March 25. You’d think more TV talent shows would
be as welcome as George Osborne in an old folks’ home. Especially
when last night’s wannabes included Dennis Egel who performed
‘Wake Me Up Inside’ while dressed like a tacky superhero promotion
for a small high street fried chicken outlet. Under his cloak,
he wore a golden dressing gown and matching shower cap. He was
also concealing home-made wings, one of which fell off. Welcome
to Britain’s Got Talent, the natural home of the golden shower,
Cowell’s colourful cascade of the dim, deluded and deranged. Acts
like gay ballroom dancers the Sugar Dandies, gladiator Maximus
(talent, minimus), and Bradley & Barbara – she recited poetry,
which he interpreted with bizarre dance moves.
No wonder cynics claim the show’s title should come with a
question mark... and yet just when you’re starting to agree,
Cowell conjures up another SuBo moment to bludgeon our emotions.
Shy scruffy Jonathan, 17 (stone), the boy least likely to feature
in Tulisa’s next sex tape, looked a state in his Hendrix t-shirt
but he belted it out like Pavarotti.
This show ain’t over while fat kids sing like that.
Simon wanted him to ditch his singing partner, Charlotte,
16, but loyal Jonathan refused, saying they’d come as a duo,
and would stay one. Even the hardest hearts melted.
Incredibly, BGT hasn’t lost its magic or its mojo. It’s family
fun, event TV. Simon’s return has beefed it up and he works
well with the new judges. David Walliams is surprisingly good
value, teasing Cowell and lapping up the crap acts (although
a lot of his jibes naturally hit the cutting room floor...).
The problems with the format remain unchanged. Simon is blind
to the appeal of comedians, allergic to rock, and uncomfortable
with professional variety. He’ll never find the sort of turns
New Faces did. Singers and dancers will always dominate Cowell’s
final. But for millions of viewers, that seems to be enough.
*WORD-mangling German Dennis Egel said: “I want to impress
the judges with my weally performance.” He was trying to say
“really” - I hope. His costume was pure cock, though.
ON The Apprentice, feisty Bilyana was pleading to stay. “You
shouldn’t fire me,” she told Lord Sugar. “Because I was head
girl.” Really? I thought that was Linda Lovelace, but no matter.
Sugar gave the Bulgarian beauty the boot anyway. A shame, she
had gumption. The other women took against her for “not taking
it in turn to sell.” Hello! Where do they think they are, a
commune? You didn’t hear Steve Jobs tell the CEO of Samsung
“Hey man, our sales were good yesterday, so you help yourself
today.” This is a make-believe business show, god dammit, and
Bilyana sold because she was good at it. My early favourite
is Ricky Martin, a professional wrestler, now living la vida
Sugar. Alan says he’s looking for the Lennon to his McCartney.
If he aimed more realistically for the Bernard Bresslaw to his
Sid James, Ricky could be the man. It’s too early to call the
winner, although it won’t be Gabrielle (irritating voice), stealth
blonde Katie or whinging Janet. But if this were The Love Machine,
Laura would get the holiday.
ONE thing TV doesn’t need is another MOR singing contest.
But if it does, why spend £20million on a format with just one
innovation: the judges/coaches turn their backs on the performer?
That’s a lot of dough to blow on what looks like four chairs
from an Alton Towers amusement park ride. The Voice has nothing
you don’t get from Cowell. BGT already judges on vocal talent
alone. Susan Boyle had a face that rang alarm bells and a voice
that rang cash registers. Cowell turns his back on the acts
too, normally after the second single flops...
*DON’T Stop Me Now has one thing Simon won’t tolerate - comedians.
Paul Eastwood from Torquay won over the audience with gags like:
“My water bill was £165. I’ve seen an ad on telly, where Oxfam
can supply a whole village for £2. I think it’s time to change
my supplier.” Comic kiss-and-tell girl Chenille Steele’s football
slapper song impressed too. Shame Sky made her change the saucy
HOT on TV: The Falklands Most Daring Raid... Spartacus...
Ant & Dec (BGT) – they’ve still got it.
ROT on TV: Hit The Road Jack – I’d rather hit Jack... Dan
‘Lazy’ Lobb (Daybreak)... John Bercow turning into the duke
of drivel at the Queen’s Jubilee.
BBC2’s Budget 2012 coverage followed In The Night Garden,
a strange world of fantasy full of preposterous claims and daft
characters. It was like they had a theme going on. The oddest
thing? Igglepiggle was in both shows.
