Nana Mouskouri Does GMTV Local News?!

My darling Crustettes, as your mistress sits in her beautifully decorated private office, she feels she needs to share her thoughts with those she loves.

Yesterday I arose around 7.01 in the morning. I brought my 28 incher to life and enjoyed a spattering of BBC Breakfast before my hand, as a matter of instinct, picked up the remote and switched the channel to GMTV (the set colours of which remind one of a children's nursery, although that explains the way they talk to their viewers). Anyhoo ... my hand action was occurring at the very time of the morning when my little Marky would normally appear in front of me and get to work giving me the low down on the region I love best.

Though I was thinking "No! No!", I could hear my inner voice slurring, "it might not be that bad. " and I braced myself for our local bulletin; I was still praying that at the eleventh hour a reprieve had been granted and I could see my gorgeous, tanned, shimmering Adonis greeting me with his, "Hello...Good Morning."

Instead, I was shocked to see a rather pale and knackered looking Nana Mouskouri sitting in front of a sunny, blue, cloudyesque back drop (one imagines taken from the 70s section of the archive department); her hair not the vibrant example of bounce we know and love but lank and seemingly set not in a cloud of hairspray but, evidently, with a gentle application of Fry Light. Then several seconds later, I was shocked and relieved to find it wasn't the lovely Nana but, in fact, a girl called Helen Peedon or some such fancy.

I could not watch any longer; after only 32½ seconds I screamed and threw the remote at Chu Me, who had just entered for my breakfast order. He kindly turned the channel back to little Billy Turnbull.

I shall NEVER watch that pile of poo again and I can only pray my loyal Crustettes do not inflict this unnecessary suffering on themselves; be enveloped in the warmth of Colin his-twinkle-makes-y'-tingle Briggs until Mark returns to our screens and then we can enjoy both and balance will be restored.

Beckham v Cole - Wags War Continues

The Wags War is entering a new phase according to Closer magazine.

Victoria Beckham has hit back at the clusters of projectile poison Cheryl y-nailed it Cole has been firing at her.

Victoria apparently finds it ironic that Cheryl bitches about her recent fashion range; She says before they were friends, Cheryl - the ample ankle antagonist - had no idea about fashion or couture and couldn’t manage to put an outfit together.

It would appear nothing’s changed, dear; all that money and she still looks a state!

More Annoying Than Cheryl Cole? Surely Not!

Just when I thought there was no one more annoying then Cheryl y’nailed-it Cole, I was surpised to come across just that in Michelle Heaton.

Michelle is, as it seems always necessary for magazines to remind us, a former popstar from a group called Liberty X, whose many memorable hits include ……..er…….oh wasn’t …..well, perhaps you can look them up at your leisure!

Crustettes will recognise her from Celebrity Big Brother 2009 and every glossy gossip magazine being published at the moment; she has scarily plucked, shaped eyebrows with a high forehead like a Klingon warrior.

She’s reported to have told New magazine that she feels she could never be a model and Crusty, for one, would never ever want her to be; there’s a certain look that one must have to be successfully splashed across glossy pages and loved by the masses and, sadly dear, you don’t have it.

Crusty believes the proof of the pudding is in the photoshoot carried out by New magazine where they attempt to put Michelle in the same poses as the gorgeous Victoria Beckham from her recent Armani advertisements. In these adverts Victoria pulls off the sultry poses with amazing success, however, poor Michelle ....well ..... she struggles indeed and on one photograph sat at the end of a bed pouting with a short, curly hairstyle actual is more akin to Tom Jones in a black bra and granny pants than the delectable Mrs. B.

Though modelling is clearly not for her, thankfully she is eloquent. In the same magazine she is asked a question about an alleged affair with Eastenders parcel of perfection Matt Di Angelo and answers, “ I answered what I answered last year, so you can get some answers from that."

Don’t try riddles, dear, your boobs will burst!

Au Revoir Mark Warr

Crusty is festooned in black lace, her face shrouded by a black veil, and all members of the staff at Crusty Hall are donning black arm bands in mourning at the loss of the gorgeous Mark Warr from Tyne Tees Television. He was finally made redundant today, 24th February 2009.

Mark, as my loyal Crustettes will know, was viciously made redundant from Tyne Tees news department by an executive who misguidedly thought he/she was capable of making an objective decision during the recent ITV downsize.

How wrong they were … and heaven only knows what waste-of-space we are to endure in his place or what strange non-native accent we will be subjected to. I for one will never know as I shall not be watching.

My faithful houseboy, Chu Me, sensed that his mistress has been slipping into an abyss of despair over the last week and instructed a young staff member from the laundry room to stay with me while he was busy tending to the efficient running of my Hall.

