More oil, Madam?

Tradition dictates that Britain’s Italian waiters grind their crotches in unison with pepper mills bigger than the Leaning Tower of Pisa and enquire, all oily slick, if ‘la signorina’ fancies anything else? Their act is cheesier than mozzarella, but as they are merely confirming our prejudice of Milan man as a harmless bum-pinching Latin Lothario out of Carry On Up The Tiber, it’s dismissed as all part of the trattoria tradition. When it comes to home-grown British waiters, however, we expect Basil Fawlty or worse, to have mentored them. So what to think of Pizza Express, now reportedly training staff in the gentle art of flirtation? Minefield! Come-hither looks over the lasagne? Extra sauce with your pasta? That’s strictly for Continentals. I see trouble ahead if other chains adopt this initiative. Imagine the scene around midnight at the nearest nosherie: ‘Coffee, tea or me?’ winks Romford Romeo waiter. Cue lagered-up of Luton, ‘Oi, tosser! It’s the salad that’s supposed to be fresh. Look at my missus like that again and I’ll tear those dough balls to shreds!’ 

Political Comedians

(Doris Karloff - Hell mend her!)

Once, has-been MPs quietly faded into obscurity or spent their dotage dozing in the Lords. No more! Now, they want to be entertainers. The trend took off when Neil Hamilton and battleaxe Christine, became a sort of peripatetic Punch & Judy show. Next, came George 'The Cat' Galloway in his red leotard - possibly THE most embarrassing five minutes of  TV ever, from which I am yet to recover -  followed by Andrew Neil’s resident stooges, Abbott and Costello - sorry, Portillo - who surely have a future in panto once failed Labour leaderine Diane departs da House. The latest political comedians are Lib-Dem oddball, Lembit Opek - whose stand-up routine is, by all accounts, as cringeworthy as his turn on Come Dine With Me - and Strict(ly) virgin Ann Widdi-Waddle attempting to reinvent herself as our favourite cuddly aunt - like we’ve forgotten Doris Karloff’s toxic Tory horror show. Whither next? MP Alan Keen and defeated MP/ wife, Ann, camping it up, Kim and Aggie style, as ‘Mr & Mrs Expenses’, sifting through members’ claim forms on a Westminster special of How Clean is Your House?     

True Blood For Ya Bluds

The shops are full of orange and black tat. Must be Hallowe'en. And, in keeping with the season, what red blooded young male fan of emo-friendly Tv tosh True Blood wouldn’t fancy a Sookie on one of these babies? Aka ‘V-Juice’, the synthetic life blood that flows through Channel 4’s camp vamp-fest, this soft drink, described to me as ‘like sugary Fanta’ (nice!), is what to break out with your bluds whenever you tune in to telepathic waitress Sookie Stackhouse, aka Anna Paquin, the hit show’s bodacious heroine. The manufacturer's PRs - who described the fizzy potion as ‘like sugary Fanta’ (because you sooo want that! ) - suggest using tit in various specially-created vodka cocktails such as Fangbanger, Death On The Beach and Plasmapolitan, perfect for Hallowe'en (apparently). The price of each four pack is a mortifying £19.99: for that, I expect nothing less than the elixir of eternal youth. What's that about marketing Muppets sucking another TV series dry?