*STEVE McDonald had Carla, Michelle and Maria in his cab.
You’d be tempted to play ‘Shag, Marry, Kill’ except in a Corrie
that’s not so much a game as a likely plot development.
*COMING soon: Unfit-Mother’s Day cards – perfect for Kylie
Platt and Tracy Barlow.
*ON True Blood, vampire Pam needed surgery to cover up her
rotting features. They’ve removed the outside decay, but she’s
still decomposing inside. Anne Robinson has the same problem.
SHOCKING scenes on EastEnders. The old Ben Mitchell would
never have killed poor old Hev like that. No, he’d have tap-danced
on her fat head while belting out a below average show-tune.
*HEV was killed with a photo frame just a year after actress
Cheryl Fergison upset soap bosses by selling pictures of her
wedding to a glossy magazine. Coincidence?
*A WOMAN sold her Gran’s steel dildo on Four Rooms. That took
*REVERSE Missionaries? Tsk. Nothing like The Sex Education
RANDOM Irritations: TV directors with no idea how to film
stand-up. C4’s unfathomable belief that we want any effing more
of cheffing Gordon Ramsay (see also Sky1 and Louis Walsh). C4’s
fact-free coverage of Dale Farm. EastEnders cops referring to
“homicide”, where do the writers think they are? The Lower East
SMALL Joys of TV: Prog Rock Britannia. Kym Marsh as Elsie
Tanner. The Ronnie Wood Show. Razor Ruddock’s Sport Relief stand-up
– move over Chubby Brown, there’s a new filth-hound in town.
TV dating shows are lamer than Hop-along Cassidy. How about
creating Blind Drunk, a show where sloshed men are set loose
in Benidorm clubs? Imagine the morning-after footage. He thinks
he’s pulled a middle aged cracker but wakes up with the Gran
from the Beverly Hillbillies.
*HAS anyone ever looked less like a love machine than lardy
gut-bucket Chris Moyles?
SEPARATED at birth: the old tramp on EastEnders and Arthur
Fowler, one a disgraceful old tealeaf...and so’s the other one.
March 18. AS a police procedural, Scott & Bailey isn’t much
cop. It’s closer to Loose Women than Prime Suspect. The story-line
– about possible paedophiles being tortured and killed – could
have been tweeted by Lynda La Plante in her sleep. The crime
element feels bolted on to a show that feels like a glorified
soap opera. It has soapy pre-occupations – the difficult armed
robber brother, the interfering Mum, the crumbling marriage.
It’s cast like a soap too. Karen McDonald star Suranne Jones
plays impulsive DC Rachel Bailey. Her love interest is Aidan
from EastEnders; Nadia, the baddie, is played by Mandy Dingle...
Poor Rachel almost croaked when Nadia, described as “a wall
with a perm”, got her sausage-like fingers around her neck.
It was the biggest mismatch since Gail Platt and Eileen Grimshaw
were rolling over the Corrie cobbles in their flanellette dressing
gowns. This was the dramatic highpoint of the opening episode,
which even the listings mags called “understated” – or as lay
viewers might say, dull. It opened with the Detective Chief
Inspector in the ladies loo fretting about her news statement.
Really? An experienced DCI worried about facing the cameras?
It seems as likely as her calling the forensics team “CSI” rather
than SOCO – this is Manchester, not Las Vegas.
But then the show isn’t really about crime, like most modern
British drama it’s about smart women ruling the roost over dumb
men – useless husbands, sniggering cops, and clueless brothers.
The biggest mystery (sarcasm alert) was why Sarah Millican
wasn’t in the cast. They can’t have asked her; “no” is not in
her agent’s vocabulary. Sarah would surely have been perfect
as a cake-and-cats obsessed Quincy-style expert with a quirky
sense of humour. Instead, ITV opted for a cut-price Victoria
Wood clone instead. “I am lying next to a hot steaming body,”
she quipped, which ruled out DC Janet Scott, the Lassie to Rachel’s
Cagney. As female crime-busters go, Janet isn’t going to give
Sarah Lund sleepless nights. Scott & Bailey? I’ll need an awful
lot of Scotch and Baileys to get through much more of this.
