Wednesday, 31 December 2008

Good-bye Kathy Staff - You Will Be Sadly Missed.

I have always believed that I was blessed with special powers, a seventh sense if you will. I posses the other six already, in abundance - taste, touch, sight, smell, sound, dress - but I have always felt I have a type of E.S.P.

This reared its mysterious head the other day when I was flicking through an old copy of Closer magazine by the indoor pool at Crusty Hall.

Loyal Crustettes will recall the revelations that Kerry Katona had 4 pints of fat sucked from her body. As a result she had developed a mum tum - a saggy, wrinkly gut to a layman. The magazine even printed a picture so its readers could understand the problem she faces.

Anyhoo.... I was looking at the picture and was just thinking how much her stomach looked like Nora Batty's stockings, when Chu Me broke the news to me that dear, beloved Kathy Staff had passed away!

This star of stage, screen and theatre was a sparkling diamond nested within a tray of cubic zirconia ... and Crusty, for one, will miss her - it truly feels like a member of the family has gone.

Kathy you have completed the rehearsal of life and moved to the grand production in the sky. Though Kerry Katona may have cellulite, you have a plethora of celluloid which will allow us to hold on to you and never allow you to be forgotten.

Tuesday, 30 December 2008

Colin Briggs & Mark Warr - Filling Crusty's Stockings

After breakfast on Christmas morning, Chu Me brought two sacks full of presents to my bedside. The sacks were filled to the brim of gifts from all the staff at Crusty Hall to their mistress.

I was shocked and surprised as Chu Me dragged them across the floor; more so because last year there were three! I could see some of the gifts were wrapped with silver paper, adequate enough for presentation to ones employer; others items, from the junior staff, were wrapped in pages from glossy magazines and tied up with shoelaces.

Oh God! It was going to be like a scene from Catherine Cookson's Rag Nymph (thankfully, the one and only time Jimmy Nail dragged up as bag lady Aggie Winkovski).

Still, I said nothing and thought that the staff have probably spent a little more of their wages on more lavish gifts, rather than presentation, hence the reduced number of sacks.

Crusty was wrong!

As I sat in my bed, opening parcel after parcel and hurling them, effortlessly, across the room into the large crackling fire, I began to feel no one understood Dame Crusty's needs at all.

Chu Me must have noticed me slipping into an abyss of misery. He gently placed his little hands on my own and asked me to lie back, close my eyes and relax; he wanted to show me something he thought I would love to have.

A tingle ran up my spine at the thought of what my faithful houseboy was going to reveal to me.

When I was instructed to do so, I opened my eyes slowly and there, upon my 28 incher, was my darling Mark makes-my-mouth-water Warr!!

What manner of magic was this? It wasn't the right time of day!

Chu Me told me I could turn over if I wanted; he demonstrated, letting his little fingers push my buttons, and then ... Colin his-twinkle-makes-y'-tingle Briggs!!

My body quivered like Dame Birley Shassey's upper arms, as Chu Me explained that since having my box enhanced, he had taken the liberty of recording the news segments from breakfast TV; providing me with an on-demand facility to watch my favourite presenters where and when I wanted. He had even used a clever facility where the recordings could not be deleted accidentally.

He did apologise as he had accidentally recorded another presenter in error, but as he took me to the snippet I discovered it was little Richard Thomas; I forgave him immediately. Though, Richard will never replace my affections for my two little poppets, he is what the children of the street call ... buff ... and one can never have too much eye-candy around one.

I felt like embracing Chu Me to show my appreciation, but he's staff and one mustn't do that sort of thing - it's just not good breeding - so instead, I promised him another two chickens for his coop and a blanket for his cock and sent him away, instructing him to cancel all my public engagements for the next week so I could bathe in the glory of my presenter pin-ups.

Saturday, 27 December 2008

A Shoe Is Not Just For Christmas, President Bush!

Chef emailed Dame Crusty today from his family home in Italy; he was very concerned I wasn't receiving the nourishment I required.

I emailed him to put his mind at rest and told him how Chu Me was always managing to whip up something to put between my lips and munch on.

He attached a small link to his email. It is something I would love to share with my little Crustettes.

You will recall, not long ago, a young gentleman took off his shoe during a press conference and through it at Mr.Bush. I, for one, put down my gin bottle, sighed and wished that I had thought of that while we have been attending the same public functions... well now you can.

Chu Me and I have been playing it for hours...just click here and pick a shoe.

