Monday, 25 January 2016

Christine Boutin, And How Fate Plays Funny Tricks On Braggers

No picture...for no other reason than this elderly homophobe is so vile, I don't even want to look at her. In France she is loathed, most especially by the gay community, though the straight community doesn't have much respect for her either. She pouts at the camera in her badly-arranged hairdo and designer glasses and thinks she is beautiful. Oh, and she is, or was (nobody cares) the leader of the Christian Democrats in France, which more or less catapults her into the bigot category. Few in this world are more odious than Bible Bashers...and when preaching and homophobia combine, we end up with a social Hiroshima.
Christine Boutin does not just oppose gay marriage, she hates the LGBT community. Look her up on any social media outlet and you will see how they love to take the micky out of her. Like all homophobes, she thinks she is God's gift to Mankind. She thinks she is always right, and that all those who hate her, and for good reason, are in the wrong. You can't hammer a nail into concrete, and she'll go on thinking this until she draws her last breath. She thinks Mankind loves her, and persistently blows her own trumpet. And you know what they say about self-praise being no praise at all! Where did I hear that one before?
Christine Boutin is not the first homophobe to pen a book and boast that it will take the world by storm...only to end up falling flat on her ugly mush because, though she's so up herself to believe that she is universally admired for her "good deeds and thoughts and literary skills", others loathe her as much as she loves herself and wouldn't use her unsold printed pages for toilet paper. Not that being a literary turkey will stop her from boasting. Right now she's probably planning a follow-up work which will bomb just like the first.
And why is this, you might ask?
Because today history repeats itself when it is revealed in the French press that, despite her "I walk on water" bragging, her "blockbuster" tome has sold just 38 copies.

Saturday, 23 January 2016

The Father I Loathed

I think it has a certain ring to it. It gets straight to the point. The idea came after one of my team stated that, in writing about my association with Pete Sutcliffe in pre-monster days, I could not possibly have chosen a more evil subject. Well, now I have. I would give a thousand Pete Sutcliffe's for this particular monster, and only skimmed the surface in my autobiography regarding his heinous deeds. I wonder who they would get to play him in the film?

Sunday, 17 January 2016

In Memory Of My Wicked Stepmother, 14 Years On

Two of a kind. Everyone who knew them, aside from her family, absolutely loathed them. They were as twisted as each other, and are in a better place now. Here's a snippet of how I remembered her in my memoirs. I'm sure her and her kindred wouldn't have much good to say about me, had they learned to string two words together.


