I was on television the other day. No one ever needs to be on our local news programme where the presenters are as interesting as hard cheese and as easy on the eye as decayed turd. Aberdeen is so backwards it’s a wonder we even have a news programme. But then where else would we get to chart the progress of that missing cat or the bottle of milk that was stolen from number 35 Arsehole Road? Anyway, so there I was in all my pink camouflage glory, along with Straight Man A in all his non pink camouflage glory, lingering in the background of some interview with my double chins a plenty and guffawing like I was actually really funny. And to top it all off, I was blissfully unaware of the flashing lights and furry microphones and industrial sized cameras and did in fact have no clue my head was bobbing around in the background of a ‘news story’. So, I may have looked like a sad pathetic cling on desperate to get her large face on TV but I didn’t even realise what was going on. I am so ashamed. At least if I had actually noticed, while swaning around at the pointless careers fair, that my pinkness was to be a backdrop for Mr Suit, I could have A) ducked out of view B) shouted random obscenities at the unnecessarily arrogant, plain faced presenters or C) tilted my head forward and arranged my clothing to a more flattering angle so at least I didn’t look like a whale on feet or a butch in a frock. But alas it was not to be and I was humiliated beyond belief in front of millions. Ok, hundreds because let’s face it, the only people that watch North Tonight are those who don’t get a good picture on channel four to watch Hollyoaks. Though one thing, Clubb, tell me you stumbled upon my moon face when flicking channels in the break of Hollyoaks… You don’t really watch North zzzzzzzzz Tonight do you?? Or if you do, it’s only for ironic interest right?? Anyway, I can’t take talking about it any longer so I must go to attempt to soothe the beamer that has creeped all the way down to my fat toes and I will continue to be appalled by Eurovision the other night. All I really need to say, in a mock continental accent is ‘nil point’. Gutted. No, really.
Bagels and Cheese
Cheese and Bagels
Poof porn. What an eye opener. Ahem.
Smelly belly buttons
Friggin Westlife. It has to stop Bo.
Two-day hangovers and the smell that goes with them.
Sporting motif sweatbands. Doubt it.
Everyone in Big Brother, especially the nob in the scrunchie. What is it with you people?
PS This is the third time I have written this, due to my slow computer crashing and it did all sound much better the first time. Honest.