Friday, 26 December 2008

Christmas Breakfast at Crusty Hall

Christmas is a special time at Crusty Hall. As a sign of my appreciation, I like to give the household staff a short break to enjoy some quality time with their families and loved ones. I always feel they then have a greater understanding of how lucky they are when they return to work at Crusty Hall and remember what life could have been like for them.

One person who refuses to leave my side, however, is my faithful houseboy, Chu Me. His loyalty and devotion runs deep and Dame Crusty could not ask for more.

This year Chu Me took up a new hobby; keeping chickens - something to remind him of life in the village where he was brought up, in a land far, far away – so I give him a small plot of land against the stable block to build a coop.

On Christmas morning, I awoke to a gentle tapping on my bedroom door. Chu Me entered with a little glint in his eye. He said he was eager to give Dame Crusty a special little something for Christmas, while she was still in bed…

…A delicious plate of fresh scrambled eggs, courtesy of his chickens.

I was delighted and clapped my hands vigorously with excitement as I straightened my silk sheets in preparation, as Chu Me headed off on his quest.

From my bedroom window I could see Chu Me entering his special little place by the stable block .

It always gives Crusty a warm feeling inside when I see him gently cupping his eggs in the palm of his hand, dropping them into a basket, then firmly holding his cock, stroking it and giving its head a little kiss to say thank you.

His breakfast was a triumph and I can’t remember the last time I tasted something as delicious and creamy. It was the perfect start to my Christmas Day.

Tuesday, 23 December 2008

Eastenders - Bradley and Stacey Splash Out

A week ago, Chu Me convinced me to have my box seen to.

Late at night, when he has free time and nothing much to do with his hands, he explained he likes to watch many of the specialist channels on Sky. He has always maintained a healthy fascination in such subjects, since I took him under my wing, and that is certainly clear when I come to pay his credit card bill each month.

He always looks sheepish when he brings his statement to me but I don’t even look at it and reassure him I have no objections, whatsoever, to paying for his personal development. After all, even staff must have a hobby.

Anyhoo ... he explained Sky+, the wonderful new facility you have to record your programs and even freeze live shows with the aid of something hard inside your box, without the need for a video recorder.

At first, Crusty (not technically minded at all) did not believe such a thing was possible – it sounded like a flight of fancy from an episode of Star Trek. However, I arranged for an engineer to come and put whatever he needed into my box to satisfy my faithful houseboy.

The proof of the pudding was going to be my first recording. The engineer and Chu Me had both told me how simply it was to use and I’m quite sure Chu Me found it simple as the week went on, as he had spent considerable time in his private quarters using it to record, play and rewind his specialist programs over and over again. The panting and gasps of excitement emanating from his room proved he must have grasped it.

I had set aside a specific window of time on the Saturday evening to write out my Christmas cards to my many Crustettes, scattered across the four corners of the globe. After half and hour, the recipient’s cards I had not been able to complete, I would put to one side and they may have a little more luck next year.

Overlapping this allotted window was TV Outtakes with that old chestnut, Anne Robinson - I have always had a soft spot for this vicious little minx and the contrast between her taught, youthful face and the rest of her has recently proved fascinating.

Later that evening, I went to watch my recording and SUCCESS!!! The picture quality was far improved from that of my previous model – in fact it was a little too good and the sight of dear Anne stood there in her bright red frock was quite frightening - although when she opened her mouth to speak, it did remind me to post the cards I had written earlier.

The recording was perfect and there was no need to use the rewind/fastforward facility as the programme makers had already done that for us with clever editing to stretch a few of the same outtakes over the duration of the programme.

It wasn’t the best episode I’ve seen but it certainly showed me the wonders of Sky+. Though I must admit, Crusty couldn’t stop chuckling to herself at the sight of Eastender’s Bradley fiddling with Stacey’s cherries in Dot’s kitchen and having to splatter his cream all over her hands, arms and, at one point, her hair again and again and again.

The poor dear must have been exhausted!

Sunday, 21 December 2008

Dannii - Fan of Formula One

I noticed those lovely people at my new bible for gossip, Closer, have given Danniiiiii Minge (sorry, my keyboard's sticking) her very own column - actually, it's a full page in this issue but in fairness the majority of the page is covered by pictures.

One of those pictures is of Danniiiii sitting on the side of a Formula 1 racing car, quite animate from the top lip down, and a small piece to the side, telling us what a fan of the sport she is.

Show Crusty a picture of you flying over the bonnet, dear, then you will have grabbed my interest!

