.
Fellow judge Simon Cowell explained to the Mirror: ”I know he cares passionately and I know he never thought Michelle was a pop idol – he has said so all along.
”He’s got very strong views and he basically acts according to how he is feeling at that moment.”
The trouble is that ITV viewers were faced with a choice between 15-stone Michelle and Mark Rhodes, a man so boring he makes bland seem exciting.
While the Star makes fun of the ”roly-poly” singer with its headline ”Michelle Havin’ It Large”, the Mirror listens to the 23-year-old talk about the cruel jibes she has had to endure about her weight.
”She showed,” says the paper, ”that ordinary people are not as image-conscious as followers-of-fashion think. There is a lesson there, especially after Fame Academy was won by someone who is openly gay.
”Let’s hope this means that we are becoming a far less prejudiced society.”
And let’s hope that Pig Air gets off the ground – with Michelle on board.’
A New Carr
‘SUCH is the desire in the media to portray Maxine Carr as a new Myra Hindley that anyone wishing to enter next year’s Turner Prize would be well advised simply to adapt Marcus Harvey’s artwork, which formed the centrepiece of the Royal Academy’s Sensation exhibition a few years back.
| Maxine wasn’t happy with her new look |
The only trouble is that by that time Carr may well have a new face, with the Express relishing the idea that she may have to undergo hours of painful surgery to avoid being recognised on the street.
What is more, we the taxpayer will be expected to pick up the £20,000 bill.
And well we might grumble if the cosmetic surgeon does as bad a job as suggested by the paper’s computer generated image of what she might look like.
In fact, according to the Express, there appears to be a real danger that Carr could end up looking like Michael Jackson, which is definitely a case of out of the frying pan and into a very hot fire.
The Star reports that Jacko is facing seven charges of sexually assaulting a cancer-stricken schoolboy and, if found guilty, could face 24 years in prison.
Even if he is not found guilty, the singer’s career has been effectively finished by this latest allegation – and the papers are happy to oblige in delivering the last rites.
For instance, the Star illustrates the story with a picture of a bed, a perfectly innocent bed such as might grace any bedroom in America.
However, this bed was apparently ”found in a concealed room in Neverland” – and so, in the paper’s eyes, is just further proof of Jacko’s guilt.
Back to Carr, however, and the Mail decides that, whatever the court has ruled with regard to her innocence in the murders of Holly Wells and Jessica Chapman, it knows better.
While Melanie Phillips blames – yawn, yawn – the catastrophic breakdown of parental responsibility for Ian Huntley’s appalling crimes, Colin Wilson tells us why he thinks Huntley and Carr are the new Brady and Hindley.
What basis Wilson has for his theory, other than it makes an easy headline, is not explained, but it doesn’t stop him suggesting that ”Carr had played the same willing role as Hindley” and both women showed similar characteristics of being dominated by their ”aggressive and manipulative” partners.
Both men were also called Ian and both women’s first name starts with the letter M. Make of that what you will…’
Diana – The Truth
‘WHY anyone thinks the inquest into Princess Diana’s death, which will start in the New Year, will uncover the truth about the fatal car crash six years we don’t know.
| Diana had a strange feeling she was being followed |
Does Mohammed Fayed think that Prince Philip will finally break down and make a dramatic confession that it was him who was driving the mysterious Fiat Uno that night?
Will MI6 or Mossad or the CIA or whoever is damn well supposed to have killed her suddenly crack under questioning from a coroner and admit that, yes, she was bumped off?
Or, rather like the Warren Commission report into JFK’s death, will the inquest conclude that Diana died as many sadly die every day as the victim of a car crash?
The Mirror is in no doubt that we will now hear ”the truth – at last”, although this presumably depends on what truth you want to hear.
It has a list of 10 questions that need answering, including ‘Had she taken drugs?’ and ‘Was she possibly pregnant?’.
The Express, however, has its own 15 key questions that need answering, none of which concern Diana’s drug-taking or possible pregnancy.
They are ‘What brand of sunglasses was the Princess wearing on the night of the fatal crash?’, ‘Did she have the duck or the lamb at the Ritz that night?’ and ‘Why wasn’t the Princess wearing her usual brand of lipstick?’.
We look forward to being able to get to the bottom of those – and many more – questions in the New Year.’
