Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Wednesday, September 29, 2004

The Terrible Price of Fame

Larks! Over breakfast this very morning, I saw that Dannii Minogue has released another single. Oh, we really must get that lock seen to... Anyway. The video sees our Second Favourite Aussie Popstrell(tm) in a whole host of bizarre situations! Here are the events as they happen. You can gladly gasp along, as we did!

* She comes in with a gorgeous boy-thing! And kisses him goodnight!
* She strips off her unflattering blue Can-Can dress, and starts cavorting around her oddly small flat!
* She runs herself a bath!
* She and her four flatmates (where do they all sleep?) dance around the apartment in weirdly choreographed dance routines!
* (Actually, we approve of the last point, as it's how we spent most of our Friday nights)
* She cavorts around in her pants with her imaginary hunk! (Note that she never kisses on the lips. A point to be raised later...)
* She charges herself on cocktails!
* Her flatmates install her in her unflattering blue Can-Can dress!
* She's off into the night with the gorgeous boy-thing!

Now. As you can see, this poses a whole world of problems.

Firstly, does the narrative suggest that Dame Dannii is a prostitute, a lowly whore completely at the whim of her horrid flatmates? Note that she comes in, dressed in a frock that is so covered in spangle that it has started rucking up at the front, and refuses to kiss the gentleman caller on the mouth? Then she's whisked around the flat by her minxish pimps, given a healthy rohyphol cocktail, and forced out into the night with yet another gentleman caller before she's even been able to take advantage of a lovely Radox bath? Meaning that this punter is going to be 'stirring the porridge' for the rest of the night?

Or. Has Dannii done something to anger The Time Lords of TV's Doctor Who, meaning that they have put her in a time-loop? Is she forever destined to travel the same 3 minutes 30 of mediocre pop history again and again and again for some hideous crime that transgresses the Three Laws of Time laid down by TV's Rassilon? The most logical one that comes to mind is that she's knicked a TARDIS and turned it into a bland apartment - as it's the only explanation how she and her trio of friends could possibly fit in it, you know.

Lets face it, number one is more likely than number two. Not because the Time Lords don't exist, but because it's a very good explanation how she's got a new record contract. So we must break her free of this drudgery! I myself shall be trawling phone boxes of Ol' London Town for her card and break into her tiny flat armed with mace to subdue her pimpy housemates! Who's with me?! Together we can rescue a b-list celeb! Raaaa!


Mary Tamm, Lynda Bellingham, Some Camp Piece, Louise Jameson & Lalla Ward

...and if you pan down, you can see that the front of my trousers were wet...

Tuesday, September 28, 2004

Dead Away

I fainted this weekend. First time.

I mean, of course I've swooned - I've been in the same room as Ryan Phillipe, don'tyaknow - but there's a whole world of difference between the two. A swoon involves making sure that you're standing in front of a gentleman who you can guarantee is a) stronger than you, and b) is paying enough attention to catch you as you start to sink to the ground, hand to your forehead, with a protracted 'Oohhhh...'. I feel there's something old-fashioned, something proper about swooning. We should do it more often. When we're told the price of rounds in London bars. Or upon being presented with comically-shaped vegetables.

Fainting is the swoon's more dirty-finger nailed cousin. I was standing in the Wife's bathroom when an awful malaise suddenly overtook me, a blackness clouding my vision and causing my knees to buckle. My two thoughts as I dropped like a stone were: 'Well, this is new - let's try and not hit our head on the toilet seat, eh?' and 'Is there no way I can turn this into something glamorous?' Mostly because my trousers were halfway down. And you don't get that in a Bronte novel, do you? I've never read of Jane Eyre flopping onto the chaise-lounge with her kecks at half-mast, arse sticking skyward as she waits for the housekeeper to help her up. Though I can't help but feel it would make the whole book a darn sight more enjoyable.

I am feeling a little better now, thankyouforasking - and I feel I can recognise the signs of any fainting, so they will gladly be done in the style of a dead swoon. And it's also a good excuse to stand in front of our new, burly sales manager, coughing lethargically into a lace hankie. Well, I do need to test his reactions. So if you'll excuse me...



Here's a tiny slice of Cher's 'Dark Lady' for you:

'Dark lady laughed and danced
'And lit the candles one by one
'Danced to her gypsy music
'Till her brew was done
'Dark lady played black magic
'Till the clock struck on the twelve
'She told me more about me
'Than I knew myself'

You do realise that this is exactly how Evil Best Friend Declan gets ready for a night out?

Friday, September 24, 2004

The Angels

Hey-la, hey-la, my boyfriend's back!


FX: What appears to be a HAND GRENADE going off in a MAYONNAISE FACTORY.

Art House

A package turned up last night with a handwritten note from Cher:

'Found these quarantined in the Gay Council post room. I'm sending them on now all that Gay Card nonsense has been sorted.

'Love, Cher.
'PS - Found you can Fed-Ex Lorraine Kelly for £5.38. It's apparently how she gets about.'

Larks! Well, anyway, inside was several, er, 'art films' that I'd ordered a couple of weeks back. Out of pure scientific interest, I put it on while I was doing my knitting - merely as background, you understand - when fifteen minutes in, I noticed that one of the main 'actors' had been recast. Now, one of my favourite moments in the soap opera annals is when they re-cast a character, like blonde bubble-perm Beverly from Neighbours who went away for several weeks at a medical conference in Perth, before coming back with dark hair, two stone heavier, and a face like a bag of hammers.