Last night, as I felt listless and thought my depression could not sink any lower, I staggered up the stone staircase of the tower on the east wing, my young companion in tow, and stood at the summit waling and snivelling, trying to swallow my Gin without choking as I gasped at the air for my next breath. As I stood their looking at the sheer drop beneath me, there was only one thing I could do to try to relieve the pain……so I pushed my chaperone off the edge and as I heard her screams disappearing beneath me I realised it didn’t make me feel any better at all!

I returned to my private office alone and wrote my own little homage to my early morning studmuffin. A sentimental piece of private poetry that was emailed to him in time for his last two bulletins.

I’m quite sure he will be snapped up and be back in our lives again.

Israel On A Road To Peace?

I caught a brief snippet of the news on television this morning while my shoes were being fitted by a member of the household.

Apparently, Israel is to have Benyamin NotyetinYahoo running things. Let us pray he can bring some peace to his troubled region.

Mystical Mistress Crusty Answers Your Letters

Well, since reporting my new found role as Agony Aunt to the nation, my box has been well and truly filled...and as one suspected, it was agony. There are far too many to go through but I have selected a few urgent ones:

Dame Crusty,

My non-existent bust is ruining my life! My uncle grew breasts taking hormone tablets for prostate cancer - would they work?

Pippa, 26

I'm sure they would, dear, but you must make sure your uncle hasn't grown attached to his fine pair of bangers before you have them fitted.

I have a lump in my neck that looks like an Adam's Apple. Am I turning into a man?

Jean, Oxford

I would have to say not, poppet, but if you find yourself scratching a pair of balls in your downstairs area while watching the football, I would seek medical advise immediately.

Dearest Crusty,

I've tried Viagra but still can't get an erection....

Raul, 36

Thank you for sharing, dear, but you're no use to me....try Jeremy Kyle!

Chu Me - A Valuable Lesson Learned!

Friday night and I had finally managed to persuade my faithful houseboy to leave his duties and have a night off.

All the staff had left Crusty Hall and the security devices throughout the grounds were set, so I felt safe within my fortress of solitude. I told him to go and let his hair down; enjoy a night of cocktails in the watering holes of Newcastle city centre; there’s nothing he likes more, to help him relax, than force a few Black Russians down the back of his throat, I can tell you.

Next morning I unlocked the front door to find a rather tired and scruffy Chu Me standing in front of me. As I raised an inquisitive eyebrow, he slid past me, with a look of shame on his face, and headed towards his quarters mumbling under his breath.

It was not until my darling Mark Warr, emailed me with concerns about Chu Me’s well being that the full picture began to emerge. Evidently Mark, while on a night out, had seen someone huddled up, shivering in a doorway at Newcastle Central Station. After poking away gently he realised it was Chu Me he had come across.

Chu Me had explained that he had returned to Crusty Hall but he had lost his key (again, I might add – no matter what I tie it tightly around he always loses it!). Apparently my back entrance had been well and truly pummelled with his little fist but I was completely unaware of it. Anyhoo.... he had made his way back to the city centre in search for another cocktail or two to dull h is frustration.

Mark suggested Chu Me seek shelter and warmth somewhere in the Station and eventually he found it in the overnight toilet in the station; he would stay there until morning arrived.

He managed to get some sleep before a railway porter came in, knelt by him and blew his whistle; Chu Me moaned, blinked his tired eyes rapidly and shot off within seconds.

Thank you Mark, I am indebted to you, dear!

As for Chu Me…well I think he has learned a valuable lesson.

What Not To Watch!

Though the world economy is falling to its knees and sobbing uncontrollably at its losses and our own British people are wondering what horrors lie in wait for them around the corner of life, Crusty was flitting through the internet and came across news that should - if only temporarily - lift the spirits of the nation and give them something to celebrate.

Mediocre makover monsters Tranny and Susannah have been given the thigh-length, pointy-toed boot from ITV; their contract has been terminated, shredded, stuck back together and shredded again (just to make sure), and incinerated.

But that is not all, my little Crustettes; they will be moving to America; clearly are condolences lie with our American friends but to quote the marvellous Martin Luther King "Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"

But we do not have time to be complacent and rest on our laurels; we must now turn our attentions to Colin and Justin!

BAFTA - Where Are You Stephen Fry?

On Sunday night, Dame Crusty settled in the television room to watch this years BAFTA awards.

I was in awe at some of the fabulous frocks that all the movie star were sashaying up the red carpet in; our own Kate Winslett looked gorgeous as ever and proved she is an up and coming jewel in the crown of our nations crown and Penelope Cruz was just dripping heavenliness.

