What
the hell ? You might be wondering what I'm blathering on about this week.
Well, ladies and gents, boys and girls, step right up , step right up,
this week we delve into the murky world of Britain's world famous sleazy
tabloids. No, I'm not talking about the Sun and its famous 'Page Three
Stunners', I'm talking about something which makes the aforementioned journal
as respected as The Wall Street Journal.
It's called the Daily Sport and the first sentence of this article is an actual recent headline from this bastion of ethical journalism and good taste. The Sport is not so much a newspaper as a daily sexual aid; liberally covered with the most sensationalist headlines and preposterously bosomed topless women - or 'glamour models' as they prefer to be called in these politically correct times. Take my hand, gentle reader, as we explore the muck raking world of the Sport by scanning a couple of recent issues - but avez la courage, mes amis, because it's not a pretty universe.
Let's see Page 2, 'BUST-IN FOR A PEE' screams the header in 72 point type. A drunken chef has apparently staggered home after a night out......and peed on the carpet. Unfortunately it was the wrong house. Hmmmmm.......let us continue. Page 5 sees a double spread which refers to the abovementioned front cover story - apparently about a little boy who had been turned into a fish finger by aliens last July. I'm not kidding you, that's what it says. After the airing of a TV documentary on The Sport, the aliens had apparently felt sorry and turned the fish finger back into a boy. Well thank God for that. His parents might have been tempted to keep him warm in the oven, mistaken him for an ordinary fish finger and then accidentally committed the most surreal case of manslaughter you've ever seen.
Actually, that story was a little out of the ordinary for the Sport, since most of the pieces seem to be about sex. While keeping in mind that this is a family newspaper, I'll try and give you a random sampling. STREET'S TINA LOST VIRGINITY UNDER JOHN TRAVOLTA ! screams a story about a minor star from British soap opera 'Coronation Street' , which apparently implies that it was Travolta who was her first lover. On closer inspection it turns out that her first time was merely under a poster of Travolta.
Ho hum. Hello, this looks a little more interesting. LESBO WIFE BEGGED ME TO JOIN KINKY SEX ROMP WITH VICAR. Pretty much says it all really. What I found hilarious was the line in the article that announced with typical British understatement (lacking in all other parts of the Sport) that the vicar was accused of 'improper familiarity' with another parishioner. Cor blimey, guv'nor you don't say ? And on the very next page, the Sport trumpets WHY BRITAINS BABES WANT TO PICK UP A PARSON , revealing EXCLUSIVELY that churchmen are top of the list of most attractive men in Britain. Well, is it any wonder that so many of them are engaging in 'improper familiarity ' then ? And one more for good measure : EARS WHAT I THINK OF YOU LUGS is our introduction to the tasteful world of 'Wacky George Law who has built up the Britian's biggest collection of ear wax - and plans to polish his floors with it. Obviously the words 'Reckitt and Coleman' have no meaning for this man. All this and more in a week where the entire world economy threatened to go down the toilet faster than you can say Yamagichi, most of Western Australia got swallowed in bush fires and Saddamn Hussein threatened to start World War III. God have mercy on the readers of the Daily Sport if Armageddon approacheth. I wonder what the headline will be? NUZZLE OUR NUCLEAR LOVELIES !!! Turn to page three to see our stunnas this week model the sexiest anti-biological and chemical warfare suits around ...................
Why do friends and family get that quiz zical look on their faces when I talk of New Year resolutions? After all, I've been thinking of nothing else this past week, after the excitement of another Christmas has passed and the anticipation of a new year followed? Don't you make resolutions? Bet you do, even if you don't really want to admit it.
The way I look at it a New Year, please note the capital letters that signify the importance attached to it, is a time for starting afresh. Heaven knows I need these new beginnings. Overworked, overstressed,( I'm tempted to add overweight) but that would be stretching it, that's me. And there's no time like the New Year to put these bogies behind me.
Last year, I had three resolutions. We'll take them one by one. The first was that I would make a list of all the things that had to be done each day and do it that day itself. Now wasn't I pleased with that one. It would put an end to my nasty habit of procrastination. Sad to say I never learnt the value of that old adage 'A stitch in time saves nine' when I was a kiddo. The problem was that I was soon overrun by lists, Monday lists, Tuesday lists, Wednesday lists.. They fell out of my handbag at embarrassing moments, they haunted me at nights (Me who sleeps like a puppy who's had his bellyful). After three weeks of writing lists faithfully each morning and totting them up at night, getting daily more alarmed by the larger sum of things undone, I decided, no, this list business didn't work.
Resolution No 2 involved remembering birthdays and anniversaries. Problem is I usually have all these dates fixed in my head but getting round to buying cards and sending them off in time was the biggest hurdle. Last year I had marginal success with this one, thanks to that wonderful invention the e-mail. Even for those who can't tell a modem from a mouse, this is a heaven sent help and soon I had reconciled with lots of long-lost relatives all scattered around the globe. So there.
Resolution No 3. Now that's the one I'm kind of cagey about revealing. You see, it has to do with this problem of weight. Having long lost that sylph-like figure, last year I vowed that I would lose those extra bulges. With iron determination I sailed past the array of temptation at those dinner buffets and cocktail spreads. But a week later I decided, blame it on the family, that they'd rather have a slightly out of shape but sunny natured individual around than the nasty meanie I was becoming as a result of the diet. Not only was I spoiling all their fun at mealtimes, but they felt bad to indulge in those sinful chocolates we all love near me. So here I am at the beginning of another New Year, still vowing to make those resolutions and keep them. Call me an incurable optimist or a silly fool but a New Year's not complete without a resolution or two to go with it. This year will be different. Remind me of it in 1999, will you?
Continue to Mirror Magazine page 2 * 'My life as Santa' * The trouble with teens and resolutions
Please send your comments and suggestions on this web site to
info@suntimes.is.lk or to
webmaster@infolabs.is.lk