Well, I couldn't believe it. The film was skipped back, and scrutinised over my half-rims. Indeed, they'd replaced the actor not just mid-film, but mid-scene! One minute there was one gentleman being drilled like masonry, and the next, the camera angle changed and it was a completely different fellow being back-scuttled! I'm desperate to know what happened! Was there an on-set accident? Did he slip? Or did he just remember he'd got a dinner party that evening, and he'd completely forgot the oregano for the lamb? And how did they manage to get a replacement so quickly? Do porn stars have understudies?! Enquiring minds need to know!

Thursday, September 23, 2004

The Return of Status Quo

There's no doubt that my Gay Card has been returned. Today, I squealed out loud when I broke a nail at the gym.

Well, it really hurt!

Wednesday, September 22, 2004

The Spinning Jenny

My Evil Best Friend Declan phoned last night while I was on my way to the station. I was still a little worse for wear from the booze, and I was having to push off tramps who were leaning in far too close and trying to lick my sweat. I knew it was him as my mobile had started bleeding.

"Drunk last night, were we?"

You never knew whether he'd read the blog or one of his winged servants has dropped him a note. I groaned an affirmative scanned the sky, just in case, wishing I'd brought my tin hat with me. I inwardly cursed my receptionist who'd persuaded it out of me 'cause she needed a new hanging basket.

"So, everyone knows my secret when I'm pissed now."

The question was rhetorical, and convivial in phrase - which obviously meant trouble. It also meant that he'd been on the blog. Ah. I'd been taking steps to make sure he couldn't access it, but it seemed too much of a coincidence that he'd just moved his internet provider to 'Demon'. I attempted an apology, but he brushed it aside.

"I do have another tell, you know."

"You do?" I asked, mind whirring to try and change the subject. The only thing the gray, addled mush under my hair came up with was, 'Well, how about those Dallas Cowboys?' Stupid, stupid brain.

"Oh yes," he said. "It's when I really start fancying men."

Oh yes! I recalled an incident in a bar a couple of years ago where we were both several pints down. Of sherry, naturally, There was a gentleman leaning up the bar who kept looking over, but we weren't sure whether he was eyeing up myself or Declan's human form. We'd argued sotto voce about who he was looking at, I utterly convinced he was looking at me, Declan at him. At that point, Declan reached The Point of No Return, slammed down his glass and walked up to the gentleman. They spoke briefly, and then their lips were locked for the rest of the night.

"Oh yes! Your tongue - it starts going like a whirling dervish!" I said. "The sheer speed of it draws men in like a Dyson!" There were several 'Oofs!' added to that sentence as a rather fragrant hobo had got a whiff of me, and decided I was actually a big bottle of Diamond White. His hot breath on my neck was an odd distraction as I whirled around, trying to get away and continue the conversation.

"I prefer the term 'Spinning Jenny', and it is a trick that-" There was a pause. "What are you doing?"

"Beating off a tramp. Why?"

"Honestly. Your Wife goes away for a couple of days, and you really do sink to the depths, don't you?"

But he'd hung up before I could explain.

Tuesday, September 21, 2004

The Point Of No Return

Thank goodness for office stomach bugs. While one or two people are clutching their guts in slight discomfort due to the germ going around, I'm using it to hide the severe cramps and shakes I've got thanks to getting utterly twatted last night. Not just drunk, but past that Point of No Return where your balance, reason and dignity tuts and sighs at you, turns on their heels, and takes the last train home while you're left leaning up the bar, thinking you're being really charming and friendly to the barman. When you're not.

I've seen my Evil Best Friend Declan reach The Point of No Return several times; his tell is to start singing Spandau Ballet's 'Gold' in a low and rumbling voice. The sound is like sarcophagi opening. Mine is when I go to the toilet and employ The Hitler Piss: a manoeuvre where you position yourself at the urinal and extend your left hand in the Nazi salute to the wall in order to steady yourself. Well, I'd reached that stage by 9.30 thanks to my two marvellous friends, Steven and Paul. Steven is Scottish, and so is already 90% proof. Paul seems to be equipped with a ceramic liver, and both can suck booze like Liza Minelli if she was reincarnated as Joseph Bazalgette's sewerage system. What started in fairly civilised fashion with the both of them in the Escape bar rapidly descended into messy chaos taking in the delights of Brief Encounter (pineapple shots), The Village ('Blow Jobs', I believe) and barrelling into The Shadow Lounge (second mortgages) at 1am.

I must say I don't like that place. The Shadow Lounge atmosphere is so vile, you can only assume that it was built on a former Indian burial ground. I also can't abide prissy queens, and I certainly can't stand expensive drinks, and this place has them by the truck-load. Imagine my delight. In truth, you're more likely to see me heading towards The White Swan's elegantly-titled cheap drinks night - called 'Fuck Me! How Much?' - with a funnel in my gob.