Tipping The Velvet
‘QUEEN Victoria reportedly did not believe in lesbianism. Not only did she not practise it, but she could not even countenance that other people did.
| A Royal Command Performance |
Of course, they didn’t have MTV in her day, otherwise she would barely have been able to turn on her telly without seeing an aging pop legend stick her tongue down some pop starlet’s throat.
But there is no such excuse for the current Queen – even her favourite programmes like EastEnders and The Bill have not shied away from a bit of girl-on-girl action.
And if that wasn’t enough, the Sun tells us how a Royal maid and her lesbian lover stunned a Buckingham Palace party by enjoying ”a steamy kiss” on the dance floor.
”Senior couriers reeled in shock when the pair – dressed as sailors – locked themselves in an embrace,” it says.
But Prince Philip apparently thought the whole thing was very funny, with one insider claiming he ”was laughing his head off”.
The sight of two sailors kissing – it must have reminded him of his own days in the Royal Navy…’
Breast Wishes
‘PSYCHOLOGISTS would doubtless have lots to say about why it is that on a news day where Ian Huntley and his perversions hold sway, Page 3’s stunnas disappear.
| ”Are these ones waterproof, Kevin?” |
Both the Star and the Sun choose to forgo the delights of Nikkala and Janine in favour of more news about the heinous killer and his conniving girlfriend.
If removing the topless ones is in some way meant to honour Huntley’s victims, to show them respect, it’s a pretty poor tribute.
But if it is, then what’s the period of topless grieving – a day? A week? An entire month?
The papers should perhaps consult Danniella Westbrook who is no less an expert on breasts than the mo-dels and the many who usually study their forms each morning.
Wisely, the Star has caught up with Danniella, and her news is a warning to all – the former EastEnders actress has injured her ”brand new boobs” while erecting the family Christmas tree.
Had she taken the gold Rolex husband Kevin Jenkins offered and not insisted on having her already pneumatic chest inflated with bigger airbags, she’d be injury free.
But no, she wore him down.
She also went against the advice of a doctor who told her that he didn’t think a basketball-sized chest would suit someone of her small stature. She might topple over – or look like Jordan.
But, undeterred, she had surgery to replace her old soya breasts implants with ones made of silicone.
Says Danniella: ”Now they’ll last a lifetime – these boobs are not just for Christmas.”
Indeed they are at home on many public holidays – whether they be painted like huge Easter eggs or serve as pumpkin gourds come Hallowe’en.’
Posted: 18th, December 2003 | In: Tabloids | Comment (1)
Sour Grapes
‘AFTER pages of depravity, readers of the Sun still get to hear about what Posh Spice is getting up to.
| Posh knew she had her work cut out if she was to become a redcoat” |
The paper thinks this clearly matters, and we learn that ”flash” Victoria bought £25,000 worth of designer gear in a two-hour shopping spree.
We also learn that she and her pet Day-vid have ”got past being hugely extravagant” and all she expects, nay, wants for Christmas are pyjamas, dressing gowns and slippers.
This is some news since we believe she craves the oxygen of publicity and talent. But slippers it is.
And if Santa would grant her one more wish it would be to cure the one thing she hates most about living in Spain.
”The only thing they can’t get right here,” says Posh in a TV interview watched by the Mirror, ”is the grapes because they all have pips in.”
On the bright side, those troublesome pips can make eating just one grape last a few hours – or the length of what we commoners call a meal…’
A Total Eclipse Of The Heart
‘POSH should worry less about her grapes and more about her precarious position on the pop star perch.
| ”I am the walrus…” |
Come the end of Saturday’s Pop Idol final, La Posh could have been bounced off it by the arrival of Michelle McManus.
So much has been said about the Glaswegian wannabe’s weight that even the Sun can bear it no longer and simply leads its story of her visit to the paper’s offices by referring to her as ”big-hearted Michelle”.
She’s also big-thighed, big-hipped and generously shouldered, but the heart is what matters in this contest to grab the watching and voting public’s, er, hearts.
And Michelle is laying it on thick. If she wins, she says she will pay off her mum and dad’s mortgage.
And like a true diplomat, she plays down her chances of victory and talks about the opposition, one Mark Taylor, calling him ”fantastic”.
”He’s such a personality,” she says.
You might well scratch your heads – this is the same Mark who was only yesterday the ”boring Brummie”, but who today is more effervescent than a baked bean addict in a Jacuzzi.
But these are side issues. The winner will be the contestant who can sing the best and is blessed with the most talent.