Saturday, 20 December 2008

Unsolicited Sales Calls - A Solution Doomed!

I don’t know about my dear Crustettes, but I have been getting increasingly annoyed by the number of unsolicited calls I have been receiving on the land line at Crusty Hall; Everyone is trying to offer me their wares; if it’s not double glazing, then it’s insurance or mobile phones.

The latter recently caused an incident that made Crusty chuckle loudly.

It all began when Chu Me had a member of his family visiting Crusty Hall. She was only here for a week and he felt she may get bored sitting in her suite with nothing to do – he’s often very considerate like that. He approached me as I was in the study having a good grope inside my box – this is where Chu Me puts all the correspondence I need to address that day and all the necessary background on places I am to visit during the course of my public duties – and asked if I would be gracious enough to allow her to join the staff.

At first I was a little concerned; her grasp of the English language was limited – her words on meeting me were, “Your nice Lady” - and I have to confess, I had seen brighter people working at my local MacDonald’s.

Anyhoo…I posed Chu Me with the question of what job she could do in the household that would not interfere with the other staff. After a moment he suggested she could be a filter.

I could not recall Crusty Hall possessing a fish tank and the fountain in the drive had been turned off for the winter. Also looking at the dear girl, I thought nothing could pass through those pores and then he explained she could be a filter for the telephone calls received on the land line.

I feel our plan was doomed from the start; we decided that in order for me to forget she was there she would not relay the message verbally but merely write key words summarising the calls on A4 sheets of paper with a black marker. To gain my attention she was to stamp her foot twice on the oak floor. I would then read the words and if the call was of interest, I would gesture with my hand and the call would be passed to me. If not she was to hang up.

Everything was going to plan. I was sitting watching my daily dose of Jeremy Bile and the phone rang. The dear girl shot into action; marker at the ready and A4 sheets on stand by. I watched as her tongue hung out of the corner of her mouth, her head tilted and she stabbed away with her marker.

First sheet ..... YOUR

Second sheet ..... ORANGE

then the next ..... CONT

I immediately spat out a mouthful of gin, and scrambled for the lead crystal ashtray to my left and flung it across the room. It glistened as it flew past the window, shooting a myriad of rainbow coloured lights around the drawing room, until it arrived at its destination and bounced off her forehead with a loud crack.

It was like a Hollywood action movie – everything in slow motion; as I screamed, “B-I-T-C-H!”, her chair fell back with an almighty thud and after a moment of silence all that was to be seen were two pale, spindly legs sticking up from behind the desk with a pair of pink flip-flops loosely hanging from the toes.

I reflected at the rudeness of the girl as I hung up the receiver – a visitor I had invited into my Hall - then noticed the last piece of paper she had held in her hand - flung into the air as the projectile hit – floating down to the floor. As it landed by my foot I noticed the words RACT UP.

I methodically pieced together the clues and then the penny dropped and in an instant Crusty howled with laughter. As I settled back in front of Jeremy Bile, I took up my gin and one reflected how the funniest things happen when one least expects them.

Friday, 19 December 2008

Never Trust A Free Gift Wrap Service

A dear friend emailed this little story to Crusty the other evening. It is something I felt compelled to share with my Crustettes:

A young man called Chris from London wanted to buy a Christmas present for his new girlfriend.

They hadn't been seeing each other for very long and she lived in Scotland. Chris consulted with his sister and decided, after careful consideration, that a pair of good quality gloves would strike the right note… not too romantic and not too personal.

Off he went with his sister to Harrods and they selected a dainty pair of fur lined quality leather gloves. His sister bought a pair of sexy knickers for herself at the same time.

Harrods had a free gift wrap offer but the assistant mixed up the two items, the sister got the gloves and Chris, unknowingly, got the knickers. Good old Chris sent off his gift wrapped present in a parcel with the following letter....

Dear Maggie,

I chose these because I've noticed that you are not wearing any when we go out in the evenings.

If it had not been for my sister, I would have chosen the long ones with buttons, but she wears shorter ones (which are easier to remove).

These are a very delicate shade, but the lady I bought them from showed me the pair she had been wearing for the past three weeks and I hardly noticed any marks. I had her try yours on for me and she looked really smart in them even though they were a little bit tight on her.

She also said that they rub against her ring, which helps keep it clean. In fact she hasn't needed to wash it since she began wearing them!

I wish I was there to put them on for you the first time, as no doubt many other hands will touch them before I have a chance to see you again. When you take them off, remember to blow into them a little bit because they will be, naturally, a little damp from wearing.

