Sunday, 30 September 2012

Megan & Jeremy: The Sun Persecution

I've always considered The Sun not worthy to be used for wiping the backside of a flea-blown camel, it's journalists of the same quality of the stuff you wipe off the aforesaid backside.

The one who called once to ask if I was having a relationship with Dietrich. Then the vile creature that is Antonella Lazzeri. And now we have Ryan Sabey and Rachel Dale, yet more proof that the only good Sun journalist is one who has passed into the next world--which I presume would involve a journey South.
Why do Sabey and Dale have to be so VILE? They wallow with pride when telling us that Jeremy, whose only crime appears to have been silliness and falling in love, has spent a night in France's toughest prison which houses murderers, cut-throats, and boasts 400 suicides. How these two pieces of manure would love to report in tomorrow's paper that the poor kid has hanged himself! They wallow in showing us pictures of the 'squallid' hotel room--in telling us how pale and tired he looked, blah-blah. He was looking pale because evil monsters like yourselves were hunting him like a pack of wolves--well aware that you would never have a good to word to say for him, as you never have a good word to say for anyone. You've tried your utmost to make him into the most evil and disgusting creature who has ever trod God's earth. Have YOU never been in love?  
But, Sabey & Dale, and the other scum employed by your chip-wrap, methinks the writing is on the wall. Millie & Hillsborough, and all the other dirty deeds are sure to catch up with you all, sending you spiralling down the same drain as as your sister paper, The News of the World. But before that happens, what other shame will be unearthed about you? And might I suggest a pre-closure trip for all Sun and ex-News of the World journalists to some place like Chernobyl, so that when you return we can all watch you slowly suffer, the way you have made some of us suffer?

Friday, 28 September 2012

Megan Stammers: Give Her & Lover Peace

So, Megan Stammers has been found, and I say leave these two young people alone. Megan hasn't been found bound and gagged in an attic. They were seen doing what lovers do--strolling hand-in-hand through the street.
But, the puerile vomits of the tabloids, the Bible bashers, the hypocrite moralists will all have a field-day, wanting to string this young man up on the nearest yard-arm.
Okay, she the girl is fifteen going on sixteen. But this is 2012, not Victorian England. In their press photographs they look almost the same age. And you, Mrs Moralist (it will be the old biddies leading the baying mob)--have you never been in love? Are you in any position to question what others do? Do you know for certain--like you claim to know everything else--that there was ever anything physical between these two? Is that all you see in your withered, prejudiced old woman's mind's eye, the physical side of love?
I for one was hoping that they would not been found--until Megan had reached her milestone birthday and had the ring on her finger. Wouldn't have been long. And I wouldn't mind betting that something was wrong on the Home Front, otherwise thse two kids wouldn't have had to run away in the first place.
And what will happen now. The poor man will be pilloried, the parents will keep them apart, and the result will be inevitable tragedy. That's a fact.

Sunday, 16 September 2012

Maria Callas: 35 Years Today

Maria Callas remains the greatest operatic soprano who ever drew breath. Even towards the end of her career, when critics and cynics were saying that her voice was starting to fail her, she was ten times better than any contemporary. She had an unhappy private life--Onassis used her like he used everyone else, and dumped her like an old rubbing rag. But she triumphed over every adversity, and will never be replaced. It's thirty-five years today since she died, yet it seems just like yesterday.

Thursday, 13 September 2012

Richard III should be buried in the north » Spectator Blogs

Richard III should be buried in the north » Spectator Blogs

Click the above link. His queen is buried in Westminster Abbey. Richard should have a full state funeral at Westminster Abbey, and either be buried there or next to his wife. If not, in York Minster. Doubtless our goverment will pooh-pooh the cost. They are more interested in chucking away millions trying to find a dead sprog and avoid a cover-up than they are in honouring a King who died for his country. Then again, they also like people to die for the country--hence Afghanistan.

Friday, 7 September 2012

What Ever Happened To Ted Robledo?

As I'm commissioned to write my memoirs--there'll be no mention of Pickford, Thornton, Zumaya, or Cartwright, and as we're waiting until three people are in jail and a fourth is dead, the book won't surface for two years--one or two little mysteries are starting to pop up.

The first concerns Ted Robledo, a gay footballer who played for Newcastle United. We moved into his house back in the Sixties--some of his effects were still there, which I have kept, but no one seems to know what happened to him. Was he really murdered, as one story goes, because if his sexuality? And what happened to his body? Answers on a postcard please!

Ted Robledo

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Ted Robledo, 1953 photo
Eduardo Oliver "Ted" Robledo (July 26, 1928 - December 6, 1970) was a Chilean professional football player. He played as a left-sided defender, and is most notable for his time spent with Newcastle United.
Robledo was born in Iquique, Chile to a Chilean father and an English mother. He emigrated with his family to Wath-on-Dearne, Yorkshire in 1932, at the age of four, due to the political instability in Chile at the time.[1] The family lived at Barnsley Rd, West Melton, in the same house where the Anglo-French biographer David Bret was later raised.
Robledo started his footballing career at Barnsley with his brother George. First Division Newcastle United signed him on January 27, 1949. Newcastle were only interested in signing his brother, but neither of the Robledo brothers would move without the other. Their appearance together in the 1952 FA Cup Final was the first time more than one foreign player had appeared in a cup final eleven.
The majority of Robledo's appearances for the club came in the 1951-52 season. Robledo played for Newcastle until the end of the 1952-53 season, when he was sold to Colo-Colo. After retiring from football, Robledo served on an oil tanker where he died in mysterious circumstances in December 1970 at the age of 42. It was rumoured that Robledo was thrown off the tanker and drowned. His body has never been found.[2] His brother George outlived him by nearly two decades, dying in April 1989 just before his 63rd birthday.[3]

Wednesday, 5 September 2012

Julie Goodyear: British Icon

She may be rough as a bag of spanners, and she may have a bit of a mucky mouth, but Julie Goodyear is a star through and through--indeed, not one of those people in the Big Brother house may hold a candle to her. My only criticism is her constant chewing--though I really would have liked to have seen her chew up Coleen Nolan and spit out the pips. That woman is so vile, she could almost be the twin sister of that other dreadful woman presenter on ITV.
And didn't Our Bet lay into her tonight! Coleen and Ashley, the little nail-chewing judo boy who buys his pants from C & A so he knows which way to put them on. As for Harvey, that one is so educationally challenged he would give Hala Pickford a run for her money. Can he actually say a sentence which doesn't have the word 'like' or 'bro' in it?
As for the others, I guess they're so-so. Prince Lorenzo was cutebut didn't seem to have a clue what was going on most of the time. Mike is all muscle and not much nouse.
The exception is Julian Clary, one of the wittiest men who ever drew breath. A STAR!!!!
If he doesn't win, I'll snog Pamela Gurney!

Tuesday, 4 September 2012

Anna Karenina: Keira Knightley Not Fit To Step Into Garbo's Shoes

From what I've seen so far, the new Anna Karenina looks positively awful.

Just what were they thinking about? The whole thing is filmed in a theatre, Keira Knightley gives a poor emulation of what appears to be a cross between a third-rate Vivien Leigh and an extra from The Benny Hill Show, and Jude Law looks like he's just stepped out of a pantomime. Just what were they thinking about with that wig? Hylda Baker and Arthur Mullard would have been more convincing.
Indeed, the only good acting I've seen so far comes from the curtains, and I suspect the best part of the production--and the one most welcomed by audiences--will be the end credits.
That scene where the famous horse race takes place across a stage must be one of the most ludicrous in cinema history. I think Joe Wright may be proved Joe Wrong with this one.