Gillian the Voters" Hero

I give you the voters' hero Gillian Duffy! She did what no one else could - showed us the real politician. For that, I salute you Gillian. All the TV debates in the world never came close to what one pensioner managed on her own. Well done that woman!
We thought we knew the man. Then you hear him, blaming his staff, slagging off a life-long Labour voter and in the radio studio saying he only kept the mike on to help out the broadcasters.
Soon as the smelly stuff hit the fan he was back to Rochdale to grovel. Probably along the lines of "Don't blame the Labour Party for my mistakes!" Or that's what he should have said. Don't know if he did. And I really hope Gillian isn't telling.
Seems someone offered her money for her story and she turned them down. Good. Dignity is what is required here and you see precious little of that among scrabbling politicians diving in like shoppers at the sales.
You don't have to agree with Gillian's views but she has the right to state them. Gordon will be squirming tonight and so will I - with glee!

Chinese Japanese same difference?

Fancy a bit of knock-off? Go East young man! If there is one thing the Orientals are best at it's taking an original and making an almost, perfect, copy. Never blamed them for it. Imitation being the sincerest form of flattery they have taken some of our best ideas and sometimes made them even better. Think cars, bikes , electrics and you get the drift.
Now they are pinching from each other. The huge Shanghai Trade Fair needed a catchy opening song. They found it in the Japanese 1997 hit Stay the way You Were. So they did just that, changing only the name and calling it Waiting For You. See them both on You Tube and spot the difference. Yep, there isn't any.
The Japanese are kicking up a fuss. Seems a tad rich to me, but there you go. Anyway after a bit of bickering they have suspended the song, then asked the writer of the original if they can use his instead. Delighted Mayo Okamoto was more than happy to oblige. His forgotten ditty is now sitting at the top of the Japanese charts. What goes around comes around as the Buddha might say.

Wedding Belle

Weddings - which way do you swing? Bang out in front, firing on all cylinders or quietly understated? Frankly, the wads some folk will expend on a single bash never ceases to amaze and appall me. It's almost criminal.
But quietly understated is for job interviews. Show me a wedding and I go for it. Unfettered. Give me fireworks and music and gallons of fizz and a cracking good time. Marshall up the vim and verve by the truckload and then double it. In short, a celebration. Nothing less will do. So out comes the frock.
Last weekend and it's satin and sequins. Peaches and cream. I was not the bride. She, bless her, went for claret crepe, mid-length, elegantly understated. Lovely. Hard on the guests though. Some turned up looking like they were popping into Tesco. Not me.
No Bet Lynch but I didn't hold back. The sequins were few - but they were there, Strapless? I can do strapless without scaring the livestock. And dance? I danced with the tiny bridesmaid and the groom's 82-year-old mum. And anyone else in between. Did I make an exhibition of myself? Possibly. Was I drunk? No, but ask me if I had a good time and I say "fantastic thanks!" because life, like a wedding, is a one-off. Isn't it?

Bunny girls and fluffy things

Bunnies. Tight, black, shiny numbers with lots of leg, boob and big fluffy ears on show. Remember them - well calm down it's the other kind. I reckon I'm missing a trick here. A woman has insured Darius the rabbit for £1 million. Why? Where's the payback?

Let's be clear - a fantasy in fishnets got up to give the guys a stroke just might tick the right boxes and end up a Bond girl. Or Jessica Rabbit. Could happen.
But a bunny? I DO love them, they are fabulous! Got two outside and appealing isn't the word. Wildly attractive to every three-year-old for miles. Can't see them making me a fortune anytime soon though. Not even if I stick them on steroids and bulk them up to beat the world heavyweight record held by that juggernaut three and a half stone Darius.

His insurance costs £250 a month. That's more than our mortgage. Is he auditioning for X factor? Will he do lifts or haul trucks like they do on World's Strongest Man? I'd pay good money for that. Ringside seat - name your price! As it is, he sits there looking furry and very, very fat. How could that be worth a million if he gets nicked? Or is this a devoted - but deeply disturbed owner?

Such a thing as a safe seat

Safe Seaters - don't they make you madder than a wet hen in a hailstorm? Not a new baby buggy, I"m talking greedy politicians sitting back and raking in our cash simply because they have friends in the right places.
A safe seat means they can't lose. With their 20,000 majority guaranteed by the careful drawing up of boundaries there is no need to do anything other than turn up to claim the prize.
Makes me want to spit. It's only in the marginals that anybody bothers to rouse themselves. Labour are saying they can get fewer votes across the country than anyone else and STILL WIN! Whatever your politics are, that should make us all seriously angry. Every vote should count. It would - if we were to concern ourselves with getting the best in to do the job. Whichever party, doesn't matter. As it is, too many vote for the one their dad voted for. Or worse, don't vote at all.
It's not a democracy and if it was happening in a third world country we would be sending our election overseers in to sort it out and denounce a corrupt regime. Course, there's no corruption among our lot, is there?

