That's Entertainment!

What a truly magical weekend it is turning out to be!!


I've just returned from Brucie's 80th birthday bash - Oh, what a night!!! The Senatogen flowed like wine, along with the urine, but fortunately the great man and his cohorts were "bagged up" and so the dance floor stayed dry - as indeed did the private parts of all of his female contemporaries.

I'm sure you can imagine that, in the company of so many showbiz coffin-dodgers and Omega-list celebrities, I felt a little ostracised but I did manage to get to know Brucie's charming wife, Wilnelia. We were thrust together after Bruce handed me his rug to look after while he leapt around doing a particularly vigorous Lambada with
Dame Vera Lynn, and Puerto Rico-born Wilnelia turned out to be fascinating company. Despite her only knowledge of English being the words "me love you long time, five dollar" and "I want to travel and work with children", former Miss World Wilnelia manged to communicate with me by using her lippie to draw rudimentary images on her napkin.
Once her tongue withdrew from my throat, she scrawled out a quite detailed drawing of a penis and then scored it out with a giant, red cross! On the reverse, however, she drew a dollar sign and a big heart and so I was left with the impression that her marriage to "The King of Variety" had its good and bad sides.

Time really flew by and before I knew it the patient transport minibuses were queueing up outside to take everyone home. As I sit here the morning after the night before, wondering how I am going to get the mashed up rusk stains out of my dinner jacket, I can't help marvelling not at HOW Brucie is so full of life as an octogenarian - but WHY!! Nice to see you call it a fucking day eventually, to see you call it a fucking day eventually, nice!

Well, I can't sit around all day - I've got a flight to catch! I've got to be in Los Angeles by tomorrow lunchtime so that I can soak up the atmosphere ahead of THE MOST IMPORTANT NIGHT OF THE ENTIRE YEAR!!!!!! No, it's not the signing of a peace accord
between the Arabs and the Israelis, it's not the resolution of the Iraq war and a guarantee of peace and democracy in the Middle East, it's not even the Second Coming of Christ. No, it's...............the Oscars!!
Oh yes, anyone who thinks that a 36-hour wankfest in which self-obsessed, vacuous, evidently retarded clotheshorses who dress up and pretend to be other people for a living award each other prizes and tell each other how fucking marvellous they are is not REALLY, REALLY IMPORTANT is a fool to themselves!
"...and the silly, little, tacky statuette for the self-professed, earthbound god who best dressed up as someone else and then pranced about playing 'let's pretend' goes to...." I love it!

Why is it that when the "winning" turds skip up on stage and start blubbing as they are handed their ostentatious doorstops they always gush out a completely unwarranted list of people they feel they should thank? You know, the director, my co-star, my school, my mother's vulva? They never actually thank the people they should do - US!!! If it wasn't for US showing superhuman self-restraint by not gunning down these worthless penile warts in the street then they wouldn't be up there advertising Versace and wetting themselves at their own, supposed genius. What I want to know is where the fuck is Osama Bin Laden when you actually fucking want him?

Oh well, you get a complimentary sherry on the way in and a party bag so I suppose I'd better go.

As for Grantham, that is a tricky one. This will have to be my most undefined exile to date. With Brucie, the Oscars and actors in mind, I will send all wankers to Grantham.