*CORRIE women who should have been cops: 1) Mavis Wilton 2)
Annie Walker 3) Janice Battersby, worrying enough normally;
but in a dawn raid, absolutely terrifying. Blanche Hunt would
have been better as a hanging judge, reaching for her black
cap while playing the Death March on an SS bugle.
*OF all of Steve McDonald’s mentalist lovers – Vicky, Ronnie,
Becky, Tracy – Karen was always the feistiest. What they saw
in Frankenstein’s Monster look-alike Steve is anyone’s guess.
But with women like that in his life, is it any wonder his barnet
recedes by the week?
PHONE sex is big business. Possibly because it’s the one place
you can have sex these days in the certain knowledge that Bill
Roache won’t be involved. My Phone Sex Secrets introduced us
to Jenny from Carlisle who spoke fluent Carry On, asking her
butcher: “Can I have some of your Cumberland sausage? A nice
big ring. That’ll keep me satisfied...” The largely flaccid
show must have shattered a few illusions, as the women didn’t
exactly match their voices. They talked dirty while painting
(Jenny), or in ASDA (Anneka). More reasons to shop at Morrison’s...
The callers didn’t seem to mind. “They’re clients,” said Jen.
“But some of them are w*nking.” Only some?
PLEASE NOTE: no premiership footballer’s phone sex secret
was included in the making of this programme. Frankly I’m amazed
they can still get reception up there.
LOSS of face was a terrible thing for a gladiator. But not
quite as shocking as having your features literally sliced off.
German giant Sedullus tried it on with Naevia on Spartacus,
sparking a vicious brawl. He was poised to kill Agron when Sparty
ended it. With one brutal upward sweep of his sword, the rebel
leader cut off Sed’s entire face, so that his brain slid out
– jaw-dropping even by this show’s gore-blimey standards.
*COULD the Spartacus facial catch on with TOWIE? Unlikely.
Imagine Joey Essex having one. There’d be no grey matter to
slide, just a small, solitary pickled walnut.
BEN Mitchell kills poor old Heather tomorrow as two of the
worst characters in EastEnders history clash. The real tragedy
is, he survives. Hev doesn’t deserve to die. Diet, yes; die,
no. But at least we won’t have to picture her honeymoon night
– her and Andrew going at it like two tons of condemned veal
colliding on a ghost-train. Talk about grab flab and stab. In
her wedding dress, Hev looked like one of the Alps. Out of it,
we’re scaling new levels of horror. Like giving Dot a peck on
the lips and her slipping you the tongue. Still at least it
distracts us from cobblers like Phil confessing to manslaughter
when the CCTV footage clears him completely. The nits in Amy’s
hair are nothing compared to the nits who write these scripts.
Next? Bianca: “My Mansion Tax Fears.”
*SO when Ben kills Hev, is he technically a mass murderer?
*SEPARATED at birth: Tanya’s Mum Cora and Ursula the Sea Witch,
one an untrustworthy old schemer...the other’s a Disney character.
HOT on TV: the England rugby squad... Ted Danson (CSI)...
Alcatraz (Watch) – great escapism... Jo Joyner (Enders).
ROT on TV: The Love Machine – bland date... Dirk Gently –
holistic detective, wholly defective... White Heat – cliché
city, mannn... Love Life - hate lame ITV rom-coms.
KEN Barlow star Bill Roache admits to sleeping with a thousand
women. It sounds extreme, but he had to do something to get
the taste of Deirdre out of his mouth.
*BILL is 79 now, so if you bed him girls remember to dust
him down first.
*HE claims it’s 1,000 women but I say it’s 999 if one of them
was Hayley Cropper.
*ACCORDING to 10 O’Clock Live – “Viewers will be turning off
in their hundreds of thousands” (David Mitchell); “I’ve got
nothing” (Jimmy Carr); “We’re finishing on dog sh*t” (Lauren
Laverne). It kind of makes my job redundant.
RANDOM irritations: Paxman getting Gordon at Khartoum completely
wrong. India Fisher’s snooty Masterchef voice-over. Judges finding
time to play food critics on BBC1 when they can’t be asked to
bang up villains. ITV repeating Lewis to destruction. Roy Hattersley
banging on about Corrie, claiming “they’ve killed the show I
love” – funnily enough I feel the same way about the Labour
SMALL joys of TV: Phil Mitchell looking increasingly like
a resentful King Edward. That female cop on Corrie, she has
the sternest face this side of the Stasi. The ghostly Peeping
Tom on Being Human, told his showering prey was a female werewolf,
replying “Explains the growler.”