Blubber Beater?

Just where does it go? Fat girls will always squeeze their wobbly bits into latex. Muffin top - a summer delight. But the boys are doing it too. There's a new T shirt that promises to trim one and a half inches of his tummy. Is that all? Begging you boy - stand clear of the rail! Seriously because - where does the gut go? Is that an enormous Adam's apple there pal, or is there something deeply weird poking out of your pants?
Clingy means hot. Sweaty doesn't cover it and it looks like nerves to us girls. That's pretty off-putting. It gets worse. The thing grips tighter than a nut on a wheel and the NOISE it makes as he heaves it over his head. Think squeaky rubber toy, though not in a nice way.
Half way through the struggle and something damp,limp and twisted could be gripping him just beneath the arms, glistening blubber breaking free on either side. Final straw - you could be cutting it off him. That's worse case scenario, obviously, but ladies, would you hang around?
Testers say the shirts are slimming but they are not for the hot date. Well, there you go, who would have thought it?

Under fire

Iceland - nothing by halves there! A bank crashes and we all go down screaming. As for their volcanoes! Ash eight miles high and it's all coming down somewhere. At least Eric Moody got the better of it back in 1982 when his Boeing 747 lost power to all four engines. Err, ejector seat anyone?
Good old Captain Moody kept his cool, describing it as a "small problem." "I trust you are not in too much distress," he said. No, they were all bent over in the brace position, moaning softly and kissing good bye to their beloved backsides. He got the engines up again after fifteen minutes of silent gliding. Wasn't that quiet in the cabin.
Love the cool in a crisis thing. Private Alex Kennedy is the Ice Man. He dived into the line of fire to save an officer who had been hit three times. Alex, 18, dragged the injured man away, catching a bullet on the butt of his gun for his trouble. He says he only did what any soldier would have, "the real heroes are the ones who don't come back," he said. Is he special? What do you think?

Ozzie barbie bombs

It's raining toad sausages in Oz. Where else? So wonderfully wacky Down Under - but in a caring way Dahling, as Dame Edna night say. Anyway they have these fluffy things called Quoll - a lot like a big squirrel with a pouch - and they eat toads. Only they are partial to poisonous ones. It kills them every time, so there's no learning curve.

So the Ozzies have come up with a masterly plan. They drop toad sausages from planes. These are are laced with a little bit of thiabendazole, which makes the quoll mighty sick. It can't look at a poisonous toad without feeling queasy.

Great idea. Seems it's worked with coyotes eating sheep. They laid nasty bait, now the coyotes hide from lambs. Electric mannequins had the same effect of man-eating tigers. They've tried something similar on people, giving them stuff that makes them sick if they smoke or drink. It works with the quoll but George Best proved a harder nut to crack. For daftness poor old Bestie was in a league of his own. No learning curve there either.

Let's Revive Romance

Love's young dream. Shall I compare thee to a summer rose? Best not, she'll likely belt you for taking the P. Judging by the size of some of these young heifers, that's not a threat to be taken lightly. I reckon romance is dead. Where's the champagne,chocolates and soft music?
One young man was getting on swimmingly. She was looking deeply into his eyes as he laughed happily at her jokes. Then he burped, looked surprised and said" A little bit of sick just came into my mouth there!" Nipped that one in the bud. Could anyone, even his granny, kiss him after that?
Then there's" You don't sweat much for a fat-un!" on the dance floor. Scuppered any hope of raising her temperature. Quicker than a cold shower.
It takes brains to get it right. A swift, "Yours or mine?"won't cut it with the classy ones.Unless she's already decided. I'd rather be rolling around the floor laughing. Now that would certainly lead to something, just as long as he keeps his reflux right out of it.

Charlie Saachi sums it up

Is anyone too nice? Charles Saachi was wittering about this and he says too much loveliness makes everyone look for the fault because they know it has to be there. A good friend once dumped a great guy because he was "too nice!
Having known some prize gits and spent formative years with one in a league of his own I'd say nice beats nasty every time.
Don't need love notes on the pillow and flowers every Friday. That's just mush. Consideration and affection, that'll do nicely - just as long as he can make you laugh. Never, ever, go without that.

Charlie's come on a bit. Lost a shedload of fat and discovered his face. It's possible to see what the gorgeous Nigella found to fancy - apart form his millions that is. They always roll him out at election time because he and his bro did such a good job for Maggie. Got their work cut out this time.

Celeb watch - all been and gone!

