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

Thursday, October 29, 2009


I see that The Nation's Bawdy Treasure, Barbara Winsor, is leaving 'EastEnders' next year.

A thought: isn't that when they're meant to be going HD?

Just a thought.

Monday, October 26, 2009

Coming Late To The (Nazi) Party

I hate getting stopped by protesters, mostly because they tend to be well-meaning but smell of wet dog.

There were swathes of them outside the BBC last week (where I'm currently holed up colouring in some new Doctor Who stuff) for the appearance of Nick Griffin, current leader of the British National Party, appearing on 'Question Time'. Now I wanted him on there to hopefully to make an utter fool of himself - but they wouldn't listen, called me a racist and stuffed a handful of flyers in my hand. Now I think free speech is very important - we're just terrible at dealing with it in this country. Thusly when Griffin was on the show, it was rather like the horrible uncle that arrives at a Christmas lunch who every now and again lurches forward and says "I suppose you bought this gravy from the local paki shop, didn't you?" and everyone looks down at their sprouts and hopes to change the subject to more genteel matters. My only regret is that they didn't give him enough time (or metaphorical rope) to hang himself; perhaps they should have eschewed 'Question Time' and put him on 'Come Dine With Me' and maybe a slight tint to the meringue would have set him off and made him explode in ill-contained hatred.

Meanwhile on 'Question Time' he danced his considerable bulk around most of the issues thrown at him (I loved the idea he was friends with a non-violent faction of the Klu Klux Klan - what did they do, sit around on weekends comparing thread counts in their sheets?) and was only given just about enough time to semi-disgrace himself with the only faux pas by announcing he finds gay men kissing in public 'creepy'. Goodness, this from a man with eyes so independent from each other that one looks like its going down the shops while the other is coming back with the change. He looks like a constantly-surprised plucked owl. And with that hideous weak chin - oh darling readers, does it not look like he was breast-fed until he was five years old? And he says that gay men kissing is creepy? My dear thing, the idea of you getting your bow-shaped dribbling lips around anything remotely human fills us with a revulsion.

Back to the argument of free speech. The whole incident with vile journalist Jan Moir is proving that my faith in human nature is actually justified for once, when she attacked the death of Stephen Gately as being 'unnatural' - clearly alluding to the fact it was with another two men present and possibly involved drugs. She then spent a whole week weaseling around the hack language when people turned around and said "Hang on..." and M&S started dropping pictures of pants from around her column. I was surprised when another column turned up a week later trying to show off her teflon coating about the whole incident, again not really saying anything certain about anything up until the last few paragraphs, where she tries to prove herself right about the whole outcry, thusly shooting herself in her own coven hoof. Here she is saying 'anyway, so what if I was gay-bashing, I got lots of letters after I wrote that column saying I was right'. Now this just plain stupid: a handful of messages from your family in Kent undersigned 'the silent majority' does not equate with the twenty-two thousand emails that went to the Press Complaints Commission. Twenty-two thousand. There were so many that the website crashed. I very much doubt that the delusional 'undersigned' numbered that many, darling. If so, I'm going to add numeric illiteracy alongside your inability to write anything without meandering around a point. See, I'm all for free speech, I just want it to be well written.

Friday, October 23, 2009

The Tunnel of Rape

Good lord. Modern artist Richard Whitehurst is apparently building The Tunnel Of Rape as an 'art piece', where he would sit in it and try and overpower anyone who wandered inside and rape them. Well, what fun! And there was me rolling my eyes at Tracy Emin's unmade bed. At least this one is more interactive.

Now see, my question was that if you were wandering into something called 'The Tunnel of Rape' and clearly expected to get a little fun, then clearly the sex is at least slightly consensual, yes? So not rape, then? I mean you're going to look a bit silly crawling through this clearly-marked Tunnel of Rape to get to the other end to complain that you got punched in the throat then punched in the box, aren't you. Unless there's a sign at the door saying 'FREE ACME BIRD SEED - THIS WAY' I think you're going to get everything you deserve. Although I am also imagining some poor child playing Catch and their little red ball just rolling into the Tunnel... Cue the music from 'The Exorcist' as the kid walks towards it. Or the theme from 'Benny Hill' - take your pick!

Clearly its meant as an attraction, which instantly pings into my head that there's probably going to be a gift shop at the end. With t-shirts that say 'I had my tunnel raped in the Tunnel of Rape!' and maybe those pictures in the cardboard frames that you get taken on the ride. I hate those pictures. My hair’s always a mess and I always look so disinterested. Well, same as, I suppose…

Although on further digging, Whitehurst's piece is a fake - he's often announcing 'shocking' pieces to the world in order to upset the apple cart. Which is just as well as rape is clearly a horrible, horrible thing... unless you were there to witness that late night episode of everygreen soap 'Hollyoaks' with a bit of backdoor boy-rape happening as part of an ongoing storyline where some awful chavvy thug had Gary Lucy over the bonnet of his car in the middle of the night. I felt funny for days, I tell you. Clearly it was meant to be shocking and vile - but really, these boys were beautiful. Troublingly so. It wasn't so much 'rape' as 'Free Surprise Sex!' in my widened, lustful eyes.