TV questions: why was Phil Mitchell done for cold case, when
Albert Square’s biggest cold case is Janine? If scrap metal
thieves raid the BBC will the next series of Merlin feature
the Nudes of the Round Table?
CELEB Maths: Boadicea + Princess Merida from Brave = Rebekah
MASTERCHEF quote of the week, John Torode on Shelina’s cooking:
“That explodes in your mouth and just keeps coming.”
March 11. The mean streets of Weatherfield claimed another
victim last week – Frank Foster was battered to death with a
whisky bottle. Neat. Cue another great soap whodunit: Who Spanked
Frank? In Corrie terms, Foster had it coming. He was a double
rapist (bad), and a businessman (worse) who’d cheated the fragrant
Carla Connor out of her factory. All he was short of was a splash
of brimstone aftershave and a moustache to twirl.
Plod have narrowed the suspects down to Carla and Peter, two
alkies with a motive. The murder weapon had her dabs on. Of
course it did! What empty bottle in Weatherfield hasn’t? There
were three people in their relationship, the third being Jim
Beam. If they’d really wanted to kill Frank, they’d have just
invited him round their place (the Drunk Tank) for a night on
the lash. Very few livers could survive that sort of punishment.
So whodunit? Pete had been lurching around the wine bar threatening
to do Foster in. So we know it wasn’t him. Soppy Sally was found
leaning over the body with blood on her hands so that’s her
out. And I don’t buy angry gerbil Kev or Two-Sons Michelle as
cold-blooded killers. No it’ll be someone less obvious, like
Frank’s mother or his lover. Or how about Maria? The gullible
nitwit has a motive and is bafflingly loyal to Carla the woman
who stole her Liam. Granted it’s unlikely; but no more so than
when she got engaged to Tyrone, the human pot-plant.
Ice-queen Carla is not so much a killer as a jinx. Her first
husband died in a car crash, her lover was murdered and her
previous fiancé was flambé-ed. Now another ex has hit the dust.
But that dirty cackle is like a Siren’s song to the passing
alpha-male. Soaps have a strange morality. The middle class
are always wrong’uns. Corrie’s biggest villains have been a
teacher, two entrepreneurs, and a financial adviser. Killings
began here in 1968 with Steve Tanner, and continued at a manageable
one-per-decade until the Noughties which saw more stiffs than
a hot night at Cheryl’s lap-dancing bar. Ten cast members were
brutally slaughtered – a rate of toppings matched only by the
Midsomer branch of Pizza Hut. The death rate is so high here,
emigrating to Syria is probably a safer option.
*ODDS on Peter Barlow being the killer are 5/1. His blood
alcohol level is higher than that!
*FACT. Despite Corrie having more piss-heads than the Commons
bar, the only one of the 141 deceased characters to die of liver
disease was Schmeichel, a teetotal Great Dane.
ON Upstairs Downstairs, Blanche and the married Lady Portia
re-ignited their lesbian lurve in front of ancient Egyptian
relics in a London museum, full of artefacts. “Nefertiti’s?”
you ask. I couldn’t say; they kept their vests on. But they
did join the Nile High Club later on. The Daily Express exposed
the pair, calling Portia’s novel based on their secret affair
“a torrid tale of unnatural female passions”. In my experience,
unnatural female passions are generally confined to Costa coffee
and shopping malls. These two were even less exciting. They
weren’t so much Tipping The Velvet as Darning The Socks. And
that’s despite Emilia Fox’s Portia looking like she’d go from
nought to sexy in ten seconds flat. Elsewhere the Downstairs
staff fought for their rights, provoking Pritchard to bluster
“This is Belgravia, not Leningrad”, but it’s still hard to care
about any of the upstairs mob. Sir Hallam is frequently out-acted
by his desk. Lady Agnes is less interesting than her wardrobe.
The sooner the wooden Hallam gets his log over with her sister
Persie the better.
CAMERA-SHY Sarah Millican has come a long way on likeability.
She’s warm and down-to-earth, a squeaky Tyneside version of
Mrs. Merton. Unfortunately her lazily thrown-together TV show
isn’t anywhere near funny enough. That in itself is as surprising
as a Russian election result. Few modern comedy shows are. But
weren’t you hoping for more than this?
HOT on TV: Knuckle: Bare Fist Fighting (BBC4)... The Walking
Dead (FX)... Homeland... Michael Gambon (Luck).