Just imagine how many times my lips will kiss them during the coming year. I hope you will wear them for me on our next date.

All my love,

P.S. My mum tells me that the latest style is to wear them folded down with a little bit of fur showing.

Kerry Katona May Sing Again! Duet with Jason Donovan in the Pipeline.

On opening up my homepage on this wonderful laptop device, I was confronted by the news that Kerry Katona has suggested she may sing again!

Crusty does not need such shocking news flashed willy-nilly in front of her by Virginmedia, especially when she is still in a fragile state over the hateful, vindictive redundafying of her morning pin-up, Mark makes-y-mouth-water Warr.

Apparently Kerry has been inspired to kick-start her singing again because of the recent add campaign by Iceland - I understand that is a shopping facility for people of her breeding and not the bankrupt country.

She has told friends that she has had lots of compliments from people about her singing (they're medical staff, dear, the day centre pay them to say that sort of thing!), which in turn has restored her confidence.

If there is anything Dame Crusty can do to help knock it back down again, please let me know, as a matter of urgency.

I read in Closer, only last week, that after having 4 pints of fat sucked from her she was fighting to lose the resulting wrinkled skin around her stomach (If readers will excuse me a moment...I think Crusty has made herself sick!).

Take wise words from one who knows, poppet; Saggy skin removal, advertising boil-in-the-bag shite and a pop career are very dangerous when mixed and I do not feel you up to multi-tasking at the moment. Have a bag of crisps and watch a DVD instead

It was suggested that she may even pop up - or pop out, I'm unsure which - as a special guest on the up and coming Jason Donovan tour. Jason is rumoured to have said," She could be my next Kylie" (I think you'll need bigger hotpants, dear!).

Thursday, 18 December 2008

Victoria Beckham - Paranoia over lads nights out

You will remember that Crusty has been drawn to the world of gossip mags recently.

It had always held a fascination to me what poor people read to entertain and educate themselves and once the discovery was made, I must confess, Crusty managed to bring the gap between privilege and abject poverty just that little bit closer. In fact, since the revelations of the pit bull with the lipstick, who discovered her fiance was making merry with his best man, I have not been able to pass a gossip magazine without curiosity getting the better of me.

I was walking down Northumberland Street the other night , with members of my security team, when I saw a homeless gentleman huddled up near the doorway of Monument Mall. I noticed the corner of a page with the half-visible headline "Paranoid Posh warns David ... No more lads".

I was aroused; or rather my curiosity was.

The homeless person was asleep, so I ripped it from the inside of his trouser leg and saw the full title; Paranoid Posh warns David: No more lads nights out.

It would appear that fashion icon David has long been a friend of TV Chef Gordon Ramsay. The two have spent a lot of time together since David and Poshtoria moved to LA. The fear Poshtoria has is that, following the alleged affair Gordon had with some bring-and-buy-sell-it-and-tell-it female, Victoria is worried David will do the same.

I must confess, some time ago I was left with a void in my televisual viewing of an evening, when Jenny Barnett ended her run on Good Food Live. In its place we were subjected to Market Kitchen. This, in itself, was not a problem - the scrummy Matt Tebbut, Amanda Lamb (more recently) and surprisingly pleasing Tom Parker-Bowles all maintaining one's interest.

The downside for Dame Crusty was the inclusion of Tana Ramsay at its inception (wife of the aforementioned alleged scoundrel). On the personalityomoter, set at a very delicate and highly sensitive setting of zero to one, Mrs R struggled to make the needle twitch.

One night in the main drawing room I remember watching a delightful recipe, while Chu Me sat in the corner furiously rubbing something - I presume it was the silver but the bulb had blown next to the book shelves so I am unsure of the detail. I screamed at Chu Me " MY GOD! TANA'S FALLEN ON THE FLOOR!!".

Chu Me screamed and lept up; my heart was pounding and then I realised all was well; the chef had simply dropped his wooden spoon.

Poor Chu Me didn't know whether he was coming or going, I can tell you.

Marital problems are never a pleasant experience and I certainly hope Mr and Mrs Ramsay can solve any problems they have; I certainly hope it will not influence his preparation of my Creamy Drizzle the next time I visit his establishment.

I am quite sure the fashionably thin Tana will realise why he did what he did, if in fact he did do it with whom he is supposed to have done it with and all will be glorious in the garden of life once more.

Poshtoria, on the other hand, must realise that David is one of those creatures who is equally adored and lusted after by millions; by women and men alike, so she must feel resigned to feeling uncomfortable at any social function.