At the moment, I'm just writing an All Points Bulletin for the whereabouts of Paul, who was last seen taking a drag queen to task at 2am. This is not a good idea when sober, and I fully expect to find the body with several fake nails embedded in the scrotum. And I do apologise for any spelling errors during this post - my body has suddenly remembered that it runs on air and water, and I'm shaking like a shitting dog. Put it this way, if it doesn't stop soon, I'm going to upgrade my 'stomach bug' to 'Parkinsons'.

You may now approach me with your sympathy. Thank you.

Monday, September 20, 2004

TV Quick

Larks! Last day of Gay Community Service on Friday, and once again I was seconded to Gloria Hunniford. I didn't mind at all as the old girl was a good laugh, and all we did was sit around, gossiping. We'd previously discovered that you could anagram her name into 'fun hairdo on girl', which was ironic as she's worn a wig since she was fifteen years old, leading to an incident too hilarious to relate here when she stood up sharply while I was vacuuming her pelmet. After that, she decided that we should just sit around and watch TV. Here's what we saw:

Now, I'd been watching Carnivale for the last couple of weeks after accidentally overshooting while looking for a Jennifer Love Hewitt biography. I'd sung it's praises for a couple of weeks, and Gloria was very interested in giving it a whirl. She'd dug out the fourth episode from her bag, apparently lifted from the desk of some TV journalist she'd distracted by kicking over her shopping. She'd also managed to get his mobile, his Newton's Cradle, and his lunch. The woman is good, I tells ya.

My patience for it now wears thin. Nothing happens in it, but nothing happens very stylishly. If this were on a normal network, it would have been cancelled within two weeks, or at least retooled so there would be one explosion per episode. Although, the show did suddenly remembered it was a HBO series in the last episode and started swearing and showing lady-parts.

Gloria was initially confused and wanted a blow-by-blow account of everything that had happened so far. I was hard-pressed to tell her, and got as far as:

Week 1: Nick Stahl joins the circus.
Week 2: Brother Justin takes over a new church. Nick Stahl finds out his father may have been in the circus.
Week 3: Nick Stahl almost uses his powers.
Week 4: Nick Stahl almost uses his powers. The dwarf gets laid. The new church burns down.

And that's it. I'm all for intelligent drama, but this heads for a middle ground that is supposing sharp, but reiterates points over and over like a desperate parent. And it's trying far too hard to be weird. And the final nail in the coffin: Gloria started snoring half-way through, and I had to revive her with a good helping of bourbons.

We finally got around to watching Joss Whedon's cancelled series. Apparently there are amazing plots and special effects. I have no idea if this is the case as I am deeply and passionately in love with Jayne.

"I've got a treat for you," she said, adjusting her 'weekend hair'. It was basically a cap with a long pony-tail stuck on the back. And when she tipped the brim, the ponytail moved. I'd already spent a couple of hours trying to get her to wear the cap backwards "like all the young kids do," but she was having none of it.
"What treat?"
"JJ Abram's Lost."
"After Season Three of Alias, I'm not surprised."
"No. His new show. 'Lost'."
"Ah. Go on, stick it in then!"

Lost is thoroughly marvellous. Lord of the Flies meets The X-Files, it is one of the most unnerving shows I've seen in a while. Genuinely put the willies up me (a feeling I've been severely missing ever since the Wife sodded off to Morocco). And I can't tell you why it was so good as it will give the plot away! But watch it. That's an order.

Hmm. I never did manage to ask her where she'd got the tape from.

The L Word: bonus review!
On another sofa, I have the most gorgeous duo of lesbian friends, who I'm madly in love with:
"The problem with 'The L Word'," said Kimberly, roll-up pointed skyward as she dragged on it, "is that it has absolutely no sense of humour."

There's a joke there, but I can't quite put my finger on it...

Friday, September 17, 2004


Hilarious day yesterday - it was crisis talks at the Gay Council after someone had accidentally come across Rachel Stevens' new single, 'More, More, More'. Larks! After all the work they'd done in order to make her a credible artist, they leave her alone, and she comes back with this insipid number. I had previously only caught a snatch when she was using it to promote Sky Sports, but frankly, that's what sells her calendars, as far as I can tell.

Plus we have Kylie just darn-well giving up with her latest 'I'm Just Here For The Music'. What nonsense! There were people fanning themselves in shock and horror - just what are we going to dance around our handbags to? Oh, it's a sorry state of affairs, it really is. The only thing that we have to look forward to is:

Robbie Williams' 'Radio': a noisy little number in the style of 'Rock DJ';
Geri Halliwell's 'Ride It': "You're a DJ, I'm a song, take me out and turn me on." Need I say more?

Oh, and a special honorary mention to Girls Aloud, who have just released the name of their second album: 'What Would The Neighbours Say?' In most cases, we fear it will be 'turn that noise off!' but we're willing to chance it!

So pop music is in the hands of Geri Halliwell and Robbie Williams.

Goodness, it's 1999 all over again!

Wednesday, September 15, 2004

Why The Long Face?

My mouth hurts ferociously - one of my wonky wisdom teeth has decided to come through. I have no idea as to why it chose now, as I'm really no wiser than I was last week. Although I did learn this new fact this morning: when in meetings, do not accidentally replace 'laugh' with the word 'cum' when using the sentence "Deadlines? Ha! I laugh in their face!"

