It is Sunday, the day of rest. Which means that Natasha has slapped on a pair of fingerless leather gloves and is running like a pig in an abattoir. Well, nothing makes me relax like a bit of squeaky-handed physical punishment, dressed as the lovechild of Fagin and Freddie Mercury.
But who’s this at the door? [...]
I’m in love with a transvestite wrestler.
His name is Cassandro. Last Saturday night I watched the muscle-bound madam climb the ropes of the Roundhouse ring, beat his chest like a glittered gorilla and back flipped onto a grown man’s face. His hair didn’t move a funking inch.
He was also wearing a leotard with the kind [...]
My body isn’t a temple. It’s not a church. To be honest, it’s more of a scout hut (a little overgrown, full of happy memories, slightly stinky in the corners) but even I can appreciate the pure adrenaline rush of a good workout. After all, isn’t it everyone’s dream to swim [...]
Do you know my favourite moment of The Apprentice’s opening montage? It’s when Felicity shrieks “He wouldn’t even take a penny off!” as though the man in question just asked her to ingest an avocado through a suppository. It’s that kind of indignation that made this nation, well, indig.
To make a change from the usual [...]
To misquote the cultural correspondent for East Terminatria, sleeping is not cheating.
My friend Fia fell asleep while watching 42nd Street. Yes, the tap-dancing musical. It must have been like falling asleep in a scrap yard. My mother fell asleep during Leslie Phillip’s turn as Falstaff in The Merry Wives of Windsor. [...]
“This is not a job.” And with the least reassuring recruitment slogan ever, Lord Sugarlumps cracks out Episode Seven of The Apprentice. Expect key phrases like “This is not a competition” and “I have no money,” in next week’s opening credits.
Once all the rubbish, heavy metal and scrapheap jokes from last week [...]
Just call me Angela Hartnett.
Actually, don’t. That’s not my name.
I’m in Ireland, eating soda bread and smelling of wet dog. God forbid I get them mixed up.
I always used to think those nets around tall buildings were to stop things landing on passing pedestrians and cyclists. Or to keep pigeons off.
Little did I know that they are actually part of a larger plan to carpet the skies with the decomposing carcasses of ex-pigeons.