Just remember, dear, you both have been joined in matrimony under the eyes and blessing of the good Lord and have successfully continued to breed. Those things alone are special enough to create a life long bond.

Having said that, Crusty is always here if you need to talk.

Mark Warr - His light will shine for ever!

My darling Crustettes, you find Dame Crusty in a very distressed state this evening - I have been in a gin-soaked state of devastation since news filtered back.

Undercover members of my organisation have informed me, via Chu Me - they wear man-made fibres, therefore, are not permitted to enter Crusty Hall - that Tyne Tees Totty, Mark Warr, has been thrown under the axe of fate and has become a victim of the ITV cut backs!!!!

Each morning, as I prepare myself for the public duties I am obliged to endure each day, I glide between the pleasures of the Andy Williams of breakfast news - Sir Colin Briggs - and the Brad Pitt of Tyne Tees, Mark makes-y-mouth-water Warr. They are the Yin and Yang of morning television; Mark, the relaxed, casual informer on the events of the day and Colin providing the same but with a cheeky little glint in his eye and an air of mischief about him. Without one, there is simply no balance!

A member of my cleaning staff said to me, when I found out this crushing news,"Don't worry Mistress, there are plenty other presenters out there"; she tilted her head and smiled, ever so delicately.

Naturally, I slapped her across the dish with all the force I could muster and then sat her down by the dumb waiter - he stood up and went into the ballroom, clearly sensing trouble.

I placed my tumbler on the table at my side.

"Let me explain the world to you, my dear. Mr. Warr is a professional, with the striking good looks of a Jean Paul Gautier eau de toilette advertisement; to try and enlighten you on what he does for Dame's... hard! Sir Colin is ...well ...imagine, if you will, a bitterly cold morning; one wakes up freezing, with your teeth (and then I looked closer)...your tooth ... chattering. The ice is covering the ground outside like an Ikea perspex coaster and the frost is clinging to the council estate's roof tops just as your uniform clings to you. Sir Colin's spot, on the half hour, transports your mistress in front of a magical fireplace, where flames lick away in front of her, wrapping her in a faux-fur blanket of luxuriousness and just makes her feel warm and snuggly and prepared for her day."

I could see she didn't comprehend the gravity of the situation and, taking my tumbler back in my hand, instructed Chu Me to take her away and find her a position more suitable outside in the grounds.

So now we have the slick, natty delivery on the BBC of Sir Colin twinkle-and-y-tingle Briggs, but have to endure the Tyne Tees update with presenters who look like they are just about to be hit by a Hummer and do not have Mark's finesse. From this point forth, my public duties will be hell; however, I will continue, as I must, with a spring in my step and a smile on my face and only reveal my true pain behind the closed doors of my boudoir.

Tyne Tees executives....may your Christmas turkeys be undercooked and may Santa never fill your stockings. You have made an enemy of Crusty and one day I will let you feel my wrath.

Sir Colin... darling Mark... may you both prosper and soon bring harmony to our screens again.

Sunday, 14 December 2008

Girls Aloud Party

When I received my invitation to attend the Girls Aloud Party (televised last night), I couldn't find the words to respond I just didn't go. I have to say that the decision was the right one.

What a pile of plastic, poptastic poo!

The party proved - although I saw no drinks or nibbles anywhere - beyond a shadow of doubt, that you can make millions of Her Majesty's pounds by clattering around a stage in frilly frocks, stillies and lip gloss and with very little else. Apart from a couple of the girls who managed to hit various notes throughout the shindig - Cheryl y'nailed it Cole not being one of them - the rest were as badly tuned as the hedge trimmer Chu Me uses on my bikini line.

And isn't it ironic that Mrs. Cole - whose singing was flatter than Brie Van Der Kamp's chest - could mentor someone as knicker-wettingly good as Alexandra Burke?

Girls Aloud? I suggest you turn it back down, dears!

Alexandra Burke - A Star is Born

Well I don't know about anyone else, but I was glued ...GLUED to my chaise-lounge last night as I watched the X-factor final.

Crustettes will have realised a long time ago that I was not particularly enamoured by Eeyore Squiggles and I had prayed all week, while performing my public duties, that the British public would not let me down and vote for him because he was, allegedly, cutsie-wutsie in a granny-adoring-her-grandson-kind-of-way. His mediocre, Karaoke-influenced style on the songs he chose was pretty piss-poor, especially when he sang that "American Classic" from a few weeks ago; you remember, the classic from High School Musical.