If she was alive, she wouldn’t have a good word to say about me, and I have nothing positive or praiseworthy to say about her. We didn’t get along. It’s as simple as that. My mother had been dead six months. I’d just returned from an overseas trip where briefly I had found romance. O.B. appeared to have calmed down since losing his wife, and I erroneously got to thinking that maybe for the first time in his life he was beginning to realise just how vile he had been towards everyone for most of that life. Because of the way he had treated my mother, and because he had borrowed money from them which he had never paid back, the family wanted nothing to do with him. But old habits die hard. This new O.B. was an illusion, a turd temporarily disguised as a diamond to impress a female. O.B. could turn on the charm when he wanted to, but it was fake and rarely took long for the scum to float back up to the surface.
   He met a lady called Betty Clarke, and they started “going steady”. He asked me to meet her at his new local, The Oak Tree, a hundred yards from where we lived in Beech Road. Tall, thin and bespectacled, she looked how I imagined Miss Marple would have looked, extant of the Margaret Rutherford portrayal. That weekend Rick came back from London to visit his mother, though he spent most of the time “catching up” with me. We managed half an hour in The Oak Tree, enough time for Rick to assess the latest O.B. situation.
   “She looks like she’s a virgin,” he observed. “She’s probably got a mousetrap hidden inside her knickers. She’ll be no use to your old man!”
   I never found out if O.B. tried it on with Betty, or whether a wise birdy whispered in her ear what she could have been letting
herself in for. Within days they were no longer an item, and he announced her replacement, another Betty—Betty Usher, who I would very soon come to loathe, though I will always be grateful to her for introducing me to Jeanne.
   To call her a large woman would be putting it mildly. Neither was her real name Betty, but Edith.
   “You’ll now have two Ediths in your life,” she said. “Isn’t that nice?”
   No, it wasn’t. This Edith wouldn’t have been fit to lick the dust off the other Edith’s boots.
   “Edith Usher and Edith Piaf,” O.B. retorted. “She’s a good singer, is Edith Piaf!”
   I could have smacked him in the mouth for saying that! Here was the creep who had called Piaf a “mucky little whore”, and caused me to hide my records so they wouldn’t end up like Frankie Vaughan’s, at the back of the fire! What a hypocrite! And more was to come.
   I’m your mother now,” she cooed, one day when I came back from the cemetery after laying flowers on Mother’s grave.
   Like fuck she was!
   Betty wasn’t exactly in the Fanny Cradock class when it came to cooking, though she did slightly resemble a plumper version of Johnny’s muse. From now on, for O.B., most of what went on his plate came out of a packet or out of the freezer—the kind of food which not so very long ago, with his bigoted mentality, he had denounced for having turned Jack Wilson gay!
   From what I learned from Jeanne’s family, Betty had spent much of her previous married life being waited on hand and foot, and had kept her late husband, Joe, well under the thumb and chained to the kitchen sink. She was an absolute bag of nerves. Forever quivering like an oversized blancmange and rubbing her hand back and forth across her mouth while talking she reminded
me of a cross between Ada Shufflebotham—Les Dawson’s drag character—and the music-hall comic Rob Wilton performing one of his “The Day War Broke Out” sketches. When Betty walked into a room, she took in every nook and cranny with a cursory rolling of her eyes. Frank, Jeanne’s father, could not stand the mortal sight of her—and if Frank Elliss, who liked everyone, declared that he hated someone, it only figured there must have been something radically wrong with that person!
   Betty had four sons and two daughters who I met for the first time on New Year’s Day 1972—the day Maurice Chevalier died. Christmas had been a lonely affair. Rick had returned to London, I was still mourning my mother, therefore it had been just Kimmy and me. Finding myself in the midst of a large family, and in the so-called “season of good will” when an over-surfeit of amber nectar only too often brings about fake feelings of bonhomie, I felt as though I belonged.
   The French call this building castles in Spain. At the Ushers’ New Year party I bonded with the smallest person in the room, Jeanne Elliss, sitting alone in a corner like a timid little mouse. I’d had over twenty lovers of both sexes, yet when I wanted to ask Jeanne out on a date, I bottled it! Betty fixed things for me, though I’m sure I would have eventually got there without her help. I met Jeanne’s parents, Mary and Frank, and found them down to earth and charming.
   O.B. married Joe Usher’s widow less than three months after meeting her. So far as I know, theirs was a happy marriage, not that this prevented O.B. from dipping his wick elsewhere and more than a few times, according to various family members, and the psychotic streak would always be there. I guess old habits really do die hard, but as much as I despised her, I would like to think that he never subjected his new wife to the physical and mental torture he had inflicted on her predecessor.
   Shortly after O.B.’s marriage, Dave Lindsay, the caretaker at Wath Grammar School, died suddenly. O.B. was promoted, and he and his new family moved into the bungalow in the school grounds. He was now in charge of thirty domestics, and I know for a fact that he tried it on with at least three of them. On one occasion he tried to molest one young woman and, rather than call the police, she sent her husband around to give him a good hiding. I would have paid good money to see that!
   On 21 March 1972, Jeanne and I got engaged. By now I had moved into the Usher house—my choice for no other reason than I really did feel at home there. Almost at once, the rot set in. I was sharing a room with three others, and separated from my bed by six feet of carpet was a stepbrother who liked his beer, but couldn’t always keep it down when he’d drunk too much.
   Salvation came on 10 April, when I announced that I’d found a new job at Colvin’s boutique in Sheffield. I would be earning more, which meant that I would be able to contribute more to the family budget, but pay-day would be Saturday instead of Friday. Betty was squashed into her armchair next to the fire, knitting. She always seemed to be knitting—Frank said that in a previous life she must have had a stool next to the guillotine.
   “Fine,” she declared. “But you’ll still have to give me your board-money every Friday, like everybody else.”
   This would have proved difficult, if not impossible. I was usually skint two days after pay-day. Betty would not budge.   
   “Either I get my money Friday, or you find somewhere else to live,” she hissed.
   Then O.B. chimed in, “He’s always been an awkward bugger. But this time he’s right, Bet. He can’t pay you what he doesn’t have. You have to give and take.”
   “And this is my house,” she snarled. “It’s my house, and my name’s on that rent-book. Anybody that doesn’t contend with my
rules knows what the options are. And I mean anybody!”
   She looked straight at O.B. when she said this, suggesting that even he was on shifting sands! Then I remembered what Frank had said, when taking me aside at our engagement party. Betty had been in the front room, amusing the other guests with her Rob Wilton act. 
   “You’re one of us, now, Dave. That woman’s always had a screw loose. She had her husband fetching and carrying like a skivvy. If you’re ever short of a roof over your head, you know where to come.”
   I went upstairs, shoved a few things into plastic carriers, and returned to the living-room. O.B. was silent—probably expecting his blushing bride to give him his marching orders should he say one word out of place. Betty was knitting more ferociously than ever, grumbling to herself because in her state of extreme neurasthenic agitation she kept dropping stitches. I told them I would be back later for the rest of my stuff, and for Kimmy. At this, Betty hauled herself to her feet—her eyes narrowed to slits as she lunged at me with a knitting needle. She missed, plunging her weapon into the sofa. I left, Kimmy at my heels. Half an hour later I was in Mary and Frank’s living-room, nursing a glass of brandy. Kimmy was sprawled out on the sofa like he’d been there all his life. Frank told me how surprised he was that it had taken me so long to leave “The House of Usher”.
   I found out that O.B.’s silent act had been just that, an act, and what he’d said after I left: “It’s a good job he took his dog, otherwise I’d have had it put down and dumped the body on the Ellisses’ doorstep, just to teach him a lesson.”
   The Ellisses were a good couple—loyal, never judgmental, caring, always willing to lend a sympathetic ear. The salt of the earth! They became my new parents and will always be regarded as such, even though they are long gone.
   O.B. and Betty attempted several reconciliations after our son Marleau was born, none of which worked. For every two steps taken forwards where we seemed to be getting somewhere, Betty took ten backwards by dragging out the “big wooden spoon”, as Jeanne called it, and stirring up the past. They stayed married for over twenty years until his death in December 1993.
   Betty, who had been fond of calling my mother-in-law “a candidate for the funny-farm”, developed Alzheimers and also ended up in a nursing home. She followed O.B. to the grave a few years later, and had been dead for two years before anyone told me, not that I cared. She wouldn’t have shed tears, had it been me.