This day's Gay Community Service was to pop in on Dame Gloria Hunniford and help her sort through her shed, but we ended up just sitting around in the good room, flicking through the glosses. Here's a thing: Sarah Jessica Parker is delightfully desperate for work (Acco Horse Feed isn't cheap, you know) so she's currently the equine face of both Lux shower gel and GAP. GAP clearly has the bigger budget, as all print ads show our well-drilled star to be fresh-faced and charming, obviously thanks to a little bit of 'binary botox' via the computer's fair Photoshop. Lux? Well, we laughed our bourbons up when we found that ad. No touching up what-so-ever. It's like a before-and-after picture. Poor thing looks like a bag of sticks clutching some shower gel.

We had a good giggle, then flicked over. Dame G loves her horoscopes. Her's in 'Hello' was startlingly accurate: 'you will meet a tall, dark stranger who will hinder your travels inside yourself'. Because it was at that point we realised that the bin-man had accidentally taken her stash she'd hidden in a carrier bag from the police, and there was unfortunately no chance of a spliff for Countdown. Larks!

Tuesday, September 14, 2004

Getting Out

Free of all obligations, I decided to go clubbing this weekend. I was loathed to spend another night moping around the house, dearly missing the Wife who is currently away in Morocco. He's probably wafting around in white linen and drinking in the culture in his typically high-brow way. And besides, I'd read all the Garfield books I own and needed to get out.

So, my friend Steven and I decided to go to the New-And-Improved Stonewalls in Lewisham. They made great play of the fact they've spent £300,000 on redecorating the place - in truth, £250,000 of that must have been spent chiselling up the previous sticky floor. The remaining £50,000 was spent contacting Barbara Cartland via the magic of Ouija to help compose another hilarious 'How We Met' yarn for the boys toilet walls.

Despite the promise of a new floor, we were slightly hesitant to go due to the Boyz write-up stating that Saturday is 'thumping house music and dance'. What that means, it emerged, is that they've turned the base right up on the Girls Aloud tracks.

Glitter for Brains In The Dock: The Epilogue!

Well, that was odd. It's the first time I've been in a court with its own Green Room.

My apologies for not being around yesterday - it was my first day of Gay Community Service, as ruled by the batty Judge Judith. It's not too hard a deal, and seems to mostly involve giving d-list celebs a bed-bath and taking Su Pollard her Meals-on-Wheels. Oh, and cleaning up Old Compton Street first thing on a morning - but let's face it, the times when I've been trawling up and down there trying to pick up Boyz is already too numerous to mention. It transpires Judge Judith didn't like my eyes. Thought they were too squinty, and that they harbored evil intent. Gertie came to a similar conclusion when he visited me in my cell:

Me (weary, Brummie): I can't take much more of this. My once green eyes are red with worry.
Him (cheerful, Oxbridge): Your eyes have colour?
Me: Yes. A charming green. Why?
Him: Oh. I always thought they were black coals of utter despair and unforgiving humiliation.

In comparison to the Gay Council, I suppose I got off lightly. They've been ordered to cease and desist all activity prior to being audited properly, which is a marvelous thing. And as she and Judith got on so well, Cher was appointed to oversee the investigation. I think she was secretly delighted by this as it gave her a chance to nick all the signed pictures of herself and stick them on eBay. "Fabulous doesn't pay for itself," she's always telling me. "And AA batteries aren't free, either," she adds, often with a hungry look in her eye.

Fortunately, Cher pointed out that it will take around one week for all Gay Council assets to be seized and accounted, so I should be free of my duties by Friday. And not before too long! And she'd kindly posted back my Gay Card - purely symbolic now, really - but it makes me feel a little better. And perhaps there's more to it than I gave credit to: I didn't realise it was in the building for a good couple of hours, only discovering when Nora, the replacement postlady, has suddenly started to look suspiciously fabulous.

I also think its no accident that Cher is taking her time in looking over the Gay Council assets. After all, she's been after a new hobby ever since her last Farewell Tour, and I can't think of anyone who would be more perfect for the job of looking after us all.

Sometimes, things really do have a way of sorting themselves out for the better.

Sunday, September 12, 2004

Glitter for Brains In The Dock: The Verdict!

"What? Oh. Well. (sniffs) I find you both guilty."


Friday, September 10, 2004

Glitter for Brains In The Dock: The Defence!

There follows the court transcript of the case: THE GAY COUNCIL AGAINST LEE BINDING, dated 09/09/04.

PRESIDING: Ms Justice Judith Chalmers
DEFENDANT: Mr Lee Binding
PROSECUTION: The Gay Council

COURT: All rise for Judge Judith Chalmers!

JUDGE JUDITH: All right, all right. Sit down. Now, have you sacked that court stenographer for spelling my name wrong yesterday?

COURT: Oh yes. He's been put to work in your very own Nivea mines, Mistress Judith.

JUDGE JUDITH: Good. There shall be a bumper crop this year... I can almost feel my carroty skin loosening at the thought...

COUNSEL CHER: Excuse me, if it pleases your honour-

JUDGE JUDITH: Let record note that very little does.

COUNSEL CHER: Well, yes. We'd very much like to get the defence over with. My client is eager to get back to his wonderfully charitable, philanthropic lifestyle. And I do have my seventh farewell tour to arrange.

