Today's Chip Paper.

Look him up in the dictionary and it says "See 'c***'"


Thank God for The Sun, I say! I mean, without it, who else would be looking out for us and trying to get us the best possible help should we ever need it.

Take young Amy Winehouse, for instance. Now I'm no pharmacological expert, you understand, but I strongly suspect that Ms Winehouse has the teensiest, weensiest
drug habit. I would also hazard a further unprofessional guess that her "habit" has become something of a "problem" of late, what with her mumbling like an idiot at her gig in Birmingham, falling over a couple of times and later cancelling her nationwide tour.

Subsequently, I'm not sure when and it doesn't matter anyway, Ms Winehouse spent some time at home with a "friend", shovelling talcum powder-like substances up her nose and smoking something out of a little pipe/pot while saying that she had also taken a few valium.

Exactly what Amy was smoking I neither know nor care, as long as its prolonged use does not end up killing her, but whatever it was it apparently dulled her senses to such an extent that she did not appear to realise that her "friend" was filming her throughout the entire episode.

Her "friend" then proved his devotion and love by promptly running out and offering the film for sale to our beloved Sun - I wonder what he used his 30 pieces of silver to buy? I simply can't imagine.

The Sun, with great taste and sensitivity, then publicly posted this film for all its picture-looker-atters to tut and snigger over, once they had finished masturbating to the picture of the semi-naked, barely legal girl on Page 3.


A Sun reptile - I think it was a news editor - later belched that the paper had chosen to publish the footage to show the extent of Amy's problems and so encourage people to come forward to give her help. Hmmmm, interesting. I always thought The Sun was a lump of purulent, cancerous, cockroach excrement, written by scum-sucking bits of detritus who were only allowed to use crayons and whose parents had never married. It seems I was wrong. The Sun is, in fact, pulling for each and every one of us and trying its damnedest to look after us all.

Sadly, "editor" of the Bizarre column in the paper, Gordon Smart, appeared to have gone to a different brothel/lap dancing club for the morning's editorial conference. Smart (irony obviously lost on his parents) said: "She has a duty as a role model to thousands of impressionable kids who copy her look and attitude."

Ah! We have a slight difference of opinion. Any other other explanations, perchance?

This, from Sun editor Rebekah Wade, perhaps: "We dun it coz er's got bostin' tits n ers off em"?
Or this from The Dirty Digger himself, proprietor Rupert Murdoch, possibly: "Fuckety, fuck, wank, fuck, fuck, bollocks, tits, fuck...cobber"?
So they want the pondlife which reads The Sun to gawp at Amy Winehouse's apparent "spiral of self destruction" to both help her and at the same time bollock her for setting a bad example to kids, do they? No, not really. They did it to give millions of personality vacuums out there a cheap thrill and to make wads of cash by doing so. That's the sad, disgusting truth.
The Sun does not believe in rubbishing the world and airing EVERYONE'S dirty linen in public, however. For instance, Ms Wade's alleged attack on her husband which saw her hauled away by the filth didn't get quite so much coverage in the paper - none, in fact!

Well, they've certainly alerted some people to Ms Winehouse's apparent problems. The coppers have turned up to look at the video - not that they hadn't already seen it, 99 per cent of them being avid Sun readers. I doubt the Sun will be able to take the chuckle any further, however, as it doesn't actually PROVE anything. It is all circumstantial. Still, the whole episode will no doubt help Ms Winehouse, as The Sun originally said it intended. If she kills herself, however, it will all be our fault.

I have absolutely no idea why it has taken me this long to get round to The Sun. Why they just don't perforate it, put a hole in each square and sell it with a little bit of string is beyond me.
In conclusion, unlike The Sun, I don't want there to be any misunderstanding over my stance so here are a few musings to make things crystal clear:
1. I wouldn't piss on Rebekah Wade is she was on fire.
2. If God was going to give the world an enema he would stick the tube in the Sun's headquarters.
3. I get up earlier each day so I can hate Rupert Murdoch longer.
Clear? Good. Off it, and he, and her, go.

Padwatch 2.

I was going to post today about the lunacy which is the Common Agricultural Policy and the Thatcherite moves by our beloved, so-called Labour Government to block attempts by the EU to stop the current practice of giving the richest landowners in the country, including that parasitic bint at Buck House, annual, six-figure handouts from Brussels for doing fuck all with their acres!
I also toyed with the idea of ranting about those fucking Nazis at Coca Cola, following Mark Thomas's excellent documentary on the company last night.
Then I got deeply annoyed for a moment about the money-grabbing bastards who manage Amy Winehouse and are still shoving her on stage like some form of performing fucking monkey (or gilt-egg-laying goose) when the poor lass is an emotional, drug and booze-addled wreck with enough on her plate, including the plight of her husband, without having to dance to the tune of her puppeteer masters.
Finally, I thought I would try to be funny - there's always a first time - about something bizarre or offbeat in the news or my life...............but you really do have to be in the mood. The truth is, despite still drawing a blank in the job market and now being almost bankrupt, only one thing matters to me in life at this moment.

I am still nursing my beautiful dog Pad round the clock because he is in a bad way and his condition is beginning to really get me down.
I decided to try to do something positive and so today we actually left the house and went for a walk - well, a sort of stagger, really, but at least it was out!
We left the rest of the pack behind to spend some quality time together, just us two, and I think it bucked up Pad's spirits a bit.
We trundled around, we played hide and seek, we played football - a bit one-sided, it has to be said - and we said hello to all the birds. Then, when we came home, Pad had an orange (his second favourite thing in the world) and a carrot (his favourite thing in the world) and settled down for a nap before his tea.
It's back to the vet's on Thursday for a few more tests. He is losing weight dreadfully, in addition to his leg problems, and I have witnessed that decline before. I am pinning all my hopes on it not being cancer. I lost three dogs to that fucking illness 10 years ago!








Still, he's eating as normal and his conjunctivitis is clearing up and so it's not the end....it just feels like it.
Nothing for Grantham.