The three male streakers at this year's Coca-Cola Cup Final have proved a fine distraction from all the political shenanigans. What an excellent score. One man starkers. One in stockings and suspenders.
Streaking. A fine British tradition indeed and one which should be applauded. |
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Perhaps our politicians could learn something from this. Last week they tried to spice up the whole Election event by dressing up in animal costumes. The idea is to Americanise the whole event - politics dressed as entertainment for the masses.
But two grown men dressed as chickens, one in a rhino costume, two dressed as teddy bears and one as a fox may be entertaining but it is hardly the British way of doing things. Let's bring back a bit of national pride into the electoral proceedings. It would brighten up politics no end to witness MP's streaking across the Commons. Just imagine fomer Tiller Girl Betty Boothroyd in the buff, high kicking in the corner, shouting "order, order" to the Whips. |
Paddy could take his pants down in public. Blair could be Bare on the election trail. Major could streak across Huntingdon waving his johnnies in the air screaming "oh yes, oh definitely yes".
That's exactly the sort of behaviour to win the British vote. None of this American nonsense. Forget the animal costumes. New Butt, New Britain. Britain's Streaking Again. Demon thighs. Britain Deserves Better. | ||
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The fluffy Heseltine, should he try this sort of behaviour, would presumably be caught short. As indeed he was last Friday when confronted with a Big Issue salesman in the Battersea constituency.
He short changed the poor bastard by 40p, according to bystanders. "The real Big Issue," Tarzan told the hapless Chaz the Homeless, "Is who wins the election. And it's going to be the Conservatives." Sweetie. The real Big Issue, apart from asking why anyone should vote for such a sleaze-ridden, hopeless bunch of tossers, is why the owner of a multi-million pound empire like Haymarket should be ripping off the homeless. Enough of politics. The double standards of the press are beginning to really rankle. | |||
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Take one tiny story in the News of the World. "Bridal toast" says the cheerful headline, saying how one 19-year old bride was whisked off to the supermarket by her new hubby for a £1.99 breakfast.
In the last paragraph, purely in passing, we learn the tight-fisted bastard was a "62 year old romeo".
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Compare and contrast with the "Oscar movie star has secret love-child" scoop in the same paper.
Naveen Andrews, star of the English Patient has set up home with a women who is, and note the capital letters, "FIFTEEN YEARS older than him."
Well bugger me. So, older woman has sex with younger man shock. | ||
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I've always been a great follower of the Eve Pollard school of advice on these matters. No spring chicken herself La Eve's advice inevitably consists of telling the various muttons who write in to dress as lamb.
"I," writes one Eve follower, "am a normal 40 year old woman". And not feeling too sexy. Eve's advice? "High heeled shoes make your walk sexier. Tight clothes make you stand straighter and look slinkier." Trust me. A bottle of gin and they won't care either way dhsarlinks. | |||
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Someone who presumably does care a great deal about his sex life is Skipper the Mongrel.
Skipper had the misfortune, as a stray, to turn up on the doorstep of Greg Millar, an American businessman. Misfortune, because Mr Millar's business was artificial testicles. Instead of receiving love and warmth at the end of his epic journey Skipper was promptly operated on and made the unlucky recipient of a pair of falsies. |
Mr Millar says his next project is cats, then horses, then the rest of the animal kingdom. Given his unusual approach to finding early volunteers for the first operation, women living in the Buckner area of the US would be well advised to keep their menfolk and animals firmly locked up. | ||
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Still not all male members are all under threat. Good to see Bob "I want a 'P' please Bob," Holness making a comeback this week. Maybe it's not quite the part the Blockbuster host was after but he's got a job in the new Robinson's ad - as a corpse.
"I know some people were saying they thought I was dead anyway, but they only have to switch over to see me on TV," says Bob optimistically. His impressive CV? "I'm not only presenting Call My Bluff on the BBC but I also have a voice over for a new film by the same people who made Wallace and Gromit." Fantastic luvvie fantastic. Kevin Costner must be spitting feathers. | |||