JUDGE JUDITH: Agreed. Let's get this pantomime together. But can we have this with a bit more show? A bit more... umph, perhaps?

COUNSEL CHER: Now would that please you?

JUDGE JUDITH: Very little does.

COUNSEL CHER: Well. Alright. Please call to the stand, Mr Binding's arresting officer, WPC World!

(Applause. Theme tune. WPC World takes the stand)

COUNSEL CHER: I need you to raise your right hand and place your left one on this Abercrombie and Fitch advert. You swear or affirm that the statements you're about to make are the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you, er, me?


COUNSEL CHER: Now, Miss World, when you arrested the defendant to bring him to court, you were in your squad car. Were your blue lights flashing?


COUNSEL CHER: Did the defendant say anything to you when he got out of his car?

WPC WORLD: Yes ma'am.

COUNSEL CHER: What did he say to you?

WPC WORLD: He said, "What disco am I at?"

COUNSEL CHER: Now, does that sound like the actions of a heterosexual man to you?

PROSECUTION: Objection, your honour! This just further proves that Mr Binding was operating without a licence!

COUNSEL CHER: Exactly! Your honour, my point is that gayness now so ingrained in the populous, it should not be dictated by cards and councils! Even without the presence of a little card, my client was still capable of operating as a complete screaming mary.

JUDGE JUDITH: Hmm. I'll let it stand. Argument dismissed.

PROSECUTION: Excuse me, your honour, but if that were the case-

JUDGE JUDITH: Will the Prosecution please shut his cake-hole!

(Jerry Springer-style whoops and hollers from the balcony)

COUNSEL CHER: Will the defence please take the stand?

(Shuffling as WPC World leaves, Mr Binding takes the stand)

DEFENDANT LEE: You're very good at this, you know. Just like in 'Suspect'.

COUNSEL CHER: Thank you.

DEFENDANT LEE: You should do it on telly or something.


DEFENDANT LEE: Yeah. You could call it 'Moonstruck-lighting'. Or - ooh! - maybe 'Cher and Order'!

COUNSEL CHER: What a nice idea!

DEFENDANT LEE: And you could go around being a strong but feminine lawyer, and-

JUDGE JUDITH: Order in the court!


JUDGE JUDITH: Just get on with it.

COUNSEL CHER: I need you to raise your right hand and place your left one on this Flashdance video. You swear or affirm that the statements you're about to make are the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you, me?


COUNSEL CHER: Mr Binding, you are now under oath. Now, did you feel any different once your Gay Card was removed?

DEFENDANT LEE: A little subjugated, maybe. Like I couldn't do handstands any more.

COUNSEL CHER: Interesting. And could you do handstands previously?

DEFENDANT LEE: You know, now you come to mention it - no!

PROSECUTION: Oh, come on. The amount of times your heels have been above your head...

COUNSEL CHER: Objection, your honour! Unnecessary bitchiness!

DEFENDANT LEE: No, it is true. He has a point.

COUNSEL CHER: Mr Binding, but other than handstands, you really felt no different? What about the urge for this!

(For the record, the Defence Council produces Exhibit A: a hoola-hoop.)

DEFENDANT LEE: Wow! Yes, I'd still hoola!

COUNSEL CHER: Ah-ah-ah. It's mine. Anyway, I bet you can't do this.

(The Defence Council uses Exhibit A spectacularly. Applause.)

DEFENDANT LEE: No. Not really.

COUNSEL CHER: Thank you. No further questions.

(The Defence leaves the stand)

COUNSEL CHER: We call to the stand - The Prosecution!

(There is a general murmur from the balcony)

PROSECUTION: Alright, I'll play along.

(The Prosecution takes the stand)

COUNSEL CHER: I need you to raise your right hand and place your left one on this signed picture of Jackie Collins. You swear or affirm that the statements you're about to make are the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you, me?


COUNSEL CHER: What were the main crimes of my client?

PROSECUTION: Can I have that Jackie picture when you're done. I heart her.

COUNSEL CHER: Maybe. Can you answer the question.

PROSECUTION: Mr Binding was being fabulous without a licence. Oh, and mixing up Cilla Black and Lulu.

COUNSEL CHER: I propose that you, a Gay Council member, can do no better. We call to the court, Exhibits B and C. Cilla Black and Lulu!

(Enter Exhibits B & C. They duet. Applause.)

COUNSEL CHER: Now, Council member, can you tell these two red-haired celebs apart?

PROSECUTION: Indeed I can. That's Cilla. And that's Lulu.

COUNSEL CHER: And what if they turn around?

PROSECUTION: That's Cilla and that one there is Lulu.

COUNSEL CHER: And what if we put lamp shades over their heads?


COUNSEL CHER: Is that a no, Councillor?

PROSECUTION: Is that Cilla?

COUNSEL CHER: Let the record show that the prosecution cannot tell the difference between Cilla and Lulu either. Thank you, ladies. Now. Councillor, what can you tell me about the Gay Card.

PROSECUTION: They are to allow the carrier to be a fabulous gay!

COUNSEL CHER: But you do admit that the cards offer no benefits at all?

PROSECUTION: The cards have benefits.

COUNSEL CHER: And they would be..?

