Mwa, Mwa!!

"Just shut up twining and show us yer Globes!"


What is an actor? Come on! Tell me! What is an actor? I'll tell you what an actor is. It's a person who dresses up, puts on makeup and pretends to be someone else. When five-year-old girls do this with their mum's shoes, clothes and lippy in front of the dressing table mirror it is quite rightly regarded as cute, charming and a wholly acceptable ritual on the path to maturity. How then should we regard this behaviour when it is exhibited by an adult? FUCKING DISTURBING, that's how!!

Be honest, if your other half came down to breakfast dressed as Lord Cardigan and started bellowing about cannons to the right and cannons to the left would you toss a bouquet in their direction and shout "Encore! Encore!! Magnificent, darling. A tour de force! Such a brave and inspirational performance"? No you fucking wouldn't! You'd pick up the phone pretty damn sharpish and tell the receptionist at the local loony bin that your Kevin had thrown one again and to get to blokes in white coats round asap!

What else do these retards do? Well, they learn, parrot-fashion, words written by someone talented and then, at a given cue, spew them back. For this "act" of genius they are hailed as gods! THEY don't write the words. THEY don't craft the story. THEY don't conjure up the comedy. THEY don't carve out the tragedy and melodrama - and yet THEY are the ones praised and hailed as superheroes. This is the only trade in the world where this happens. I mean, when Albert Einstein first wrote down E = MC-squared, was it the bloke who sharpened his fucking pencil who was credited with discovering the link between mass and energy, so ushering in the nuclear age? No! That bloke went on sharpening fucking pencils for the rest of his miserable, pathetic, fruitless fucking life until he died a sad, lonely and unmarked death. Quite right too!

Anyway, whatever happened to the good old days? In days of yore, when thesps and jesters were summoned to entertain the king, what happened if their performances went down like a pork pie in a synagogue? Did they get an ascerbic review in The Times? Did The Stage carry a piece criticising their commitment? No! They got fucking executed, that's what! Hang some sense into them, that's what I say!

All this brings me to last night's ferago - The Oscars. Film makers, directors and technical bods were rewarded for their efforts. Ok, at least they have a modicum of talent. I might not insist on them being tethered to posts in the middle of a field as the firing squad takes aim come the glorious revolution.......but the actors? To hear Kate fucking Winslet accept her textured golden dildo you'd think she'd discovered bastard penicillin!! Jesus H Christ!! Get a fucking grip, woman!! Someone's given you a tacky, fucking ornament for pretending to be someone else!! Get this in perspective, girl!

Acting is a trade, nothing more, nothing less, and not a particularly skilled one at that, so why, oh why, is so much fucking fuss made over the insecure, self-obsessed congealed masses of sputum who practise it? Look at it another way. If we're going to make this much fuss over the annual trade awards to thesps, then why don't we have similarly elaborate spectaculars for other trades?........................

MC: "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Adelphi Baths, Maccelesfield, for the 2008 Gas Fitting and Plumbing Supplies Awards!!
"Yes, this is the one you've all been waiting for - who will take away one of those famous and coveted pewter Plunger awards tonight....................?
"And the winner of the Intermediate Apprentice-Level S-Joint and Extruded Pipe Extension Mold Installation Award is............Kevin Sidebotham!!!!"

TV Commentary: "And here he comes, wearing a stunning boiler suit and rubber boot-combo, making his way up the famous red lino to the trestle table in front of the stage, pausing only for a quick snap in front of the photographer from the East Cheshire and District Pipe Benders Gazette."

Kevin: "Oh God! Well....oh dear, what can I say? I just SO wasn't expecting this. Oh no! I can't believe it. Thank you SOOOO much!! To think, when I was a little boy, dreaming of getting a start in the world of domestic plumbing supplies, I would stare into the bathroom mirror and rehearse this acceptance speech, using a shampoo bottle in place of a pewter Plunger. Well, it's not a shampoo bottle anymore! This is it!!!"

MC: "Fuck off, Kev. The buffet's open." etc, etc, etc, etc.

Actors? Scum of the earth. They can all fuck off to Grantham.

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.