Encore Nul Points?

It’s time for making your mind up as nations short on pop pedigree select ditties purely for our amusement at May’s Eurovision Song Contest. Previews suggest a Greek tragedy caused recent unrest in Athens and that Iceland should have stuck with Kerry Katona. Turkey? A right turkey! Should we feel smug? Not while UK hopes rest on a chap with the charisma of a courgette performing dire Stock (no Aitken) and Waterman dinosaur Sounds Good To Me - but not to anyone south of Dover, I bet. It’s payback time as Eastern Europe gets to punish us for inflicting Waterman protegées Sonia, Sinitta et al on them, their canon employed by KGB interrogators to break refuseniks, apparently. Meanwhile, Russia has rejected Eurovision gold in not adopting Buranovskiye Babushki. Sung by six gummy, gurning grannies - think Loose Women of Leningrad - watch it on YouTube and weep for what might have been.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LrWhK9Q4aNA 

Plex Pests

The first time I went to the flicks in the USA, I was totally unprepared for the cacophonous soundtrack that would accompany the main feature. Used to a culture where the occasional rustle of a sweetie wrapper or a polite cough was as loud as it got, a brash Brooklyn audience’s rumbunctious behaviour seemed shocking. Sure enough, where America leads...Visit any British multi-screen now and the unruly ‘plex pests rule. Remonstration is pointless; Beavis and Butt-head know their rights. You’ll get done for harassment...or worse. Last Saturday, I literally (and figuratively) lost the plot - driven to distraction by the oiks in the row behind, noisily chomping the contents of buckets twice the size of their fat heads and engaging in popcorn flicking contests when not loudly discussing half-term - or the sexual availability of ‘that slag, Paige’ - on their mobiles. ‘I’m at the cinema’ is the new ‘I’m on the train.’ Bring back the silent movies! 

The Save 6 Music petition

I’ve long held the BBC needs the budgetary equivalent of a gastric band but axing 6 Music is insane. An incubator for potentially world-conquering British musicians - watch Mumford & Sons go! - it’s run on a shoestring budget of around £9 million. Ditching it is the equivalent of a morbidly obese glutton removing the lettuce leaf from his afternoon snack of half a dead cow on a bun with chips. Slash the insane sums wasted on a bloated administration, vanity building projects, overpaid ‘talent’, Shearer and  Hansen’s taxis, or indecently large crews at events such as the Winter Olympics where BBC staff outnumbered Team GB. On breakfast TV, one fat cat chirruped that 6 Music’s output could be easily absorbed by Radio 1. So, they’ll play an obscure Welsh-language indie band between Gaga and Ke$ha?  Phil Jupitus rightly brands the threatened closure ‘an act of cultural vandalism.’ Join the clamour to save it at  http://www.petition.fm/ and remind the Beeb who foots the bill.    

And the winner is....

Beating Mariah Carey in the sort of slag rag Corrie's Liz Macdonald would fancy and Sigourney Weaver - clearly Alien to style in a red St Trinian's hockey slip thingy- the Oscar for worst dressed goes to Zoe Saldana  for this red carpet-rash, loo roll holder dolly's dress. It's apparently  'chic' according to my mate, Fashion Thing, who reported in on the bash from his distant star orbiting whatever planet the Na'vi inhabit. From planet moi, this looks  like it would bring my car's alloys up a treat; Zoe has nicked my local car wash's purple roller brushes and tacked them on to her hem. Hilary Alexander in the Telegraph rated her the best-dressed on the night. Shame Hil didn't go to Specsavers. It's by Givenchy, since you ask. Didn't he do the frocks for Breakfast at Tiffanys? Not loving his atelier's effort for the sequel -Dog's Dinner at the Kodak.

Clinton: she's a card!

So Señora de Kirchner - the only world leader who looks like she was cast from Desperate Housewives - snaps her manicured fingers and Hilarious Clinton comes rushing to Buenos Aires for a spot of 'friendly mediation' between the Argies and the Brits over the Falklands, thus  handing the former a diplomatic coup at the expense of Washington's  most faithful poodle...sorry, ally? Yalta/ Suez/ Eye-rack (as Americans annoyingly refer to it)...when will British governments learn that the Americans' idea of a special relationship translates as 'you bend over and we'll shaft you up the Twitter whilst preferably, simultaneously robbing you of your gold' as happened in WW2? What's to mediate on? Do the Falkland Islanders want to stay British or not? Mind you, I can see Agentina's point. How would we like it if a load of gauchos set up shop on the Isle of Wight? What? nobody would much notice? Cancel your hols to Disneyland! Boycott Oreos! Bodyswerve Aberzombie & Bitch! Refuse to buy Gaga tracks off iTunes and the next time Hil & co come looking for support for some fatally flawed Yankee misadventure, make her sit through a performance of Andrew Lloyd Wibbly Wobbly's Evita - that'll teach the interfering Clint!


 

The PMX Factor

With UK Plc drifting towards the same titanic icebergs that sunk Iceland and, soon, Greece, what the country needs is vision and inspired leadership - albeit not in the style of Saint Tony of Chilcott, perhaps. But no, our would-be leaders are cynically dumbing down any debate to levels that will have Atlee and Churchill spinning in their graves. Incisive political interviews make for riveting TV viewing, but Gordon Brown’s cosy chat with pal Piers Morgan was hardly Frost/ Nixon. Look! Tears! That’s Doreen and Noreen’s votes in the bag. Meanwhile, PR boy Dave is bravely risking all by squaring up to heavyweight inquisitor Alan Titchmarch later this month. ‘So, are you more of a pansy or a wallflower man, Mr Cameron?’ What next? Nick Clegg gets grilled on Saturday Kitchen? Who needs actual policies? Let Simon Cowell orchestrate The PMX Factor; the winner - styled by Sinitta and choreographed by Jedward - whoever best covers Alice Cooper’s (I Wanna Be) Elected.