PROSECUTION: Er. Well. Er... Oh! Money off any videos with ballroom dancing in. And I discovered you can use it to jimmy the lock of Emma Bunton's front door.

COUNSEL CHER: But other than that, the Gay Card is of no use whatsoever.

PROSECUTION: But it enables people to be fabulous!

COUNSEL CHER: Councillor, people don't need cards to be fabulous. Do they?

PROSECUTION: That is difficult to-

COUNSEL CHER: A simple yes or no, councillor.


COUNSEL CHER: Thank you. No further questions, your honour.

JUDGE JUDITH: Good. What was her lounge like?


JUDGE JUDITH: Emma Bunton's. What was her lounge like?

PROSECUTION: Smelt of Doritos.

JUDGE JUDITH: As I suspected. You may leave the stand.

COUNSEL CHER: The Defence rests, your honour.

JUDGE JUDITH: Right. Prosecution, would you like to sum up?

PROSECUTION: I think there's very little to say, your honour. Mr Binding has freely admitted to the crimes put before him several times in this court.


COUNSEL CHER: No. It's my hoola-hoop.

JUDGE JUDITH: (sighs) Council Cher, will you please sum up.

COUNSEL CHER: If it pleases your honour-

COUNSEL CHER & JUDGE JUDITH: (together) And very little does.

COUNSEL CHER: -we move that my client is not only innocent, but that the Gay Council is a defunct organisation that preys on the fabulous and forces them to conform to outmoded models.

JUDGE JUDITH: What are you suggesting, Councillor Cher?

DEFENDANT LEE: That the Gay Council be disbanded!

(gasps from the balcony)

JUDGE JUDITH: (looking up) Oh, you're still awake, then.

PROSECUTION: This is outrageous! You can't do this!

DEFENDANT LEE: We can. It says in your own manifesto that the practices of the Council can be questioned when, and only when, a Councillor is in the presence of a b-list celeb or higher! Your knowledge is out of date, your practices archaic! No one cares about Norma Desmond any more! You've had thousands of years to mull over the best culture as to offer, and you've simply become staid and musty!

PROSECUTION: Objection! Your honour, all this is to detract from the charges brought against the defendant!

JUDGE JUDITH: Agreed. You're playing a very dangerous game, Mr Binding...

DEFENDANT LEE: But if they get their way, people can be subjugated for the slightest unfabulous thing! Yesterday, you yourself said you worked for BBC and not ITV. Under their system, that means that you could be stripped of your status as Gay Icon! And you know what that means?

JUDGE JUDITH: Gasp! I couldn't wear leopard-print to the pub! Or be allowed to wake up pissed from the night before still caked in my make-up!

DEFENDANT LEE: Exactly! This draconian dictatorship should be stopped!

PROSECUTION: This is outrageous! He's been planning this all along!


(Whoops and hollers from the balcony)

JUDGE JUDITH: Order in the court!


JUDGE JUDITH: Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. in an unprecedented move, please take your time to consider these two verdicts. We shall reconvene for the verdict later today.

(gavel bangs. Theme tune.)

COUNSEL CHER: (whispers) I really hope you know what you're doing.

DEFENDANT LEE: (whispers) You know, now I'm not so sure...

Transcript halted as court adjourned for verdict. Session reconvenes later.

Thursday, September 09, 2004

Glitter for Brains In The Dock: The Prosecution!

There follows the court transcript of the case: THE GAY COUNCIL AGAINST LEE BINDING, dated 08/09/04.

PRESIDING: Ms Justice Judith Charmers
DEFENDANT: Mr Lee Binding
PROSECUTION: The Gay Council

COURT: All rise for Justice Judith Charmers!

DEFENDANT LEE: (aside) That'll be the day.

(gavel bangs)

JUDGE JUDITH: Mr Binding. May I remind you that you are in a court of law. You are accused of displaying a flagrant disregard of Common Gay Knowledge, as well as being Fabulous without the correct licence. How do you plead?


(gasps from the balcony)

DEFENDANT LEE: Well, come on.

JUDGE JUDITH: Order in the court!

COUNSEL CHER: Is it too late for a vodka and orange?

DEFENDANT LEE: (aside) But you don't drink.

COUNSEL CHER: You can't ignore an 'order in the court' joke. It's the law.

DEFENDANT LEE: Oh. Well. Thank goodness you're here!

PROSECUTION: If we may start. We're here to prove to the court that Mr Binding is not only useless at being a Gay, but also he then went on to continue to be a raving poof without the proper licence. We call the defendant to the stand!

(The Defendant takes the stand)

And I need you to raise your right hand and place your left one on this IKEA catalogue. You swear or affirm that the statements you're about to make are the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you, er, Cher?

(The Defence Counsel waves)


PROSECUTION: Mr Binding, is it true that you have recently had your Gay Card removed.


PROSECUTION: Could you tell us why?

DEFENDANT LEE: I happened to forget that Lulu was Scottish. And that Beverly Crusher was not in Season Two of Star Trek: The Next Generation.

(gasps from the balcony)

JUDGE JUDITH: You are aware these are very serious offences, Mr Binding?

DEFENDANT LEE: Indeed I do. But I would like to enter a plea of not guilty due to other evidence that will be brought to light.