In this final week, the contestants went home one last time before the result and Eeyore, in particular, was overwhelmed. There were crowds following him everywhere he went and thousands were crammed into the street outside his house. Crusty was convinced it was a happy occasion - she didn't see a single person wearing a balaclava.

Eeyore told us in his sweet little accent "I couldn't believe it! There were girls crying when I went on the stage"; Crusty can empathise with them, dear, each week you have been on, I too have been in tears...and screaming at Chu Me, "Make him stop! Make him Stop!"

JLS have now fully grown and their harmonies were nipple-tweakingly superb and when those little hotties were molesting us with their eyes as they sang Last Christmas, I couldn't help but rip my blouse open and expose my cleavage to the screen. By the end of the competition, I think poor little Aston was simply exhausted; I just wanted to clutch him to my ample bosom and breastfeed him all night.

I do feel, however, that poor JLS and Eeyore got the short end of the stick with their famous guests; Westlife and Boyzone. Compared to Beyoncé for Alexandra? Behind the scenes the poor boys must have been thinking, "Shit! She's got a legend and we've got frikkin' Chaz and Dave!"

Which neatly brings me on to Her Serene Highness Alexandra Burke....What a star!! Every single song performed to perfection and the duet with Beyoncé ...well ... I cannot find the words; my jaw dropped open, my eyes were out on stalks, my downstairs area was moist and quivering with excitement and I nearly dropped my Gin.

No matter what happens now both Alexandra and JLS have incredible futures mapped out in front of them and when they have earned sufficient money - an amount I deem acceptable - they will always be welcome to enter my humble Crusty Hall should they be passing.

As for Diana-Vickers-rhymes-with-knickers and Eeyore Squiggles ... I believe MacDonalds are on a recruitment drive ... a Big Mac and small fries for Chu Me, please!

Tuesday, 9 December 2008

Jordan - I Want More Surgery

I don't know whether one believes everything one reads in the gossip mags, but I saw recently that Jordan was wanting, desperately, to get rid of the fat off her back....

You married him, dear ... do what you like, as long as I don't have to read about it in Hello!

Diana Vickers - Spoilt, Sore Loser? ...Discuss.

While I was scooping some cat poop out of the litter tray this evening, I noticed a print out from The Sun's website of an article about Diane Vickers-rhymes-with-knickers; no doubt Chu Me's idea of recycling.

Apparently the tatty-haired banshee threw a bit of a wobbler, after the show last week, at Cheryl Y'Nailed-it Cole.

Curiosity got the better of me and I scraped the litter from the rest of the story and read on. Apparently the national treasure - [does that mean we can bury her? ]- had selected the wrong songs for the pop tart to sing.

DVRWK had wanted to leave last week, as she felt she wasn't going to win - [you don't say!]-but X-Factor bosses stopped her. If only Crusty had been there, she would have pulled the executives to one side, lovingly reached out her arms to the spoilt little princess and mustered up some soothing and motivational words ...such as ..."Here's a tenner for the taxi, Chicken!"

Ms Vickers evidently knew she had reached her peak....squeak, more like!

Monday, 8 December 2008

X Factor - Good-bye Diana

There is a God!

Diana Vickers-rhymes-with-knickers has FINALLY been hoofed off the show; though it was a close call. I certainly wish I was wearing my steel toe capped stilettos and given the chance to help her off the stage, the screeching, pipe-punctured banshee.

Alexandra blew Crusty's gusset wide open with both her songs as I had expected...if she doesn't win, I'll eat Chu Me's smalls!

JLS had also found harmony and, on the night, had managed to come together ....oooh err missus, the picture in my mind....Dirty Crusty! ...Dirty Whore!

Eeyore managed two mediocre songs with his usual army of backing singers to hide his weak vocals. I don't know what it is about Eeyore; I think all the old dears out there in voting land and ASBO laden youngsters are voting for him - the latter, probably on mobile phones they've nicked - because he's young and, if you squint, blink your eyes fast enough and turn down the contrast on the TV, cute in a unwanted-puppy kind of way.

Surely the idea of an X-Factor winner is to have a legion of fans and admirers; young teenage girls who lust after them, put posters up and stroke them each time they go past; small boys having a discrete knuckle -shuffle at semi-naked pictures in gossip magazines, while their mothers are doing the hoovering. Well when one is reading such a magazine one certainly would feel uncomfortable fingering away with little Eeyore splashed in front of one... it would be perverse and, I suspect, illegal! So that's it settled, Eeyore can not win the competition.