If you doubt that, just ask Posh…’
All Pop And No Fizz
‘WE get the stars we deserve.
| ”I hope to do for pop what Vanessa Feltz did for journalism” |
And what we deserve in this first decade of the 21st century are, as the Mail so eloquently explains, a 15-stone events manager from Glasgow and a boring Brummie from telesales.
And the even better news is that the Star has chosen not only to lead with this pair, the last competitors in TVs Pop Idol talent show, but to tell us about their sex lives.
NO SEX PLEASE, WERE POP IDOLS, announces the papers headline, alongside a story about how Brummie Mark will put his wedding on hold if he wins the show and how Scots Michelle is too busy to date.
Forget about Mark hes too boring to think about; stick instead with Michelle, and wonder why she is too busy. Surely a future pop star is never too busy to get a fan in a clinch and give them a tour of the backstage area.
Well, this one is because Michelles mouth is not for smooching with her legions of admirers, but for eating. Oh, and for talking about food and her weight.
On the face of it, there is nothing odd in that. You can barely turn a page without hearing about how some pencil-thin pop strumpets weight is not the product of her vanity, but rather her quicksilver metabolism – she just loves to eat and only the other week devoured an entire mung bean.
The difference is that Michelle clearly loves food, claiming in the Mail to have eaten lots of junk food in the past and vowing never to go on some broccoli and spinach diet.
Over in the Express, she gives her reasons for staying as big as she is.
Hopefully Ive changed peoples opinions of whats accepted and whats not, she says. There are a lot of women who look like me and the pop industry needs variety.
And change she has made. Already the Sun has a shot of goings on at a recent Enrique Iglesias concert.
The Latino singer was performing at a show in Florida when he plucked a fan from the crowd.
Its not revealed how the rather scrawny Iglesias did this plucking, for he must have considerable hidden strength to have hoisted 17-stone fan Marisol Gonzalez from the mosh pit.
But whatever the method, the result is another blow in the crusade for equal pop rights for women with fast food and slow metabolisms…’
Forces Majeure
‘THE tidal change brought about by Pop Idols Michelle McManus high dive into the showbiz deep end has yet to reach all corners of the pool of fame.
| ”We’ll not meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when…” |
The proof of her ability to alter the appearance of showbiz will be in the eating of the full-fat pudding.
But we suspect that that when Michelle one day goes out to entertain the troops in some war zone, she will not behave as Nell McAndrew has done.
Such is the upset caused by the models antics that the story of her visit to the troops in the Gulf makes it to the esteemed front page of the Mirror.
Having arrived at her base in Iraq, the unofficial forces sweetheart took one look at her billet and turned tail.
This is unacceptable, she is said to have told her hosts. There is no way Im staying here.
Stop The War and Not In My Name types will doubtless cheer heartily at this juncture.
They might suppose that McAndrews refusal is born of her anti-imperialist leanings. Shell go and only return when Iraq is returned to the Iraqi people. Hurrah!
But they would be wrong. Because McAndrew shows little or no signs of acknowledging the locals and of having any view other than that of the chemical toilet, her VIP tent and the communal washing area.
On seeing her quarters, McAndrew duly refused to remain at the camp at Basra International Airport a moment longer and demanded to be instantly flown back to the splendour of her luxury hotel in Kuwait.
A captain involved in this aborted publicity stunt tells the Mail how furious he is.
Im sorry, says he. This is the Army and this is a theatre of operations.
He then administers the lethal blow: You didnt get this behaviour with Dame Vera Lynn.
You did not. But nor did you get a full shot of her naked arse. So think on…’
Limited Expectations
‘CHINS up! Our celebrities might be blessed with all the talent and charisma of an empty toilet roll but Britains men have American women swooning.
| ”Traffic wardens are little Hitlers” |
Having already tamed Madonna with Guy Ritchie, the Mail takes a look at Gwyneth Paltrow, who spurned Brad Pitt so that one day she could meet and wed the pale and interesting Coldplay frontman Chris Martin.
But all is not well in paradise. For starters, theres the weather here, which is, as Gwyneth says, cold and grey. And then theres the high cost of living.
Mrs Martin, as Gwyneth Paltrow must now be referred to, has told a magazine about what she least likes about life in Britain.
Aside from the aforementioned weather, millionairess Gwyneth thinks the parking wardens are very officious and the fines they dish out like confetti inordinately high.
Its a good call the tickets are too expensive and too freely administered. The Mail, which produces this story, should cheer.