Sunday, 10 January 2016

Johnny Hallyday, Charlie Hebdo And The Paris Attacks

Johnny Hallyday's appearance at a solemn ceremony in Paris today recalls Richard Branson's turning up at Princess Diana's funeral and pausing on the steps of the cathedral to grin and wave at the crowd, as if he was attending a pop concert.
Johnny is a great entertainer, but he is over-rated and there have been better. It's impossible to walk into  newspaper shops in France and not see him staring back at you from a magazine cover. Also he is not representative of the French people ~ he is Belgian, and left France to avoid paying his taxes.
I have little sympathy for the victims of Charlie Hebdo. This is not to say that they deserved to be killed in such a horrible way, but they were warned several times about what they were doing, and they should have had the sense to stop, freedom of speech or not. Religion is sacred, no matter who we pray to. Just because UK comedians can get away with Jesus "masturbation" sketches and parodies such as The Life of Brian does not mean that other religions have the same tolerance and ability to ignore the mockery. Nor should they, though to react as they did with not unprecedented violence was heinous. Charlie Hebdo should have been dealt with legally, without bloodshed.
As for the musical interludes at today's ceremony. Yes, we have Jacques Brel who also was Belgian, but Brel ~ the great humanist and a million times more so than any rock star ~ is more fitting with the song Francois Hollande has chosen, and "Le temps des cérises" has long been acknowledged as a poignant example of French patriotism. I'm just keeping my fingers crossed that it all doesn't swell into The Johnny Hallyday Show, with the hero launching into "Le penitentier".