PROSECUTION: All in good time. The Gay Council would also like to bring some evidence to light, your honour. Things that prove Mr Binding forged evidence and should never have been issued with a Platinum Gay Card in the first place!

(gasps from the balcony)

JUDGE JUDITH: (turns to balcony) Are you going to do that every time?

(Let it be noted on the record that they all nodded.)

PROSECUTION: Mr Binding, is it not true that you have never seen Whatever Happened to Baby Jane, Now Voyager or any single episode of The Waltons? And you only sat down to see Cabaret and Xanadu a fortnight ago?

DEFENDANT LEE: That is correct.

PROSECUTION: Is it also true that you don't own any of these fabulous artistes on any recording format: Liza Minelli, Dusty Springfield, Ute Lemper...

DEFENDANT LEE: That too is true.

PROSECUTION: Please let it be known that, in order to apply for a Platinum Gay Card, you have to have seen these films. Did you lie on your admissions form?

DEFENDANT LEE: The only reason I did was there were no tick-boxes for 'Spiceworld the Movie' or 'Girls Aloud'! Your system is archaic!

PROSECUTION: How dare you..!

DEFENDANT LEE: There's nothing of Star Trek: Voyager, nor anything on the works of Sabrina, The Teenage Witch!

PROSECUTION: Ah. But. Let it be known that the Defendant admitted he lied on his form. And that he also has flat hair.

DEFENDANT LEE: Gah! I wouldn't have flat hair if your bull-dog of a hairdresser had been capable of understanding what I wanted done with my barnet!

PROSECUTION: Mr Binding, we have had a psychological profile of you completed over the last year, and it shows some disturbing findings. Have you ever heard of Sigmund Freud?


PROSECUTION: What have you heard?

DEFENDANT LEE: He got mauled by a tiger.

(a pause)

JUDGE JUDITH: I think you're thinking of Siegfried & Roy, aren't you?

DEFENDANT LEE: That's what I'm doing.

JUDGE JUDITH: This guy was a little older than that.


PROSECUTION: Our exam, which is admissible as evidence, states that Mr Binding's brain does not contain any lines from Absolutely Fabulous.

COUNSEL CHER: Objection, your honour!

JUDGE JUDITH: What is it?

COUNSEL CHER: Firstly, the Defence would like to examine this new evidence. And secondly, if you knew my client, you'd realise that his brain doesn't contain anything bar some advert jingles from the mid-Eighties, and where he left his keys.

DEFENDANT LEE: No. Even that's gone.

COUNSEL CHER: Oh. And I left my suitcase in your lounge. How am I going to get it?

DEFENDANT LEE: You can shimmy up the drainpipe.

COUNSEL CHER: I can what?

(gavel bangs)

JUDGE JUDITH: Order in the court!

COUNSEL CHER & DEFENDANT LEE (together): Vodka and orange!

PROSECUTION: Now, isn't it true that you got drunk on beer on the 5th of November last year, and you rode naked through the streets on top of a bin-wagon, letting off fireworks, and singing 'I Did It My Way' loudly?

DEFENDANT LEE: What was the date again?

COUNSEL CHER: Objection, your honour!



JUDGE JUDITH: (sighs) What is it, Miss Cher?

COUNSEL CHER: My client's hair is not flat, your honour. Merely resting.

(a pause)

JUDGE JUDITH: Let the record note that the defendant's hair is merely... resting.

PROSECUTION: We put forward that if Mr Binding lied about his status for a Platinum Gay Card, he could have lied about the whole thing! Mr Binding may not be a proper gay at all! We move that he be permanently stripped of all his gay accoutrements, and forced to work in an Argos somewhere with several large and homophobic workers.

DEFENDANT LEE: How dare you! I am indeed a proper gay! For goodness sake, I have Cher as my lawyer!

PROSECUTION: We have checked this. Your Cher is not the Cher, but merely a Cher.

DEFENDANT LEE: Well. Cher and Cher alike, I say.

JUDGE JUDITH: Mr Binding, we could send you to jail for that joke alone.

DEFENDANT LEE: I'm sorry, your honour. I love your tan, by the way.

JUDGE JUDITH: Thank you.

DEFENDANT LEE: What is that foundation you're wearing?

JUDGE JUDITH: Terracotta Rooftop. By Rimmel.

DEFENDANT LEE: It's very nice.

JUDGE JUDITH: Thank you. I do like to keep my orange hue. Even though I'm no longer employed to fly around the world at the behest of the BBC.



PROSECUTION: We'd like to see the Defence sent down, your honour.

DEFENDANT LEE: Not without dinner and dancing first, you won't.

JUDGE JUDITH: Ahem. Is that everything, Prosecution?

PROSECUTION: Yes. The Prosecution rests, your honour.

JUDGE JUDITH: Do you have anything to say in your defence, Mr Binding?

DEFENDANT LEE: (draws in breath) Indeed I do...

Transcript halted as court adjourned for the day. Session reconvenes tomorrow.

Tuesday, September 07, 2004

Part of the Process

Even better news. Cher isn't up to anything tomorrow.

(Rubs hands together). Marvellous.

Things I Can Now Do Since My Gay Card Was Cancelled

Here's a list for you, just to show that it's not all bad.