But for a woman who, as the paper says, can command around £6m a film, such fines are surely manageable.
But there are other expenses draining Gwyneths purse. She thinks the cost of living is high and, returning to the car problem, says that the price of petrol is exorbitant.
Of course, we Brits know that it doesnt end there. Its not just fuel thats dear – the diamonds, emeralds, rubies and sapphires are also terribly expensive.
And dont get us started on the price of caviar…’
Tony’s Little Helpers
‘WHY not get into the Christmas spirit of peace on earth and good will to all men by doing as the Sun invites us to do and hanging Saddam Hussein from your tree?
| This happy brood… |
”There are plenty who would love to see Saddam Hussein strung up for his evil crimes against humanity,” says the paper.
And hanging a Santa-themed Saddam will continue the ”great British tradition” of poking fun at nasty dictators.
And they are right. Who can forget the hilarious oven-ready Hitler Christmas turkey, the Stalin salt shaker, the Idi Amin ice-cream frozen head dessert and the Pol Pot miniature gardening set, ”a hoe-hoe-hoe for the whole family”?
But for the smart set, Christmas is not complete without a card from our beloved Leader Number One. And for anyone delusional enough to want to claim friendship with the Blairs, the Mail reproduces their family Christmas card.
But what’s this? We’ve studied the print through the bottom of several beer glasses and can find no sign of Euan, Kathryn, Nicky or Leo.
Usually at this time of year, Tony likes to parade his brood like so many elves. True, the unofficial shot (as seen in the Mirror) shows the full clan seated on a bench in a garden – but not the official card.
That, as the Mail shows, contains just a simple shot of Tony standing beneath a stone archway with his left arm ”protectively” wrapped around his wife’s shoulders.
His right thumb, hidden by his ”zip-up woolly pully”, is hooked inside his trouser pocket.
It’s a picture of a loving premier and his wife, and calls to mind a volley of shots from a year past.
Blessedly, the Nicolae and Elena Ceausescu wall frieze is still available – and if you buy it through us we’ll throw in a free Romanian Teeny Tiny Tears doll…’
Organ Peddle
‘AS you carve the seasonal bird, take care with those giblets. Today we launch our Anorak donor campaign and want you to help those less fortunate.
| ”Psst. Lend us a kidney, love. I’m nipping down the shops” |
We want you to place the giblets in a cool bag and send them to your local organ dealership.
According to the Express, there’s a shortage of donors and even the tiniest quail’s ear can help someone live a better life.
This appeal is for everyone and anyone, including George Best.
Indeed, George should give more than most since he has already been the lucky recipient of an organ, albeit a human liver.
And, if Mr Derek Manas, a kidney and liver specialist, is to be believed, it is because of Best that our appeal now goes out.
”Sadly Best has not proved himself to be very good role mode,” says Manas in the Express, ”and his very high profile drinking has made people lose faith in transplantation.”
The surgeon claims that many families that might have given up the organs of departed loved ones are now fearful of doing so lest the assorted livers, kidneys and hearts be wasted.
One hospital source tells the paper that many humans offering donation seek the reassurance that their organs will not be given to an alcoholic.
In Best’s defence is his agent, Phillip Hughes, who has a few words for the good doctor, via the Mail: ”What the doctor has to realise is that George is an alcoholic, which is a disease in itself.
”Even if you replace someone’s liver, it doesn’t stop the craving for alcohol.”
Like us, we’re sure the doctor is grateful for such an invaluable insight. But we’ll more grateful if Mr Hughes just joins our donor drive.
Perhaps he’d like to begin with his tongue…’
Lord Of The Pies
‘IT’S too early to say for sure but, looking at the detritus of last night’s supper, there might be a few flakes of liver and assorted organs that someone can make use of.
| ”Look, there’s someone I recognise” |
Jeffrey Archer, who hosted the lavish dinner, is a generous sort and we are sure that whatever he finds trodden into the carpet he will gladly donate to our Christmas organ drive.
But to the party itself, and the Mail’s news that the first of Archer’s shepherd’s pie events since his release from prison was a less corpulent affair than it once was.
The paper reminds us who choose our friends with care that the guest list once included the likes of Lady Thatcher, former Archbishop of Canterbury George Carey, Joanna Lumley and Frank Bruno.
However, the Christmas party, which was once a three-day affair and now runs for just two nights, will this time round be attended by only 200 guests, among them actor Donald Sinden, singer Patti Boulaye and Beatles producer George Martin.