Saturday, 9 January 2016

Winston McKenzie: Homophobe Politician

Homophobia is not entertainment. Channel 5 should be ashamed | Cristo FoufasWinston McKenzie’s comments should have disqualified him from Celebrity Big Brother. Instead, like Tyson Fury, he’s celebrated on television

This appears to be International Homophobia Week...what with my stalkers homophobing like hate is going out of fashion, and now this vile man, a politician who sees himself as London's next mayor. Heaven help us all if this "thing" ever takes up office.

Plaudits go to Dame Emma Willis, who is supposed to be impartial, for challenging this piece of dirt who boasts that gay people adopting children equates to child abuse. There are at least three gay men on Celebrity Big Brother this time around, all of whom want to adopt children, and two ladies who have done more for the gay cause than most. No surprise then that 13 out of the 14 housemates voted this obnoxious man out of the house last night. Such a pity he didn't fall down the stairs on his way out to more boos than the programme has known in its entire history.

One wonders how McKenzie ~ a black man ~ would feel if one of his fellow housemates or anyone else in the world for that matter had said they only want a white mayor of London? There would be outrage, and rightly so. I also blame Channel Five for allowing him on the show in the first place. Even in his opening VT he said that if there were homosexuals in the house, he would stand with his back to a brick wall. And the show did itself no favours by bringing up the gay adoption subject during a task...though it did reveal him to be a turd, which most of us knew already.

Like others before him, Winston McKenzie ~ who wears more leopard print than Bet Lynch and purports to being a Christian, which he feels gives him licence to hate because he thinks he has the Bible on his side~ will end up with egg on his face for his comments.

Evil people never win.

Tuesday, 5 January 2016

David Bret: The Biography

Word is that someone is writing David Bret's biography, and that they will "tell the truth".

Good luck with that one. Even I do not know the "truth".

So, who is this mysterious scribe who claims to know me well enough to write about me? One of the many personages who have shared intimate moments with me in the past forty or so years? If so, they may know a little of the truth, and have my blessing. Or is it a modern day Higham or some other great of his ilk guaranteed to see their work flying off the shelves? If so, no one has questioned any of those intimates with whom I am still connected.

Nope, it's some elderly crackpot with a record of zilch sales in the failed attempts they have made so far to follow up on their boasts that they are about to take the literary world by storm. One might say that if this person hasn't achieved anything in the eight decades they have been on earth, they are hardly likely to now, in their twilight years.

And of course, just as I have had other such tomes removed from sale ~ the adage being that while you can't libel the dead, you can certainly libel the living ~ this one will suffer the same fate.

The same will not happen of course, if I write a biography of my will be one of those Nancy Sphinctergritzel-style spoofs that will by-pass any legal loophole libel suit my crackpot admirer opts to throw at me. 

So, my dear, get cracking as George Formby would say! I'll even find you a publisher!

Monday, 4 January 2016

Errol Flynn, The Iffy Priest And The Proud Degenerate!

Priests are a funny breed. They snoop and get to know everyone's personal and most intimate secrets by way of the Confessional, yet not all of them are as righteous as they like us to think they are...hence we have a wonderful film called Scandal In The Vatican.
When I was writing about church architecture in the early 1980s, one good father lectured me about the sins of the flesh during our first meeting ~ and during the next taught me a few tricks that I, who had thrown my carcass around the world, had never heard of.
Some of the holy men who have crossed my path are just a little dippy but okay. Father Michael Morris wrote an excellent biography of Natacha Rambova. And I mean excellent. No one will ever write a better one and I relied heavily upon his work when writing my own. Though the gentleman would never admit it, he and I did meet many years ago. Indeed, I found him quite a friendly chap, and pleasantly camp. Then he went off the boil somewhat and began writing nasty reviews about my books (these are published in Rudolph Valentino's Magic Python) under under one pseudonym, and adopted another ~ "Leah-Cim Sirrom", which is his name spelled backwards ~ for more positive reviews hoping that no one would work out who he was. 

