Archive | June, 2010

Davina, I Care.

17 Jun

I have to discuss this now because I feel like this is the right time of year.  I’ve come to realise that I have an enormous irk.  It seems really silly but it agitates me no end and that friends, is when people bad mouth Davina McCall.  I don’t know if you’ve watched this TV show, it’s on the television and it’s called Big Brother.  Davina presents it.  This programme is fairly distasteful.  All it really consists of is the UK’s biggest morons running around a house like a bunch of hyperactive chicken drumsticks. I’d say that Davina does a pretty good job of jazzing it up.  Not only does she nail presenting, but she also holds grand rank as my God Sister.  What in hells bells is a God Sister I hear you ask? Well, this one time my parents joined a cult…

…Just kidding gang!

No really.  It means that we share a God Father, Colin, who is this tough old bag that lives in Fulham.  The other day I visited Colin in Fulham and he told me that the police had found a dead body wrapped in a shower curtain under next door’s patio.  Yes! A murder mystery! Not in Wisteria Lane! In Fulham! Put that in your back pocket Hackney.  Anyway, I digress. Colin, Davina and I, we’re like a sub family.  If anything were to happen to Davina’s or my parents, god forbid, Colin would be in charge of us and we would live off sardines and marmalade until the end of time. Looking at this though, I don’t think Davina eats that much anyway. Look at that for a rejection! She’s pushing away Colin’s sardines and marmalade in disgust.

Because the UK is as boring as an old squash, often there is little to talk about other than the TV.  This is when the conversation turns to Davina. Most people think she’s ‘annoying’ or ‘over the top’ or ‘acts like a small child with ADD has taken residence inside of her and exploded’. That last one’s a little unfair don’t you think?  All I can do when this happens is look at my shoes.  As much as Davina is my goddam sister, at this point, I don’t want to explain the family connection and make the other want to look at their shoes as well.  So I leave it, and take one for team Davina.

BUT. Remember that time when Peter Pan told us that every time a child says they don’t believe in fairies, there’s a little fairy somewhere that falls down dead? Yes? Well. Every time someone calls Davina ‘annoying’ look at what happens to her.  Look. LOOK!!! This is overpowering me right now.

Do you really want to be responsible for this? Do you? When the words are stewing in the big word pot in your brain, remember this image. Tie a knot in your mean pipes and clamp your mouth shut.

I love Davina because she’s pretty darn fun. She used to date Eric Clapton of Clapton-On-Sea when she was 19 and was one of those mad 80’s MTV kids who took so much coke on air, they all (apart from Davina) ended up with faces that look like a gnarled old piece of bark.  Contrary to popular belief, she was not a prozzer. FACT (alright Holly and Dave you pair of pizza orbs??).  Look how much that old pervert Dermot loves her!

I know what you’re thinking. Everyone looks good next to Dermot.  He’s like an overgrown bear chubb.

Once, she wrote me this note on a card that looked something like this:

Is it me, or does she look like an Eastern European car trader? Who wears a polo neck, underneath a leather blazer with lapels THAT POINTY? Who wears a leather blazer full stop? Those things are awful. Honestly Davina.  Anyway, the note said something like ‘I remember when your dad used to call me Shark…’ then I think she said something about how much she liked Jamie Oliver’s cooking…Why would she say that? I don’t know. I remember thinking, ‘who in god’s kitchen is Jamie Oliver? Why does he have two first names? What the fuck is going on here Davi?’

My brain boggles as to why people feel the need to talk out of their business ends about Davina.  It’s not cool and it’s not funny. It’s sad. Like I am when I have to listen to that crap. So remember what I said and remember the picture of her bleeding throat.  It’s just a little something for you to stew on. For now.


WAG- Way (to) Aggravate Georgie

14 Jun

Patriotism has vomited over my building.

Bono lives in that flat on the top right. On Saturday afternoon he came out onto his balcony, shirtless, Stella in hand, and gave a touching rendition of ‘Beautiful Day’. When he finished, he smoked a B&H and then spat over the railings.

That was a good day.

And to think people pay to see him live? And to think I pay to live here? And to think Donatella Versace paid to look like that? And to think Sting is an international hero for paying attention to the oil slick? And to think I pay someone to write this blog? And to think Paypal? And to think Obama paid our goal keeper to let one through the net on Saturday?

Ouch. Too soon?

Break it Down

6 Jun

Look at my sick new layout. Jelly in your FACE!

On Saturday mornings I listen to pop music.  I switch between Capital and Kiss and when I’m back at home, a new station that’s on 103.2fm (check it).  When one station plays adverts, I switch and listen to the other, and when that one plays ads, I switch back, and so on and so forth until I die. I do this because I have a sense of loyalty to the former me who used to be so on it with current music that I could probably name every number one single from 1998-2002. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.  I also vowed never to become one of those out of touch losers who just had no idea who B*Witched were.

What? You absolutely know who they are.

Let’s just get one thing straight, pop music is not what it used to be when everything was blamed on the weatherman.  For example, I totally get what Ke$ha is saying: “Stop talk talk talking that blah blah blah/not in the back of my car ah ah”. Seriously, these are pretty good lyrics- she’s just telling her boyfriend to pipe down in the back so she can dance. This whole song is just way too much fun!

But wait a minute, what’s that you say Ke$ha? You wanna dance with no pants on? Don’t be a little bitch with your chit chat, just show me where your dick’s at? Urrr…not in my Ford Mondeo you won’t young lady.  Excuse me if I say holy smoke Johnny Vaughan, why are you playing me this filth while I’m trying to concentrate on eating my porridge?  Not that I’m against this; GOD NO. I’ve had boyfriends that talk shit the whole time, I just don’t authorise shutting them up by piling on the pressure to give me one on the back seat. What the $?

Also, I don’t understand the names of half these modern musicians and quite frankly, I prefer ignorance. I know there is one called Big Boi, whose name I can only assume substitutes the size of his genitalia and then there is Tinie Tempah who got angry because he forgot how to spell.  I have also heard some great tunes by B.O.B and LMFAO but I need a goddamn dictionary to crack these ones.  Seriously though, what in fresh hell does all this mean? Do the letters even stand for anything? Have I become my own worst nightmare not knowing all of this? What the fuck is going on here?

Last night was the first Saturday night that I’ve stayed at home in about 8 years. After watching my neighbour’s BBQ on the pavement, which I thought was a pretty innovative dining; I decided that to make me less of a failure in life, I need to get a new name. As I mentioned above, titles and abbreviations are apparently in, so here are some cool ones that I came up with for myself last night:


Georgie BOOM!

Oran Gina

O M Georgie

Jelly & Ice Ice Baby

Gee Whiz


G- block

Got Jelly?

Pop a Cap in Yo G- String

Hard to Believe I’m this Great

Get me a Strobe Light

Get Georgie or Get Gone

Shots Fo Sho

Taylor Swift Eat Your Heart Out

Hey Ho, Geo

Wave Goodbye to another Boyfriend

Say Hello to Chardonnay

Not on the Backseat

Tinie Brayn

G.A.S.H (remember?)

Yo Gabba Gabba

Any more suggestions are welcome…