And to make Jeffrey feel right at home, an invitation was despatched to Jonathan Aitken, who was happy to accept…’
Edinburgh’s Rock
‘WHEN you peer though the phalanx of minders around Prince William, you soon realise that hes only human.
| William is no small geyser |
The robotic eyes and ears are a myth born of jealousy and made up to hurt.
The real William, as shown in the Express, does all the normal student things while at St Andrews University.
This is especially true if normal is not lying in bed all day and never washing, but practicing your golf swing and buying sweets.
He also claims, in what is the first official meet-and-greet since he began his course in geography at college two years ago, that Im studying.
William is certainly a cut above the normal dross and dole-dodgers that make up student halls. This boy, geography degree or no geography degree, knows where hes at and where hes going.
But youre itching to know what sweets a young Prince goes for. Will it be the Kit Kat Chunky, the packet of Rolos or what about the Twix?
Well, the Sun puts you and us out of our misery by revealing that the Princes choice of sweetened snacks for 2003 are (drum roll, if you please) Maltesers and Milky Way.
This is one boy, who like his confectionary, is out of this world…’
Hard Time
‘IN Soccer’s Hard Men, Vinnie Jones was the eponymous hard man.
| ”Is that a weapon I see before me?” |
In Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, Vinnie was a hard man. In Mean Machine, Vinnie Jones once more adopted the grunts and knuckle-dragging demeanour of a hard man.
And now, in the Express, Vinnie Jones, the footballer who conquered Hollywood, is showing his full range. Vinnie is an upset hard man.
We imagine that he is chiefly upset because he became embroiled in a row with another passengers aboard an aircraft and told a cabin crew member: I can get you murdered, I can get the whole crew murdered for £3,000.
Jones would not do the murders himself, but hire a person or persons to do his killing and maiming for him. The hard man was already showing signs of mellowing.
He then went before the beak and was rewarded for this threat with 80 hours community service, a punishment he calls humiliating and degrading.
That is pretty much the intention of the thing. But Vinnie clearly thinks its worth pointing it out. Perhaps he is a special case? Lets listen and see…
Stress builds up in me like a volcano and then I explode, says Vinnie. Im a Jekyll and Hyde character.
Er, no, Vinnie, your character is pretty much all Mr Hyde. The Jekyll part went to Nicolas Cage…’
Most Wanted
‘ALL I want for Christmas are my two front teeth…
| ”I hope the elves are alright” |
Ah, the simple innocence of youthful desire. Time has moved on from such humble wishes and now, as junior wanders wide-eyed through Santas megastore, he wants it all.
Santa is, of course, otherwise engaged. Its either him – or someone doing a passable impression of the bearded chap – whos been caught down a hole in Iraq.
In Santas sack was £750,000 of US currency, two AK-47 rifles and no, not a partridge in a pear tree, but rather an orange and white taxi.
So if you want any of that lot this holiday season, best to write another list and slip it into the wallet of the one you love.
David Beckham might well have done just that, and the Sun sees his wife out buying for her Day-vid in a Kent shopping centre.
While there, she approached 19-year-old Carl Sheehan and asked if he could help her pick out a coat for her husband and get her some publicity.
I didnt know who she was and felt so stupid when I found out, says Carl. It was very weird choosing Becks Christmas present – I hope he wont blame me if it doesnt fit.
Since those his n hers AK-47s have been impounded by American forces, its unlikely that any blame will prove fatal.
And while Posh buys her man an anorak, the Sun says that Paul McCartney has given his wife, Heather, the greatest gift of all her very own song.
Called Mother And Child, the song was originally planned to appear on the Beatles album Let It Be but never saw the light of day.
Now, years later, it will be played on the McCartney stereo on Christmas Day.
He is determined, this song belongs to Heather, says a source – something Yoko Ono and the rest of the Beatles clan might like to think about.
Heather will be blown away. She was no idea of what Paul is planning.
Well, she does now. And Paul might like to consider another gift by way of a surprise.
The orange taxi/sleigh is still unclaimed, although Heather might prefer Santas suitcase full of cash…’
Needs Locking Up
‘IT’S Christmas time. So, obviously in Eastenders its time for another horrific rape storyline. And for good measure, the producers thought it would be a jolly jape for the victim to be Little Mo again and heres the killer: on her birthday.
| Cheer up – worse things happen in E20 |
Theres no denying that Little Mo can do her stuff when it comes to scenes of painful, haunting trauma but shes done her time and so have we.