As a result, I did spend most of the article scanning through it, thinking 'yes, yes. All well and good. But is Whitehurst pretty?' Shame it turned out to be fake: I think my logging straight on to was holiday wish fulfillment after too many years visiting Butlin’s boring Holiday Camp in Bognor. Vivre le difference, I say.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Food Poisoning

Being a screaming Gentleman Who Owns One Too Many Gingham Shirts, there is one sliver of thought that runs through any instance of food poisoning. Throughout the endless vomiting, poised on the edge of the toilet like those oscillating dippy-bird toys. Through the explosive instances at the other end of the body that renders leaving the house an impossibility, as well as turning it into a No-Poking Compartment. And that thought is this: Oh my good lord, this is better than any diet going and I'm going to look faaaaabulous.

Wednesday, October 07, 2009

Vag Bomb

I mean clearly I'm a stranger to feminine hygiene having never been near a splayed bacon sandwich since my dear mother shot me into this world. Male hygiene - well you're lucky if they run it under the tap before you find it insistently bobbing around before your mouth, but I understand that women get it all a little worse - compounded by someone sending me this delightful ad:

Well, isn't that just lovely! Cher bless you, 1950s housewife. You're not going to get any, my love, because your frustrated, Bryl-Creemed husband has locked himself away to smoke pipes and build ships in bottles just to take his mind off the idea of plunging nuts-deep into your drip-tray - that just happens to reek like the bins of a sea-view hotel on a summer's afternoon.

Although I have to ask - 'soda'? They used soda? Really? I can't really imagine sitting there during 'Wheel of Fortune' while your nethermouth is fizzing away like a Sodastream. Well I can, I just choose not to. I'm strong like that. Yeah.

Tuesday, October 06, 2009

The Lost Symbol X

And so we reach the finale of the book where the story has stopped three chapters previously, Langdon has managed to find his spiral staircase and the man who had his hand removed only hours before stop halfway down and discuss all sorts of theological issues for what feels like hours. He then buggers off and leaves the rest of his lecturing to his sister, the Speak & Spell with Lipstick, to pick up where he left off so Dan Brown can throw in all the rest of his research in and underline all his favourite bits from previous chapters. What remains is five or six chapters on how we are all Gods and isn't that lovely and why not have a slap on the back for being so clever. I haven't had such a forced upbeat ending since I went to group therapy that happened to be run by a former Butlin's Redcoat.

I still have no bloody idea what the lost symbol is. I shall pretend it's the silly little thing on the key below the Escape on your keyboard.

I think what I will primarily take away from this book is that it needed an editor, a sub-editor and much more Pam the air stewardess. I shall also take away the unmitigated joy at every character being so damn surprised about everything, and Brown expecting his audience to follow suit. I mean, one character opens a drawer and gasps at one point - and this constitutes the end of a chapter. Elsewhere, a minor character has been on the phone to the vile Character Traits on Legs in her helicopter, and expresses utter shock when the vile Character Traits on Legs phones her back from a rooftop. She genuinely thinks 'Director Sato is on a rooftop?!' like this means she's turned into Spider-Man and climbed up there herself. Every revelation is unveiled with characters having to pick their jaws off up the floor, and whether this is the discovery that an ancient pyramid has some symbols on the bottom, or that someone realizes an extractor fan is on in the kitchen. Thank heaven there wasn't a sex scene is all I shall say.

Bless you all for sticking with me though this. I'm now going to read something good. Or at least shorter. And with less pictures for once.

Monday, October 05, 2009

The Lost Symbol IX

Ooh, the home stretch now. Almost at the end I'm sure you'll be pleased to hear.

So where are we? Well, Mal'akh's plan is finally revealed and it seems to be getting himself killed while at the same time sending video footage of the Masons doing their initiation ceremony around the world. Apparently this will 'bring down governments' because it shows people titting about in robes and if you show this on the 6 o'clock news the whole country would be in uproar. According to Dan Brown. I mean really, if I saw video footage of any members of our government flouncing about while drinking from skulls I wouldn't be the slightest bit surprised and would just turn over to watch 'Strictly Come Dancing: It Takes Two'. Also I think Mal'akh needs to have a word with his internet service provider as it takes two chapters to upload a video file to a server when we all know it takes about 30 seconds to do it on YouTube (or XTube cough) in this day and age. Perhaps the news networks wouldn't broadcast it unless he uploaded it in HD with 5.1 sound? They're clearly very picky.