Next up was Lincoln Hurst, a dirty-looking, Jesus-sandalled scruff who looked like he had travelled the world on the back of a dust-cart, and  who was absolutely hooked on Errol Flynn, to the extent that he wrote a 20,000-word thesis about little old me, sent it to every major media outlet in the UK, and finally expired...while pleasuring himself to Errol swashing his buckle in Captain Blood. I observed at the time that instead of coming, he went. And he had the audacity to call ME a wanker!

In recent years I have had loonies attack me by way of defacing my book covers. Bless them, they were too obsessed with their subject to realise that they were insulting their subject, and not me. There was the picture of Freddy Kreuger superimposed over the face of Mario Lanza, one of a cat tiddling on a movie star's face ~ the animal's tail was up and it took me a moment to realise that I was not looking at my adversary's corpse-like features. As for poor Errol, he got his face blown to bits at a shooting range! They're all there, printed in my Little Black Book. And they wonder why gun crimes are on the increase in America!

Today, the "shooter" ~ I won't mention that his name is David DeWitt or that he used the pseudonym Arno Thames ~ went a little off his trolley by writing to me and addressing his missive, "To David Bret, Degenerate." I left the comments in the post about Lincoln Hurst. It seemed a shame not to, seeing as Mr DeWitt managed to spell every word correctly this time and may have therefore taken some time to pen his piece.

I feel very honoured. Mr DeWitt has a variety of names, and I know them all. He also refers to the way I look ~ which as with all his detractor contemporaries is a classic case of the pot calling the kettle black. Indeed, almost every one of them gives the impression that, at birth, the midwife threw the wrong stuff away. But, we cannot all be perfect, I guess, and I find it quite an honour to be labelled a degenerate ~ better to be something, Mr DeTwatt, than nothing!

And of course, to call a gay or bisexual person a degenerate is homophobic ~ and I attract that breed of people like iron filings to a magnet. On saying this, some scholars claim that it is homophobic to call a homophobe homophobic, so I will just call him Mavis.

Concludes Mr DeTwatt, like Charles Higham I get away with my degenerate writings because I cannot be sued for defaming the dead. It's not the first time that I've been linked with the likes of Higham and Kenneth Anger. This is an even greater honour. We have a lot in common, not least of all that we sell books while our detractors do not. Mr DeTwatt also wonders what will be said about me after I am dead, and unable to defend myself. 

In the words of that great gay-for-pay icon, Clark Gable...Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn. And what will they be saying about you, Mr DeTwatt, and your ilk? Not a lot, I should imagine. The only reason that you seek attention in the first place is because they're not saying a great deal about you now!

Friday, 1 January 2016

Announcing the 2016 Death List

Yes, it's that time of year again! Last year I added nine of my own, and am happy to report that three of them have curled their toes. As for the remaining five, fingers crossed for this year! Their deaths would bring varying degrees of jubilation in the Bret household. One is very old and has been anticipated for quite some time. It will be a mixture of sadness and relief, and will result in a book being published within one week of the event...the said tome has been completed for some time and edited, and the pictures set. Another demise will see many of our famous former stars avenged for the horrors inflicted upon them and their families by this person. A third will we see us ~ and I kid you not ~ stringing bunting across the street and holding a very public party, at home and on the social media. As for the others, you'll just have to wait and see! Oh, and in case some barking mad obsessive is thinking along the lines that I'm going to be the one sending them to the next world, you can slither out from under your stone. Karma ~ and Satan ~ takes care of their own!


The DeathList 2016

For the 30th time, the DeathList Committee has sat and drawn upon multiple resources, including the invaluable contributions on the forums, to compile a list of 50 celebrities that it considers most likely to die in 2016. The Committee constrains itself with a few rules as follows: Candidates must be famous enough such that their death is expected to be reported by the UK media; Candidates cannot be famous solely for the fact they are likely to die in the near future and only 25 of the candidates from the previous year’s list can reappear on this year’s list. DeathList 2015 just failed to set a new record, once again equalling the best of 14 deaths. A significant amount of new blood has been drafted in for 2016. Can the good form carry on into the new year?

