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Bird Guano
The column which cuts of its nose to spite its face and then complains that it can’t smell the coffee
READER: The Golden Globes Awards! Did you see it?
MYSELF: See it? I was there mate.
READER: No! Really?
MYSELF: In the flesh.
READER: O-M-G….How close to the stage? Were you sitting near any stars?
MYSELF: If you were watching it on telly, I was the one in handcuffs with a blanket over my head being bundled into to an unmarked black van by Jodie Foster’s private security guards.
THE JOY OF SOCKS
The comedy clairvoyant duo Medium and Large, kilted yoga dancers and a Romanian mime artist pretending to be trapped in an aquarium were amongst artistes who kept an expectant Zoom audience enthralled during last Thursday’s opening of The Hastings Museum of Hosiery, the latest addition to the town’s roster of pop-up attractions. It was opened by local MP Rambo Udder, who cut a ribbon made from recycled PPL masks as she read these sincere words from her autocue; “This rarely seen collection of exhibits illustrating the fascinating history of socks is guaranteed to enthral both tourists and casual browsers of estate agents alike. I hereby declare Hastings Museum of Hosiery well and truly open” she declared as a 2-litre bottle of White Lightenin’ Apple-Style Cider Drink smashed into the museum’s Victorian stucco colonnade and bounced off unscathed, “God bless her and all who sail in her!”
Asked what strategy she might employ in order to increase her microscopic majority at the next general election, she replied enigmatically, “May I just remind everyone that my bijou South Coast pied-a-terre, with 32ft reception, Olympic-sized ballroom, seven bedrooms (all en suite) and adorable Moroccan-tiled kitchenette/diner is now available for rent. No pets, no air BnB, no DHSS, or whatever they call it these days and don’t even get me on the subject of Irish boarders.” adding, “Genuine enquiries only to: Foxtrot, Foxtrot & Sierra (UK) Ltd, Trump Tower, Gorky Park, Moscow.”
The Hastings Museum of Hosiery is closed until further notice.
DIKSHONARY CORNER
Sorcery (adj) tending towards being disc-shaped.
Mackerel (n) like doggerel, but waterproof.
DESERT ISLAND DICKS
According to my showbiz spies, Robinson Caruso, the new musical by Andrew Lloyd-Webber with lyrics by Russell Brand, has been cast and is in pre-production pending the relaxation of Covid-19 regulations. Where Daniel Defoe’s novel examined the nature of civilization, religious faith and power, this radical interpretation featuring Michael Ball as Caruso the shipwrecked opera singer and Gordon Ramsay as the foul-mouthed galley chef Dan Friday, asks us to suspend disbelief, cast away our preconceptions and sing.
As the sole survivor of plague-stricken cruise ship Karaoke Queen, Caruso manages to swim to shore on a nearby, seemingly uninhabited atoll. He thinks he is all alone until, during an exploration of the far side of the island he hears angry cursing. Emerging from the undergrowth he sees Friday, who, whilst barbecuing some turtles has been surrounded by cannibals who, attracted by the delicious aroma have landed their outriggers on the beach. After scaring off the savages with a shot from his blunderbuss, the stranded tenor bonds with his new companion and teaches him to read music. Soon the recalcitrant cook is accompanying Caruso’s plaintive sea shanties on a crude bagpipe made from a hollowed out iguana. The anthemic Thank God It’s Friday – the showstopping finale of Robinson Caruso – might just be one of the catchiest tunes the Demon Barbarian of Shaftsbury Avenue has ever ‘borrowed’. It is to be rush-released as a single this month.
The song’s video, directed by Brian La Palma, will feature (at lyricist Russell Brand’s insistence), the scantily-clad female cast of his bottom-scraping 2007 film St.Trinian’s who will appear as mermaids and sirens draped on a half submerged reef, their disembodied voices wailing its eery chorus, which manages to repeat the word paradigm 357 times.
ASK WENDY
Our resident agony aunt dishes out unqualified advice on matters of the heart and other organs
Dear Wendy,
My fiancée has invited me on a Caribbean cruise but I suffer terribly from sea-sickness. Is there a sure-fire preventative measure I could take to avoid the agony and embarrassment of Mal de Mer?
(name and address withheld)
Dear (name and address withheld),
In my experience, ocean cruises are often frought with anxieties, such as fear of food-poisoning, low-grade entertainment or falling overboard. As for fiancées, mine ran off with the bongo player of a samba band during a stop-off in Havana, so perhaps seasickness may prove to be the least of your problems! As far as I am aware however, the best method of avoiding it is to sit under a tree.
CHIC BONES
Zero’s, Hastings’ first glutton-free takeaway restaurant, is now attracting “the right kind of people” according to owner Willi Prada, but it wasn’t always plain sailing. “At first, customers were baffled by our radical menu, which is basically just a blank page with prices down one side and our logo, an empty plate, at the top. Also, the first thing we say to people when they come in is ‘Are you sure you’re hungry? You look like you could lose a few pounds,’ which initially got a few of our waiters punched.” Times have changed however, and glutton-free dining is fast becoming the woke choice as more and more restauranteurs adopt this new no-overheads business model. “It’s really just a socially acceptable way of fasting,” said Willi, “but you feel better about it because you’re paying us a lot of money.
To the uninitiated we might appear to be just a restaurant charging people for empty plates, but lest we forget, emptiness is a mere construct. Presentation is everything.”
MYSTIC MADGE – an apology
The famous spiritualist has apologized to disappointed fans after her recent virtual show prompted a mass Zoom mute-out. She was attempting to contact Boycott, an audience member’s recently deceased Yorkshire Terrier, when messages from her sumo wrestler spirit guide Pokomon suddenly ceased and were replaced by BBC Radio 4’s shipping forecast.
Instead of hearing a description of Boycott’s idyllic new home in Dog’s Little Acre, angry fans were warned of light to heavy precipitation in sea areas Biscay and Shannon, Northwesterly 5 to 7, veering northerly 3 to 5 later.
Disappointed punter Ted Throwbach of Cromer, who had tuned in hoping to hear from Elvis Presley, spoke to us afterwards. “I just wanted to ask The King how he was,” explained a visibly shaken Ted, “and maybe get him to sing Heartbreak Hotel, but all I got was Dover, Wight, Portland, Plymouth four or five, increasing six soon, rain or slight drizzle, good. – all delivered in a plummy voice which was clearly not Elvis’s.”
We spoke to Mystic Madge, who explained that after-death communication with the spirits of dead dogs was notoriously difficult. “Plus,” she added, “the BBC’s FM broadcasting signal can occasionally get picked up by the divining rod in my handbag and on that particular night it interfered with my chi something terrible”. She promised a full refund or a free tea leaf reading to any dissatisfied necromancy enthusiasts on production of a ticket stub.
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