My little Crustettes must decided between the gorgeous Alexandra or JLS, although I would like the boys to be returned, naked, to my boudoir before midnight please - we have some recording to do with my new video camera.

Friday, 5 December 2008

Karen Matthews - Guilty

As I sit here, in Crusty Hall, reading the summary of recent news stories typed out by my faithful houseboy, Chu Me, I am pleased to see that Karen Matthews, mother (using the term loosely) of Shannon Matthews and human Panda, has been found guilty in her trail for the kidnap of her daughter.

I always thought there was something stranger about Karen, 33 (yeah...right!). It wasn't just the bags under her eyes, the very strange accent - which she should have really kept to herself, or the fact that the only image I can remember of her was her trussed up in a Parker that was two sizes too small.

I remember watching a programme while the whole malarkey was going on; it was a documentary following the "heartache" of the family during the search for Shannon. Most of the documentary was filmed at the home of the family. I never knew that so much synthetic fibre could gather in one place without a serious static-electric tragedy....but apparently so.

Owld baggy eyes was scuttling about in the nerve centre of the search (i.e. the lounge) and in the distance I could see the....the ..... what is the collective?.... the skid-mark of chavs entering the kitchen for another can of cheap lager from the top of the microwave. Yes, every conceivable style of ill-fitting, nylon tracksuit was on display that night, finished off by that icon of fashion, the Burberry baseball cap.

But praise be to God, the documentary finished on the conclusion of the scandal, that is, up to that moment when Shannon was found.

What more fitting end to such a gripping documentary than the sight of all the neighbours - still adorned in synthetics and with some fat bloke - who looked like he should own a kebab shop - celebrating with a community hug around an open fire/gas barbecue, miming and crying to Westlife's cover of Michael Bublé's " Home".

Crusty has never prayed so hard for a gas bottle to develop a leak, reach out to a naked flame with open arms and solve a social housing crisis in one fell swoop in all her life, than she did that night.

Tuesday, 2 December 2008

My Fiancé's Secret Sex With Our Best Man - A Revelation

I have always been fascinated by the myriad of glossy magazines one finds on the shelves of our local newsagents.

In the early part of November, I was relaxing in my hairdressers, having my roots done, when I came across one I had never seen before; It was Love It! Real life and Celebs...well, I mean, one couldn't just leave it lying there. My curiosity got the better of me and I picked it up to read the shocking revelations graphically spelt out in My Fiancé's Secret Sex With Our Best Man, which had teased me onthe front cover.

The story revolves around a heartbroken bride-to-be, who meets up with the love of her life in a local pub, which he runs, "surrounded by pork scratchings and soggy beer mats" - a heady utopia of romance if ever there was one.

The woman of our story, Lisa gives us a Barbara Cartlandian account of her new beau, Daniel, eyeing up her bottom, which was squeezed into super-tight skinny jeans, though... in fairness, I have seen her photograph and I'm not convinced they were meant to be that style, especially with unlimited pork scratchings to hand.

Some strange things happened during their courtship; none more so than when delectable Danny reached over and smoothed the hair from her face...or on her face... forgive me, I was speed reading. Apparently, this gave young Lisa goosebumps and caused our hero of the piece to recoil back, apologise, and stare at the sticky carpet!

Goodness me! I don't know what the poor girl managed to secrete from her person to cause such stickiness but my sympathy lies with the cleaners on that one, dear.

Anyhoo....there was a lot of finger entwining and cupping of faces (with clearly very big hands) and our couple ended up in Dan-Dan's immaculately made double bed. She trembled beneath her stallion, as he covered every inch of her body with tender kisses. Again, having seen her picture, I can imagine it was after 16 hours and after developing very sore lips he eventually made passionate love to her in every position available; she had so much fun finding out the "little things" about the Danmeister....although, Crusty suspects he hadn't looked upon his thing as being that little before then.

After only a short courtship of 6 months, Lisa, was proposed to by our hero. She was overcome with a million bubbles of excitement bursting in her tummy (that's wind, dear!) and spent the next few weeks flashing her ring to everyone.

Arrangements were planned, guests were invited, dresses were ordered - though at this stage, only for the Bride and not the Groom - and things were just peachy.

Then the villain of our story enters to whisk our hero off on a Stag Party. While Lisa admits to drifting off to sleep and dreaming of tiaras, our hero and his best friend were at it like rabbits.