Appear NameAgeDescDiscuss
1202 Martin Crowe54CricketerSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 211 posts
2110 Zsa Zsa Gabor99ActressSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 812 posts
335 João Havelange 100Ex Fifa presidentSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 127 posts
469 Olivia De Havilland100ActressSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 125 posts
5213 Bhumibol Adulyadej89King of ThailandSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 203 posts
6510 Billy Graham98EvangelistSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 470 posts
745 Herman Wouk101AuthorSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 37 posts
873 Javier Perez de Cuellar96Ex UN Secretary GeneralSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 17 posts
9443 Richard Adams96Watership Down authorSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 13 posts
101514 Kirk Douglas100ActorSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 304 posts
11 3 Abe Vigoda95ActorSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 57 posts
12402 Liz Smith95Royle Family "Nana"Speech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 16 posts
13 Star (First Listing Icon) Mary Tyler Moore80AcrtessSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 76 posts
14385 Nancy Reagan95ActressSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 233 posts
15324 Peter Sallis95Last of the Summer WinerSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 75 posts
16104 Prince Philip Duke of Edinburgh95Casual rascistSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 558 posts
17 3 James Randi88Magician/SkepticSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 34 posts
18 2 Lord (Peter) Carrington97UK PoliticianSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 21 posts
19164 Clive James77TV presenterSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 166 posts
20274 Bob Dole93PoliticanSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 72 posts
21283 Joost van der Westhuizen45Rugby playerSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 69 posts
22 Star (First Listing Icon) Prunella Scales84Sybil FawltySpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 2 posts
23 Star (First Listing Icon) Jimmy Carter92Ex US PresidentSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 349 posts
24345 Henry Kissinger93DiplomatSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 79 posts
25 Star (First Listing Icon) Tommy Chong78Cheech & ChongSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 20 posts
26 Star (First Listing Icon) Doug Ellis92Ex-Aston Villa ChairmanSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 17 posts
2794 George Bush Senior92Former President of USASpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 255 posts
28478 Vera Lynn99SingerSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 234 posts
29242 Leslie Phillips92Comedy ActorSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 91 posts
301313 Fidel Castro90DictatorSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 1345 posts
31 Star (First Listing Icon) Sandy Gall89TV news reporterSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 7 posts
32 8 Fats Domino88SingerSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 72 posts
33 Star (First Listing Icon) Robert M Pirsig88AuthorSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 2 posts
34 2 Desmond Tutu84ArchbishopSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 34 posts
35 Star (First Listing Icon) Lester Piggott81JockeySpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 7 posts
36 Star (First Listing Icon) Glen Campbell80Country SingerSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 46 posts
37 3 Stan Lee94Marvel comicsSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 49 posts
38 Star (First Listing Icon) Boutros Boutros-Ghali94Ex-UN Secretary GeneralSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 7 posts
393512 Jake Lamotta95BoxerSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 140 posts
40363 Cliff Michelmore97TV PresenterSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 130 posts
41334 Denis Norden94Comic/TV PresenterSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 94 posts
42 Star (First Listing Icon) Murray Walker93Formula 1 CommentatorSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 2 posts
43 Star (First Listing Icon) Jimmy Greaves76Footballer/punditSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 2 posts
44 Star (First Listing Icon) Gordon Banks79GoalkeeperSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 3 posts
45 3 Muhammad Ali74Bufferfly/BeeSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 281 posts
46 Star (First Listing Icon) Jacques Chirac84Ex French President/PM Speech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 58 posts
47 3 Stephen Hawking74Theoretical PhysicistSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 313 posts
48 Star (First Listing Icon) Paul Gascoigne49GazzaSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 347 posts
49 Star (First Listing Icon) John Noakes82Blue Peter PresenterSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 5 posts
50 2 Bruce Forsyth88EntertainerSpeech Bubble (Forum Topic Icon) 127