What is it with celebs that they bring some folk out in a hot flush? Have they seen Pete Docherty? Would you like to warm your pizza in his oven? How stoned do you have to be to take a bus tour of Hollywood to stare at a posh garden gate? I'd rather pull out my tonsils with pliers and wear them as earrings.
There's an app you can buy for £1.79 which sends a map to your iPhone detailing where Johnny Depp is having lunch.
Now Johnny does it for me. I would not jump over him to reach Jesus himself. So would I would hot-foot it round there to gawp? Absolutely! Except that the info is three years out of date. Johnny may like to linger, especially if he knows I'm on my way, but even he would not wait that long.
The celeb map might tell you where Elton John is. Or even Davina McCall. Be still, my beating heart! Such Gods are not meant to walk among us! Once shared a lift with Madonna. She was sweating like cheese in the sun too long having just been out for a run. Around Hyde Park, if you're interested. I did not fawn at her feet. Huge star she may be but - well, she glares at anyone ordinary. Very scary. Anyway, I'm saving myself for Johnny.

Tiger Woods - wish he wouldn't

Used to like Tiger Woods. Seemed like a pretty boy with a stack of talent. Now he makes me want to revisit my breakfast. How much longer is he going to lick boots? Now he is listening to his dead Dad asking him: "Did you learn anything?" Not so far, no.

That first press call was bad enough, cuddling up to his mom and prostrating himself for the cameras. Noticed the wife wasn't listening, she can spot a kissed backside from afar.
Now his latest tv ads have a voice-over from Earl Woods, who died in 2006, chastising his boy. You'd have thought he might have been a tad glad to be rid of such a controlling influence. Chance to get on and do it his way.

He made mistakes, but that's between him and the missus. Not for us to glory in and no place for a dead dad, that's for sure. Every tiger must have it's wild side. When one rolls over and show it's underbelly we all feel cheated. Can't take it seriously any more. Give up the ghosts and stick to golf Tiger. And maybe, in time, we will forget what a silly pussy you made of yourself.

German's last joke

Call me a weirdo but there's something deeply, darkly funny about rolling up to the airport with a dead grandad in tow. For a flight to Berlin too, how horribly,gruesomely, macabre. Delightful shivers up the spine.
How the hair rises to think of airport worker Andrew Millea lifting him gently out of the minibus to have a head loll and rest an icy cheek against his. Oh Death's embrace, where is thy sting?
Course they claimed he was alive when they left the house. Bright of eye and quick of wit - though to be fair 91-year-old Willi Jarant had dementia so perhaps his best lines were behind him.
"Tell the man your grandad always sleeps like this," they told the kids to say. For there were children present. Do they have night terrors? They do now. Been cuddled up next to a corpse all the way there.
Seems old Willi should have been hermetically sealed in a zinc-lined coffin in the hold, not passing on the overpriced EasyJet sarnies. No boring companion he. Shot new life into poor Mr Millea when he jumped sky high. Willi had the last laugh

Chatroulette a Turnovskiy

Chatroulette. Sending cold shivers up your spine? Should do. There you are, sat at the screen, all spotty, hairy, greasy or whatever and on goes the web cam and wham - a total stranger strikes up bright conversation. Stuff of nightmares! Is there no where to hide in this wide, wide world?
Slope to the corner shop in your slippers and there's sure to be a camera scanning every move. Pick your nose in the car and there it is, up on screen, for someone to mock.
Not everyone has a web-cam. I don't. For reasons, see above. But a Russian teenager, 17-year-old Andrey Ternovskiy, is dead keen. So much so that he invented Chatroulette and now mega-millionaires are fighting to buy it from him. Next thing to Facebook, they say. Not wrong either. Gawd, you'd have to glam up just to send an email. All that bluffing on Match.com will be dead in the dust.
Chatroulette was only launched in November and now has 10 million visitors a month. Most stay a few seconds before getting bored and zooming in on someone else. Nice. All that tarting up trauma for zilch. Never mind the weirdos doing all sorts of unmentionables on camera....yuk!

Two things you would never put together...

Pete Docherty got 11 GCSEs and four A levels, two of them grade A. Is that the most surprising fact you have heard this week? Stuff the Large Hadron Collider and all that particle smashing, awesome though that is, how could Pete make such a cesspit of things if he is that clever? Turned his brains to soup with all that stuff he sniffs I expect.

Back to the CERN efforts to explain the Universe. Blown away by that super shiney tunnel. It looks fantastic. And they managed to get closer to understanding what dark matter is, a very good idea since much of the universe consists of it.

Yet dare I say it? Does a tiny, weeny part of you wonder if we have all been had? That it's all a bit, well, expensive for what we might get out of it? That, someone, somewhere, is having a megga-billion pound laugh?

Really hope not, because it's brilliant that the boffins get sloshed on champagne simply because a couple of particles walloped into each other. Without that we might as well give up and go party with Pete.