The vile Character Traits on Legs is in her helicopter and complaining that they can't set off an EMP pulse to fry the laptop sending the video because the Mason's temple is stone and thus completely shielded from electromagnetic radiation. Oh really? Magic stone is this? And then the following paragraph has her helicopter hovering over a fricking glass skylight!

However there is a plot twist around here that was actually quite good so I won't spoil it for you assembled masses. And it actually ties up some of the irritating loose ends from midway through the book. When I first started this read my expectations were middling but slowly started to sink as I remembered what an appalling author Brown is. I can't remember why this slipped my mind, I can only assume that my boyfriend sent me for electroshock therapy at some point. I'm still not saying this is a competent read. To me its very much like the child at the wedding that everyone's wary of: if it didn't sick up or crap itself during the reception, it was a good day.

I may have finished it by tomorrow. I do hope so, but I still have no idea what the Lost Symbol is yet. I better not be disappointed...

Thinks of child at wedding...

Friday, October 02, 2009

The Lost Symbol VIII

Right so this thing is really beginning to annoy me now as its shot past 'good-bad' and is heading right towards 'throw across the Tube carriage in disgust'. And I would have done just that if it wasn't a hardback and there was a nice man in tracksuit bottoms and while it would have been a nice way to introduce myself I'd rather he didn't know I was reading this utter rubbish. If you care about spoilers, you may want to stop now.

Basically, when we last saw Mary-Sue Langdon and the Speak & Spell with Lipstick, they were racing towards Mal'akh's apartment as Lipstick's handless brother had been held. But it turns out it was a cunning ruse and Mal'akh was still there after all, and he captures Lipstick and Mary-Sue Langdon, putting Langdon in a fiberglass tank that slowly fills with water.

And then Langdon drowns.

This I have no problem with as frankly he was boring me - it is what happens next that gets my goat. He starts hallucinating and wondering if there's an afterlife (just as Lipstick happens to be conveniently flashback to an experiment she did with an immortal soul in order for Brown to crowbar in his theories about the afterlife) when Langdon apparently dies. And you know what? He has a flashback to a lecture that his friend gave. I mean, really. If your life passes before your eyes when you're shuffled off this mortal coil, you'd hope that your last thoughts weren't of a lecture you had a few years back. I'd want happiness, romance, and a replay of when those two Australian dancers happened to be staying in digs just around the corner from my house for a whole month and we barely saw daylight.

But a lecture?

Even worse than that, having pages and pages of detail about what it was like to drown, it turns out that Mal'akh had filled the tank with the same breathable goo as they used on Elisabeth Mastrantonio in 'The Abyss' and everyone's fine by the start of the next chapter.

I mean, really. Gah!

Thank Cher I'm almost at the end.

Thursday, October 01, 2009

The Lost Symbol VII

So Robert Mary-Sue Langdon and the Speak & Spell with Lipstick have a stone pyramid, a capstone and the box it came in and are puzzling it all out how it could reveal the location of this mysterious spiral staircase that seems to have come out of nowhere. They're prodding it and poking it and trying to discover what secrets it hides and at no point has anyone considered putting the capstone on the pyramid? No they have not. Instead they decide to boil it in water after some tortuous route that reveals that Isaac Newton is the One True God of science yadda-yadda-yadda. Seriously these two are like the apes at the beginning of '2001' when it comes to problems. Still, boiling it actually reveals an address, so perhaps there's method in their poorly-written madness. I just hope the Speak & Spell with Lipstick never finds a lost dog and tries to find where that lives by cranking up the pasta saucepan...

What else is happening? Well, as Mal'akh isn't currently integral to the plot he's having purification ceremony after purification ceremony in excruciating detail - the level of detail that Dan Brown normally reserves for the rooms they're in. I do seriously wonder if Brown was an estate agent before he turned his crayons to writing as every building that we are lead into isn't described in any emotional or terms of spectacle, but rather floor space, how many windows and whether it has a south view in the morning. He only just stops short of telling us that the seller has no chain and pets are allowed within reason.

Then the vile Character Traits on Legs turns out to be on their side and proves this by taking Langdon and Speak & Spell into custody (I know) but I have long given up trying to understand her motives so I doubt I'd be surprised if she started doing a burlesque dance any minute because Brown needs to start riffing on how Isaac Newton once did drag on his own bridge in Cambridge and this has something do to with the Masons. Oh and the man with the severed hand from the first chapter has been found, so hopefully, the book is drawing to a close. Although there's about 200 pages left so Cher only knows what's going to fill those. I hope it's not an appendix of Brown's favourite restaurants in Washington or something as he'll just be forgetting about the food and telling us how many Corinthian columns he counted on the way to the toilet.