Eurotrash

Now, I'm no expert but didn't the Brits use to rule the rock waves? Dressing up in WWI military uniforms worked perfectly well for us in the '60s so what went wrong with the EasyJet crew on Saturday? And how did half of Abbott and Costello win?

Maybe instead of signing on at Westminster dole office, our nearly departed PM should put some effort into sorting out the Eastern bloc voting - the Blair Kitsch Project. Go Tone!

Must dash. There's an Early Birds All you can Eat at the Polski Organic Fake Tan & Slivovitz Bar in 20 mins

VG:RS

Feeling Jaded

News of the debacle in the Big Brother house has even reached my ears in the bowels of my favourite gentleman's venue. As you will know, game shows are not my thing. My mum, on the other hand, is never happier than when she has back-to-back episodes of 'Deal or No Deal' and a pint of Baileys at her elbow. Whilst on the subject, how a bloke who appears to have been ironed all over, has turned randomly picking a box with a number on it, the teatime equivalent of rocket science, beats me. Mind you, I've come up with a better idea. 'Deal or Not Deal' where contestants guess whether to box is made of wood or not.
I reckon it's a winner.

VG:RS

How the mighty have fallen...

So, there was this bump and I found myself at the foot of a fig tree in next door's garden and it was 2006! Last I remember, illuminated reindeers were prancing across the roofs of the great unwashed and Tony Blair was running the country. Now there's some bloke called Dave cycling to work followed by motorised filing cabinet talking up the Tory massive.

The other bad news was that my beloved Doreen has decided that she's no longer wants to drink deep from the cup of lurve that is yours truly and has hopped it. Needless to say, an envelope the size of Wales has already landed on my doormat from her legal team demanding a significant portion of the Grope wedge. Beggers belief, really. I get on the mobile to my manager and he tells me that I need sort out some paid employment sharpish as the Grope wedge is more of a wafer-thin slice.

Next thing I know, there's a call from a film company who reckon they've got me down for an appearance in one of their latest productions. Apparently some yank actor has based his character on me. I assume that it's an all-action hero but at this point they go a bit quiet. Anyway look out for The Muppets On The High Seas at your nearest Odeon in the not too distant.

Must dash. I have a rather overdue appointment at the John Prescott Pie and Sausage Bar with my associates.

I think it's probably my round.

VG:RS

Ding dong

Festive word up!

Having just returned from Dame Reg's nuptials, I'm not best placed write my annual Christmas message to my adoring fans but here goes.

What a do that was. Having spent 3 hours in traffic on the way there only to find that it was the queue for Ikea, you can imagine that yours truly was not in the best frame of mind on arrival. Still, the old queen did us proud and I managed to put away my fair share of the bubbly on offer. Good to see Ozzie Osbourne and Mrs Beckham there even though I did get them mixed up - and that was before I'd hit the Bollie.

So now its back to reality and Christmas Day at my mum's. She's in a bit of tizz because of all this bird flu business. Last I heard she was basting the turkey with Vick as a precaution. I only hope we don't have Lemsip sauce to go with it. Unlike the royal wedding, it will be a modest affair. Just me, my old mum and her toy boy. I was hoping my beloved would be able to join us but she suddenly remembered she had to climb Kilimanjaro or something. So it'll be the usual turkey and all the trimmings followed by a 3 hour drunken doze in front of the Xmas edition of Pimp my Ride. I believe it's Santa's sleigh that's getting the treatment this year.

So another year closes without a number 1. I was going to re-record 'All I want for Christmas is a Beatle' but looking at the ones that are left, I decided not to bother. What a year it has been in the rock firmament, what with that 70's throwback - Rod Stewart fathering yet another sprog instead of collecting his pension and moaning about the state of the paving stones outside the post office. It set yours truly thinking about the future and what it holds for the golden generation. I mean, what with Sir Mick and the boys on yet another tour with Keef asking every 5 minutes whether he's had his dinner yet and Lady Elton getting spliced, you'd be forgiven for thinking that the world has tipped every so slightly off-centre.

Anyway must dash, there's a carol concert at the Al Jazeera Tapas bar and Massage Parlour and I'm keen to get a front seat.

Season's Greetings and a Happy New Year


VG - RS

Blinking into the sunlight

Word up!

So you thought VG was no more? Well let me tell you, he's back and he's better than ever. For those of you who are the tiniest bit interested, I've been on a bit a sabbatical 'oop north drying out writing my memoirs in a desperate bid to make some moolah for the forthcoming festive season. I decided to miss out all the childhood stuff - living in one room with 11 siblings ( mainly because I lived in rather a nice house in the suburbs with my own room)- and jump straight to the '60s. Five months later and I can only recall an afternoon in Earls Court with a australian backpacker who taught me the chords to 'Tie me Kangaroo Down, Sport'. Plus ca change, c'est le meme chose, as my old dad used to say (he was a french polisher).

So, now I'm considering, as they say, my options. Casting about in the muddy pool that is rock (or is that the rock pool that is Mud?), I see that anybody who's managed to survive the years of excess is now on tour peddling 30 year old songs in the hope that some anorak with a computer will sample something for their next downloadable ditty and save them the trouble of going out of the house at all. If you are Robert Plant, you stick a load of rugs on stage, burn some incense, play everything at half speed and call it world music. Cynical? Moi? At least you won't see me on Coronation Street. Yes I mean you, Rossi and Parfitt.

Anyway, I'm off to revisit my usual haunts in a bid to make binge drinking an Olympic sport by 2012.

Someone's got to do it...

and today's word is...

His word up!


Finally made contact with Quentin. I suggest we meet as I have some news to impart. He wants to go to one of the usual watering holes which will allow him to show off his tan to anyone who might be interested but I direct him the Christian Reading Room and Macrobiotic Food in Centre in Hoxton which throws him out somewhat.

Slightly nonplussed, Q pitches up and has to hand his mobile phone which immediately which sends him into a twitchy fit. I suspect he has already got the drift that all is not as before. So, I launch into the Finding God Thing after which I have to help him retrieve his jaw from the floor. I ask him how he's going to handle it PR-wise. After a significant rabbit in headlights moment he comes up with a stonking idea - Grope for God.


You've got to admit - it's got a ring to it

Thank the Lard

As you can imagine the Grope mailbox has been groaning with messages from my massive fan base thirsty for more info about yours truly's spiritual conversion and , of course, my beloved - Gloria.

First off, Gloria Goodbody is not her real name as she changed it early in her modelling career from Tamara Goodbody for obvious reasons. At the peak of her career she was the Face of Lard 1978 until the product she was endorsing began to take its toll. Several years and a few stone later, she was at a low ebb. When I first met her, she was a wringer-out for a one-armed window cleaner who only did bungalows. Penury and RSI beckoned.

We continued to meet from time to time at various glittering occasions but it was only latterly that we forged a deeper relationship. Last year, I was on the road to Perdition, which is a small village just outside Bootle, when she convinced me that there was a better way. The rest is history and after a whirlwind romance, I popped the question. Those of you who read the more basic newspapers will have seen photographs of the ring which I managed to secure from a local branch of CASH NOW! at a favourable price on a 'no wedding, no pay' basis.

Naturally, being linked with a mega-star such as myself has its drawbacks but Gloria's inner spirituality and considerable bulk is more than a match for anything that the redtops can throw at her.

My only problem now is how to break all this to Quentin who is blissfully unware of current developments on account of the fact that he is sunning himself on a tiny island off Greece with his hair gel consultant.


Pax Vobiscum