Understand IKEA instructions without calling a lesbian.
Throw over-arm.
Drive a car without having the Spice Girls on.
Understand the comic strips in The Sun.
Know what a cricket box is for. Or, rather, not instantly think it's for pole-dancing.
Look good in a hooded top.
Know what a Jodie Marsh and a Caprice is for.

Monday, September 06, 2004


For reasons to hilarious to go into here, darling Jay and I have decided to share a house. And so we spent all of Saturday morning trolling around several warehouse-y areas looking for a conversion that would be delightfully similar to Jennifer Beals' expansive pad in Flashdance. While this did mean going around several useless property agents and describing what we'd like, the bonus was that we would often have to do the dance moves to 'Maniac' in the middle of the office to illustrate our point.

And we do advise getting covered in a bucket of water in this sudden heatwave, although we did fuse five computers along the way. For which we unreservedly apologise to several of you estate agents.

After several hours, we still hadn't found the right place, but we had managed to meet the gorgeous Giles, a hunky blonde boy in charge of some places in London Bridge. He was a complete sweetie, and frankly, either of us would have taken anything from him, property or no. Perhaps this is how there are so many homeless people in London - we'd have taken a box under Euston Station if he'd promised to show us around it in shorts.

Anyway. Jay is a sheer marvel when it comes to organising, and proclaimed that he was going to sit down with all his little bits of paper we'd accumulated and do a spreadsheet of every house and who's dealing with what. I said this was a marvellous idea and that I would help with in earnest, and announced I would be putting Giles' number on a Post-It Note. And then drawing a heart around it. Possibly a smiley face too.

Of course, there was a slight ulterior motive to all of this. All this campery was to provoke Them On High, and I duly received a note in my mail this very morning:

'Dear Mr Binding,

'We fabulous people at the Gay Council have discovered you have been practicing your gayness without a correct licence. As this is a grave offence, you are requested to attend a formal hearing on Wednesday. As this is a formal session, you are only allowed to wear court shoes.

'With love,
'The Gays, xx'

Excellent. Everything is on course.

Choppy Seas

And what have we learned over the weekend?

Well, we've learned that you should never go for a hair cut when your Gay Card has been rescinded. This is utterly true: I go to the hair-dressers on Friday and ask for my usual stylist. "She's left," I'm told. Although I can still see her handbag in the staff area at the back. And a lump behind the curtain that may or may not be someone's feet.

I'm shown to my chair. "Instead, you can have Iris," it is announced. Iris is a scary little pixie who doesn't speak a word of English who I've never seen at the place before. While I mime what I want done to my barnet, she nods, smiles, and appears to hum her national anthem. And then attacks my hair with a ferocity that was probably previously reserved for attacking invading Russians.

The result? A severely unfabulous hair-do. I look like a bull-dyke.

This does mean war.

Thursday, September 02, 2004

The Final Straw Bag

I've had enough.

They can mess with my porn, they can amend my music collection, but as soon as you remove my Murder, She Wrote ringtone from my phone, there's going to be trouble. And what's this nonsense I've got in its place? 'Babycakes'? What the hell is this?

I did honestly want to give this life a go, but it's just becoming unworkable. A series of unfortunate events yesterday left me with a skinned knee, a pigeon hitting me in the face (you can't tell me that was an accident, hmm?!) and my bag falling to pieces in the middle of the street, and I could feel The Gay Council's well-manicured hand in all of this. And it was finally rammed home this lunch time how much different my life would be from now on. Just how on earth can you buy a new bag without checking you can dance around it first? It's inhumane!

My life like this is a tissue of lies. And I'm not happy someone else has already made it crispy with their spangle.

So. I have a plan...

Wednesday, September 01, 2004

The Ugliest Child In The Playground

I'm still learning, you know.

For one, I can tell you pints of beer give you the most monstrous hangover, as I discovered when I crawled out of bed this morning and stepped onto a kebab. I've never had beer before: as per all men of the Good Listening variety, I used to get twatted on cider at university before discovering alco-pops, and then finally turning to vodka. This stuff is just nasty! And also makes you do strange things - I appear to now have a Ford Capri on my credit card.

I'm still discovering sport too. Apparently, one of our national sporting heroes is this footballer called Wayne Rooney. Now, in my humble opinion, he's not the best looking of men - not that I'm allowed to look, naturally. Wayne Rooney looks like he was set on fire as a child, and someone then beat it out with a flat-edged spade. Afterwards the poor unfortunate youngster was made to chew piss-flavoured bubblegum for a good decade.

Well, the headline yesterday on Sky Sports (yes! I watched Sky Sports! And not for the Rachel Stevens commercial!) read: 'Wayne Rooney In Record Deal'. From my unique viewpoint, I can clarify to you more glorious members of the gay community that it turns out that this doesn't mean that he's going to be releasing any albums. Rather he's moving clubs to 'Man Utd', which I believe is a nice thing. Good for him for overcoming his obvious disabilities, I say.

In fact, this new way of life is not bad, by any means. I am actually developing a taste for poppadoms. But I must complain about some of the more underhanded techniques employed by The Gay Council to make my life more difficult. They have removed all the pornographical material from my house and replaced it with DIY manuals (a whole new take on 'tab A goes into slot B, I suppose). And what the hell is one meant to do with a 'microwave meal' anyway?