Its me, she sobbed to Kate. There must be something about me that makes it happen. There is indeed Little Mo is one of the few people who can actually act in Eastenders, which must be why she gets such powerful storylines.
Little Mo had been left in charge of The Vic for the first time and crossword fanatic/stalker Graham had offered to help her lock up.
Graham has been lurking in The Vic for several weeks: buying her roses and doing crosswords. It was clear from the start that his intentions to her werent honourable – how many right-minded people would ask Little Mo for help with crossword clues?
Billy was worried about Grahams attentions to his wife but Mo assured him that he was just being friendly. Unfortunately for Mo, her judgement in friends is as bad as her judgement in husbands.
As Mo was locking up the Vic, Graham leapt out of the shadows and raped her. Thankfully, we were spared the gory details and the next episode opened with Mo staggering out of the Vic and bumping into Kate.
Kate insisted Mo go home with her for a drink and soon the whole sorry story came tumbling out. And would you believe it! It turns out that Kates mother was raped when Kate was a child.
Is there no-one in Walford who has lead anything like a happy life? Forget Sierra Leone – Walford must be the toughest place to live in the world.
Mo was adamant that she wouldnt go to the police or tell anyone else. Youll be amazed what I can keep hidden, she told Kate.
Mo will struggle to keep this horrific secret to herself as it turns out that shes pregnant.
On a happier note, its been revealed that Phil Mitchell is set to leave The Square for at least a year to try his hand at other acting projects. I didnt know that Butlins hired in the winter.
More good news is that Kat and Alfies wedding may not actually take place on Christmas Day. Alfies not so ex wife Lisa turned up at The Vic to casually inform him that theyre still technically married.
Alfie is keeping this information to himself while he desperately tries to get divorced in two weeks. If he cant sort it then instead of a wedding day, therell be a funeral on Christmas Day in Eastenders which would be far more apt for those merchants of misery.’
Go Figure
‘NEWSPAPERS love figures. Not necessarily the curvy figures of crackin college twins Rebecca and Sarah Addison who adorn the front page of the Star, but figures as in numbers.
| Demi and her Action Man |
Curvy numbers like eight, but also pencil thin numbers like one. Top heavy ones like nine and bottom heavy ones like six. And not just numbers, but percentages.
That is why PR companies spend so much of their time doing surveys on how many times a week we have sex or whether weve cheated on our partner or how often we tell lies to get off work.
[The answer to the above, to save any telemarketer the cost of a phone call, is none, chance would be a fine thing and, er, could you call back when my boss isnt standing over me.]
PR agencies know that the easiest way to get their client a little bit of exposure in the papers is to sponsor just such a survey.
For instance, over the past few days we have learned courtesy of Lloyds TSB and Working Families – that 20% of us have a boss from hell; courtesy of Axa, that the average British child has £3,3000 of gadgets and clothing in their bedroom; and, courtesy of Thats Life! Magazine, that most women are liars.
Someone once described a statistician as the sort of person who tries to estimate your phone number, but some statistics paint a picture far more interesting than the bare numbers would suggest.
However, the opposite is also true and this morning the Mail provides us with a classic example on its front page.
OFFICIAL: One in four brides now marries a younger man, it says with a picture of a smiling Joan Collins and husband Percy Gibson.
Now, we will forgive you if you have not choked on your cornflakes in shock at this distinctly underwhelming piece of news.
But the Mail is so excited by the news that it has commissioned Fay Weldon, herself married to a man 18 years her junior, to write a piece on it.
Headline writers will, I know, be unable to resist the word toyboy, she says, but to describe these young men as such is, I believe, an insult to their pride, intelligence and character.
And so we turn to the Mails story, illustrated by pictures of Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher and Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin, and look at the headline.
The Toyboy Husbands, it says, suggesting that the study which shows that the number of women marrying toyboy husbands has doubled in the past 40 years is a reversal of traditional marriage roles.
Hardly. Its just taken women a lot longer to figure out what men have known for years if the good die young, best get in early.’
Messiah Complex
‘ONE woman who married a younger man is Victoria Beckham, who writhes around on the front page of the Sun in a futile bid to relaunch her pop career.
| ”Water into wine! Feed the five thousand! But I can’t make you into a singer” |
The artist formerly known as Posh is planning to release a double A side single later this month, featuring a pop track and a Damon Dash-created R&B number.
