hatthe hell ? You might be wondering what I'm blathering on about this week.Well, ladies and gents, boys and girls, step right up , step right up,this week we delve into the murky world of Britain's world famous sleazytabloids. No, I'm not talking about the Sun and its famous 'Page ThreeStunners', I'm talking about something which makes the aforementioned journalas respected as The Wall Street Journal.
It's called the Daily Sport and the first sentence of this article isan actual recent headline from this bastion of ethical journalism and goodtaste. The Sport is not so much a newspaper as a daily sexual aid; liberallycovered with the most sensationalist headlines and preposterously bosomedtopless women - or 'glamour models' as they prefer to be called in thesepolitically correct times. Take my hand, gentle reader, as we explore themuck raking world of the Sport by scanning a couple of recent issues -but avez la courage, mes amis, because it's not a pretty universe.
Let's see Page 2, 'BUST-IN FOR A PEE' screams the header in 72 pointtype. A drunken chef has apparently staggered home after a night out......andpeed on the carpet. Unfortunately it was the wrong house. Hmmmmm.......letus continue. Page 5 sees a double spread which refers to the abovementionedfront cover story - apparently about a little boy who had been turned intoa fish finger by aliens last July. I'm not kidding you, that's what itsays. After the airing of a TV documentary on The Sport, the aliens hadapparently felt sorry and turned the fish finger back into a boy. Wellthank God for that. His parents might have been tempted to keep him warmin the oven, mistaken him for an ordinary fish finger and then accidentallycommitted the most surreal case of manslaughter you've ever seen.
Actually, that story was a little out of the ordinary for the Sport,since most of the pieces seem to be about sex. While keeping in mind thatthis is a family newspaper, I'll try and give you a random sampling. STREET'STINA LOST VIRGINITY UNDER JOHN TRAVOLTA ! screams a story about a minorstar from British soap opera 'Coronation Street' , which apparently impliesthat it was Travolta who was her first lover. On closer inspection it turnsout that her first time was merely under a poster of Travolta.
Ho hum. Hello, this looks a little more interesting. LESBO WIFE BEGGEDME TO JOIN KINKY SEX ROMP WITH VICAR. Pretty much says it all really. WhatI found hilarious was the line in the article that announced with typicalBritish understatement (lacking in all other parts of the Sport) that thevicar was accused of 'improper familiarity' with another parishioner. Corblimey, guv'nor you don't say ? And on the very next page, the Sport trumpetsWHY BRITAINS BABES WANT TO PICK UP A PARSON , revealing EXCLUSIVELY thatchurchmen are top of the list of most attractive men in Britain. Well,is it any wonder that so many of them are engaging in 'improper familiarity' then ? And one more for good measure : EARS WHAT I THINK OF YOU LUGSis our introduction to the tasteful world of 'Wacky George Law who hasbuilt up the Britian's biggest collection of ear wax - and plans to polishhis floors with it. Obviously the words 'Reckitt and Coleman' have no meaningfor this man. All this and more in a week where the entire world economythreatened to go down the toilet faster than you can say Yamagichi, mostof Western Australia got swallowed in bush fires and Saddamn Hussein threatenedto start World War III. God have mercy on the readers of the Daily Sportif Armageddon approacheth. I wonder what the headline will be? NUZZLE OURNUCLEAR LOVELIES !!! Turn to page three to see our stunnas this week modelthe sexiest anti-biological and chemical warfare suits around ...................
hy do friends and family get that quiz zical lookon their faces when I talk of New Year resolutions? After all, I've beenthinking of nothing else this past week, after the excitement of anotherChristmas has passed and the anticipation of a new year followed? Don'tyou make resolutions? Bet you do, even if you don't really want to admitit.
The way I look at it a New Year, please note the capital letters thatsignify the importance attached to it, is a time for starting afresh. Heavenknows I need these new beginnings. Overworked, overstressed,( I'm temptedto add overweight) but that would be stretching it, that's me. And there'sno time like the New Year to put these bogies behind me.
Last year, I had three resolutions. We'll take them one by one. Thefirst was that I would make a list of all the things that had to be doneeach day and do it that day itself. Now wasn't I pleased with that one.It would put an end to my nasty habit of procrastination. Sad to say Inever learnt the value of that old adage 'A stitch in time saves nine'when I was a kiddo. The problem was that I was soon overrun by lists, Mondaylists, Tuesday lists, Wednesday lists.. They fell out of my handbag atembarrassing moments, they haunted me at nights (Me who sleeps like a puppywho's had his bellyful). After three weeks of writing lists faithfullyeach morning and totting them up at night, getting daily more alarmed bythe larger sum of things undone, I decided, no, this list business didn'twork.
Resolution No 2 involved remembering birthdays and anniversaries. Problemis I usually have all these dates fixed in my head but getting round tobuying cards and sending them off in time was the biggest hurdle. Lastyear I had marginal success with this one, thanks to that wonderful inventionthe e-mail. Even for those who can't tell a modem from a mouse, this isa heaven sent help and soon I had reconciled with lots of long-lost relativesall scattered around the globe. So there.
Resolution No 3. Now that's the one I'm kind of cagey about revealing.You see, it has to do with this problem of weight. Having long lost thatsylph-like figure, last year I vowed that I would lose those extra bulges.With iron determination I sailed past the array of temptation at thosedinner buffets and cocktail spreads. But a week later I decided, blameit on the family, that they'd rather have a slightly out of shape but sunnynatured individual around than the nasty meanie I was becoming as a resultof the diet. Not only was I spoiling all their fun at mealtimes, but theyfelt bad to indulge in those sinful chocolates we all love near me. Sohere I am at the beginning of another New Year, still vowing to make thoseresolutions and keep them. Call me an incurable optimist or a silly foolbut a New Year's not complete without a resolution or two to go with it.This year will be different. Remind me of it in 1999, will you?
Continue to Mirror Magazine page 2 * 'Mylife as Santa' * The trouble with teens and resolutions
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