ROT on TV: White Heat – tepid... wok-sucker Gok Wan’s lazy,
unrevealing China doc... The Secret Policeman’s Ball – largely
balls, viewers need amnesty from lousy comedians.
C5’s Nazi Titanic concerned a German war-time propaganda film
which blamed the sinking of the Titanic on capitalist greed.
Goebbels banned it, presumably for not being sufficiently crazy.
Mein gott, they didn’t even spot that the ice-berg was Jewish.
“It must have been, you dumb-kopfs! It even had a ‘berg’ in
*FUNNY how Madge on Benidorm looks like she’s wearing an all-leather
cat suit even when she’s in a bikini.
* SOLAR storms? Thanks, Horizon, something new to fret about.
Of course the real concern is that if the internet crashes and
we lose facebook and twitter we might actually have to talk
*MINOR celebrity boxing is coming back! Hurrah! Another chance
to see Michelle Bass flat on her back.
*MY dream bout? Nick Knowles vs. Iron Man.
RECENT episodes of the Jonathan Ross show have included dull
chat, z-list guests, and minor celebrity tablecloth yanking.
The series has ten producers, four writers and three researchers.
Might it work better, do you think, if they sacked the lot and
found someone who knew what they were doing?
*BBC1’s trailer for The Voice is borderline creepy. Imagine
it with Gary Glitter making those come-hither gestures and it’d
look like the old perv was luring kids to be used and abused
– a perfect metaphor for TV talent shows.
RANDOM irritations: out-of-time songs (and sirens) on White
Heat. Sarah Millican’s voice – like a budgie being boiled alive.
Good stand-ups getting rushed into clunky, misfiring BBC1 formats
by idiot execs. And the dull predictability of ‘factual’ TV;
why not make documentaries showing who makes money from the
wind farm scam or exposing the lack of democracy in the European
Parliament? Rock the boat, go against the grain, slaughter a
few sacred cows.
SMALL joys of TV: Todd & The Book Of Pure Evil (Syfy) – very
metal. Denise Van Outen recalling her greatest goof – saying
“When the cock grows” instead of crows on breakfast telly. Graham
Norton making Jonathan Ross look tired as he, ahem, fills his
old slot with vigour.
IF Lauren Harries and Pete Burns collided would it be considered
a freak accident? Just asking...
Separated at birth: the masked killer on Whitechapel and Mark
E. Smith from The Fall? One responsible for endless atrocities,
the other a fictional TV character...
Arsenal’s Emmanuel Frimpong was talking about his hard-man
rep on Soccer AM when he announced: “I’m soft with the ladies
and hard with the men.” Dale Winton’s exactly the same...
March 4th. DO The Oscars really need to drag on for four and
a half hours? That’s longer than at least one of Ian Beale’s
marriages. And almost as long as a Ken Dodd live show. Extravagant
costumes, relentless chutzpah, remarkable teeth...that’s Ken.
The Oscars are more a celebration of high fashion, poor judgement
and tedium. The big controversy for film fans was Drive getting
completely blanked. But the major talking point in the TV coverage
was Angelina Jolie’s cheeky leg pose. Did she nick it from Yvette
in Allo Allo or a pirate flag? Uggie the dog got excited. He
thought she was throwing him a bone.
After last year’s dead-eyed James Franco disaster, the Academy
drafted in Billy Crystal as a safe pair of hands. Billy told
the glittering audience: “Nothing can take the sting out of
the world’s economic problems like watching millionaires present
each other with golden statues.” And claimed that the ceremony
causes “resentments that last a life-time.” But he was funniest
ad-libbing, especially when he congratulated 18-carat dullard
Tom Sherak for “whipping the crowd into a frenzy.” Note to British
broadcasters: we have got professional entertainers in this
country too. You don’t need to rely on Dermot.
Mind you if the Oscars took place here, the metal statuettes
would be half-inched and melted down for scrap.
Brilliant stand-up Chris Rock provided the comedy gold, mocking
pampered stars who moan that voicing animated films is hard
work. “No, no, no,” he said. “UPS is hard work, stripping wood
is hard work.” Making animations just meant repeating lines
the producers fed him...“and then they give me a million dollars.”