But having heard both, observers think that the 29-year-old might make musical history by creating the first double B-side record.
Victoria, however, ploughs on regardless, complains to the Sun that pop music is just not the same as it was when the Spice Girls were around.
I do think that pop music has deteriorated since that time, she says.
If that is true, then that makes her continued failure to get a No.1 record that much more tragic.
However, if she is in need of a miracle and, lets face it, it would take one to propel her terrible new song to the top of the charts she need only turn to her husband.
I was talking to my mum and she said, You know the only other person whos had that haircut other than Day-vid? Victoria told I-D magazine.
I said, Who? and she said, Jesus.
Him and every footballer to come out of Argentina in the past 40 years.’
The Brain Drain
‘THE original Brain Drain saw dozens of scientists and academics flee these shores for the New World, trading in the pittance they were paid here for the big bucks of the United States.
| Basildon School of Nail Technology’s loss was our gain |
However, are we now witnessing the start of a second Brain Drain with tomorrows Nobel laureates being seduced by the blandishments offered by the glamorous world of glamour modelling?
We ask this because having lost Lucy Pinder, who this summer postponed her studies in favour of showing off her FF chest to Star readers, the world of academe looks like losing another pair.
Crackin college twins Rebecca and Sarah Addison are taking a years break from their (unspecified) studies, swapping homework for promotion work.
And this morning that means the strangely orange coloured sister act are promoting the Daily Star Student Of The Month contest a fantastic contest with a whopping £2,000 first prize.
No doubt that means more AA students will be quitting college to show off their DD charms.
But where will it all end? We already have the Suns Page 3 girl offering her comment on the big issues of the day. Can we expect to see Stephen Hawking appearing as a Chippendale?’
Street Life
‘ANYONE who can make a woman of average looks, below average talent and with no discernible career into arguably the most recognisable face in Britain deserves our admiration.
| Victoria Beckham relaxes at home |
In fact, so impressed if possibly a little mystified – is David Beckham by his wifes continuing celebrity that he has decided to jump on board.
It may have cost him £2m to buy himself out of his contract with SFX, but now his interests will be looked after by his own company, Footwork Productions.
And that, says the Express, will allow him to work more closely with his wifes advisers, notably Simon Fuller, the man who foisted the Spice Girls, S Club and Pop Idol on us.
And, as if to show Fullers expertise in this department, it is not a picture of the England football captain that illustrates this mornings story but of the woman who was by common consent the spare part of an all-girl group not exactly noted for their vocal talents.
The Mail also plasters pictures of struggling artist Victoria Beckham over Page 3, taken as she modelled items from Damon Dashs Roca Wear clothes label at a Selfridges fashion show.
Dash may not be well-known this side of the Atlantic, but he is responsible for giving us one of the biggest laughs of the year by trying to repackage Posh as a hip-hop star.
Her attitude is gangsta, the record mogul told the Express. She knows how to make money thats gangsta.
By that token, Sir Richard Branson is gangsta horrible sweaters and all. And Bill Gates. And Sir Cliff Richard.
Admit it, Damon Posh is about as street as a black Labrador at a pheasant shoot in Gloucestershire.’
Office Party Politics
‘IT is, of course, the season to get jolly and get up to a bit of tra-la-la-la-la with that foxy chick in sales or that handsome hunk in accounts.
| Anorak Xmas Party 2002 |
The Sun calculates that one in five ”brazen” Brits will end up having sex at their office party this Christmas.
But, assuming you don’t look like the back end of a photocopier and conversation is slightly more exciting than counting paper clips, then where do you take your chosen one when you have wooed him/her with your good looks, charm and five glasses of sparkling wine?
Well, it depends on how much of a risk taker you are.
In the first part of its festive Good Office Party Sex Guide, the Sun offers advice for the ”countless canoodling couples looking for a quiet corner at work where they can get down to some horizontal overtime”.
Maximum risk factor, the paper says, is the old favourite: the boss’s desk – although it must be said that you can reduce the risk by having the boss on top of you at the time.
Then, there is the boardroom (advantages: ”no carpet burns”; disadvantages: ”rolling off the table hurts”), the photocopier, lift, loos, store cupboard and – the coward’s option – car park.
Tomorrow, the Sun’ll tell us”who’s safe for sex and who’s not” – all of which comes a bit late for tonight’s Anorak party. First one to the car park’s a virgin…’