Next morning, Daniel decided to come clean and, well, Lisa threw a hissy-fit. She screamed at him pounding his chest..or her chest... probably hers (wasn't she in King Kong?) you can imagine, things just went from bad to worse; a million thoughts whizzed through her mind...and with the millions of exploding bubbles already in her stomach, this girl had problems, I can tell you.

Lisa, ran away through a pub, which "wobbled" in front of her eyes; a place where she thought she's spend the rest of her life: Whether it was new-build, I'm uncertain but I would recommend someone seeing to those walls urgently if they wobble that much.

All plans were cancelled and Lisa called the dress shop to explain the wedding was off. The shop owner made "soothing noises" (I will leave that to the imagination of my little Crustettes) and then told her she won't getting a refund -I suspect her noises changed at that point!

Anyhoo...none of them speak to each other now - surprise, surprise - but Lisa did call by to see the villain of the piece and confront him at his front door. The beast couldn't say anything and was described as simply scuffing the ground with his socked feet (if the socks are that hard, I think they have been worn long enough, don't you?) and managed to say it was just a moment of madness under the influence of alcohol. Although, having seen the photo of our victim adorned in cream wedding dressery and posing with her full arm tattoo on full display and LOVE and sorry....LEFT and RIGHT tattooed on her hands I would rather suspect that on his last night of freedom, Daniel wanted something a tad more feminine to say goodbye to singledom.

I had pondered on whether or not to include a photo of our victim in this piece but after several minutes decided not to; I would prefer it if my readers could conjure up their own images from the descriptions within the piece. Needless to say, the words going through Dame Crusty's mind as I look at her photograph are ....lipstick .....and .......Pitbull.

So...that is it...the story the time I reached the last paragraph my hair looked like Cleo Lane's; four pages of pain and hate had shot through my follicles and it's going to take weeks to repair.

Where our characters goes on from here I do not know but Crusty wishes them well. Crusty also wishes to thank Love It for nearly blowing her tights off with this exclusive.

Nicola McLean leaves the IACGMOOH Jungle

Once I again I was distracted tonight; this time I was replacing the strips of wall paper in the bathroom, which my little Crustettes will remember were removed as a result of the Sack-Back-and-Crack incident last night.

As a result, I completely forgot about the program, I'm A Celebrity. During the last 10 or so minutes, Chu Me, came running up the stairs screaming, "Dame Crusty, Dame Crusty, Jungle Celebrity Get Me Out !!!"

By the time the TV had warmed up I only saw the McLean woman crossing the bridge and heard the words of cheeky little Ant McPartlin, "Well she had kangaroo testicles and crocodile feet and now she's on her way out!"

I felt sorry for the poor girl...I only thought she had problems with her tits!

A Christmas Poem

Christmas comes but once a year.....
And Santa should be shot!
His reindeers served with red wine sauce,
Not one....the bloody lot!
And at the bottom of our chimney,
I’ll place some broken glass,
So jolly, happy Santa
Will lacerate his ass.
Yes, I will strive to put a stop
To his annoying “Ho! Ho! Ho!”
Because I hate the big, fat hairy get,
And all the world shall know.
But in keeping with tradition,
And by the fireside,
I’ll still place, oh so lovingly -
- But laced with cyanide,
A little glass of sherry
And a booby-trapped mince pie,
So upon his initial nibble,
It will blow up in his eye.
And to double my pleasure…two for one,
I’ll electrify my roof,
And frazzle Rudolph and his mates,
With the slightest touch of hoof.
As the power surge flickers the neighbour’s lights,
I’ll gleefully leap and bound
And marvel at the clanking noise
As their antlers hit the ground!!!

Monday, 1 December 2008

Brian Paddick - Out of the Jungle

I was in the bathroom earlier, following the instructions of a DIY Sack-Back-and-Crack Wax Kit - rather unsuccessfully I might add...all I managed to remove was two rolls of wallpaper and a soap dish - when my faithful houseboy Chu Me came in to tell me Brian Paddick had been voted out of the I'm A Nobody, Please Find Me a Future jungle.

Despite my good friend, Lady Ophelia Buttocks, recommending me to view this show I had failed to do so, but having watched the highlights and seen former PC Paddick-of-the-Yard scrubbing his dirty truncheon in the nearby rockpool...well let's just say my collar was fine but Crusty's cuffs needed urgent attention [wink, wink], if you know what I mean. I believe Chu Me did as I haven't seen him since......Chu Me!!

Good luck, Brian....may your future prove as successful as your past and if that star ever falls from your truncheon, Crusty will be there to catch it!