As a TV event, the Oscars are massive, majestic, largely boring
and completely unreliable. They’re the Italian cruise ship of
awards ceremonies. This year’s big winner was The Artist which
scooped five gongs, perhaps proving that the French work best
when they keep their traps shut. US comics joked that the movie
won an Oscar for every person who saw it. But who’s complaining?
Jean Dujardin sparkles like Berenice Bejo’s smile as the old-time
silent movie screen idol. The stylish masterpiece was a deserving
*MANY stars have a skeleton in their cupboard. Only Brad Pitt
takes his out in public.
*JAY Leno on The Artist: “Before we bring back silent films
let’s try to bring back silent audiences.”
GEMMA’S date finally delivered on TOWIE – not the first time
last minute Charlie has cheered up an Essex party. They aren’t
an obvious couple; he’s bi-curious, she’s pie-curious. Given
the night’s ‘M’ theme, I half expected him to come as Mrs. Doubtfire.
Instead Chas turned up dressed as Zack Mayo from An Office &
A Gentleman. When they kissed, a grateful Gem gave him more
tongue than Mao Tse. It was like watching a Moray eel engulfing
an unsuspecting cockle. What happened next? Did she hold the
Mayo? Did he discover that she vajazzles with Cherry Bakewells?
We may find out next series. Most big TOWIE stories seem to
happen off camera. If a small thermo-nuclear device went off
in the Sugar Hut, and there’s always hope, all we’d see is Chloe
a couple of days later wondering how the fall-out will affect
*MARIO’S party had an ‘M’ theme. Largely Monsters Inc. It
might explain why Joey keeps playing with his Magic Sword, though...
Sam Faiers came as Minnie Mouse, Billie as Marge Simpson. I
wasn’t sure about Marge, but I’d like to see a lot more of Sam’s
*TOWIE motto: a problem aired is air-time gained.
OVER at Upstairs Downstairs, the feverish madness of the script
is soaring like a Charlie Adams penalty. Last week, a young
JFK was throwing up in the downstairs khazi while the plot-lines
were split evenly between the Nazi terror and Mrs. Thackeray’s
violet macaroons. Tonight, we’ve got the lesbians and who knows
what else? Maybe Joe Stalin will pop round for afternoon tea
and a quick purge.
HOT on TV: Morena Baccarin (Homeland)... Empire... Friday
Night Lights (Sky Atlantic).
ROT on TV: The Bleak Old Shop Of Stuff – comedy gruel.. .Let’s
Dance for Sport Relief - let’s not... Upstairs Downstairs –
the plots are thinner than Angelina’s arms.
SKY Atlantic’s Cleverdicks is a geek quiz show hosted by former
MP Ann Widdecombe, a woman who can’t say ‘clever’. Ann pronounces
it “ker-lever.” Her grasp of dicks is even more uncertain. It’d
be a brave one that rose for Widdy.
*MELVYN Bragg’s thoughts on class certainly make you realise
how much the world has changed. Why these days, even a kid from
the mean streets of Eton can somehow fight his way into Number
*WHAT next from C4 after Two Jews On A Cruise? Two Honkies
On A Donkey?
*ROXY is after Max the human baked bean on EastEnders. By
a handy coincidence he’ll be the 57th variety of man she’s sampled
since she got here.
*ON Whitechapel a masked maniac slaughtered innocent victims.
And by coincidence, straight after Watson & Oliver were doing
the exact same thing to sketch comedy.
*I MISSED Pedigree Dogs Exposed, was it the Paris Hilton story?
RANDOM irritations: food critic Jay Raynor demanding that
Masterchef contenders “say something through their cooking”.
Yeah, like sod off you ridiculous pseud, it’s a bit of dinner,
not an art gallery. The Oscars, a 300-minute snooze-athon, having
the cheek to dish out an award for editing. The Iron Lady winning
a gong – it wasn’t a patch on Iron Man.
SMALL joys of TV: The return of Gannicus (Spartacus). The
return of Engelbert (Eurovision). Ricky turning Rocky with Joey
on TOWIE. Lydia’s Mum Debbie skydiving – the first time she’s
flown without a broomstick.
Separated at birth: Derek Branning and a pug dog, one a vicious,
unhinged brute deserving to be put down, the other a dog...
Sorry Del, didn’t mean nothing by it, just a joke, guv, honest.
What’s that? Yes I know legs can break (continued Walford A&E)
JIM Davidson was cooking on This Morning. Jim’s so Tory these
days, when he prepares a chicken he only uses the right wings.