But as I sat stroking Crotchet, my pussy, with my tray of nibbles and a jug of Gordon's at my side my heightened sense of glee went down quicker than a kiss-and-tell-slapper at a nightclub full of premier footballers. Yes, although Mickey Rourke turned the air of the Royal Opera House blue, the presenter, Jonathon Ross, turned the whole evening grey; if he'd had a clipboard in his hand, I swear I would have thought it was Dennis Norden!

BAFTA ... Dame Crusty is very cross with you; for such a stylish event we really need to have the wonderful, intelligent and articulate Stephen Fry back. Please see to it!

Answers To Last Weeks Emails

In answer to the emails seeking advise last week, I have summarised the answers as follows;

Darren from Portsmouth - No, I certainly wouldn't!

Michael from Aberdeen - Yes, but you must make sure you wash it thoroughly afterwards.

Jenny from Jesmond - You could try throwing some sand up for grip.

And, more specifically, in answer to the email received from Samantha, 36 , from Gateshead -My partner's breath smells of poo. What could it be? - if the other end smells of mint, dear, you are sniffing the wrong end and I would clean the lenses of your glasses at your earliest convenience!

Dame Crusty - A Mystical Agony Aunt for the 21st Century.

I've known for some time that many of my Crustettes look upon me as a sort of mother figure.

One girl, recently, even said she looked upon me as a grandmother figure, until a swift application of the heel of my hand to her nose made her change her opinion rather quickly. Many believe with my wealth of worldly experience and, some say, mystical powers I am the ideal person from whom to seek advice and one has no problems – time permitting – to act as mystical agony aunt to my loyal followers.

Anyhoo ….I was shredding some Crustette correspondence the other yesterday and came across the very email that got me started on my journey to Agony Auntdom; A little poppet – I shall call her Virginia - from down south wrote;

Dear Dame Crusty,
My fiancé walked out of my life for no reason. I’m devastated and don’t think I can go on. I’d like to know if we’ll ever get back together again?

I pondered for a long time over this question before preparing my lengthy response to my troubled poppet;

My Dearest Virgina,
No.

DCG

I haven’t heard from Virginia since sending her answer, so I trust all is well.

Chu Me Finds A Secret Chamber at Crusty Hall

Regular readers of Dame Crusty’s internet postings – and I’m sure there must be some – will already know my faithful houseboy, Chu Me, has began a hobby of keeping hens in the grounds of Crusty Hall.

At first I assumed the reason for it was to rekindle memories of his life back in his village back home, in a land far, far away. However, one afternoon as we sat by the side of the heated indoor pool playing an interesting game of Backgammon, I felt something something stirring inside me that urged me to probe deeper.

I asked him why, all of a sudden, he had wanted to keep these birds when he had never shown interest before. His answer surprised me, my Crustettes, I can tell you.

He told me of an evening not so long ago; I was in my bedroom, lying face down on a tear soaked bed, surrounded by sodden tissues I had used to wipe my bloodshot – yet stunning – blue eyes; I was in one of my “zones” (I believe the sportsmen call it), where the thought of me losing the daily dose of my little Mark Warr had welled up inside of me to such a bursting point that tears, wailing and tearing at Egyptian Cotton sheets with my beautifully manicured fingernails was my only release.

On that night, Chu Me, feeling completely unable to comfort me, had gone for a walk around the corridors of Crusty Hall. He came across a room that had not been used for many years; it was a room I had used as a small Damelette, when I had started to collect stuffed birds. I had completely forgotten about it!!

We stood and he led me to the room. As we walked, I cast my mind back; I had not been collecting long and only managed a few pieces before I got bored with the idea – in truth, I had searched high and low for a Shag but it wasn’t to be. Chu Me told me when he opened the door to my dusty chamber, he saw my magnificent pair of Tits resting on two rosewood plinths and his jaw dropped open.

Sure enough we entered the room and my Tits (Great Tits, actually dear) were standing proud in front of me. I turned to him and grinned excitedly, “well if you like these, dear, you will love what else I have to show you!”

I immediately pulled back the covers and let him feast his eyes on my Malay Cock ... Pullet … and Swallow.

As we closed the door and headed for the pool once more, I do believe we were both satisfied and I began to understand the birth of his recent hobby.

Spears - New Autobiography in the Pipeline

I was reading the other day that Brittle Spears has been offered $10m to write her autobiography! Her new book is in the pipeline as we speak (Crusty has the ideal pipe in mind).

What an incredible amount of money!

Having seen her miming performances (cast your minds back to the X-Factor performance of "One Potato, Two Potato"), let us pray she can remember enough words to fill the pages of this literary masterpiece!

CAVA - Simple Enough To Pronounce...Or Not?

It has long been a source of irritation to Crusty the way that people insist on mispronouncing the word CAVA; Cava, of course, is the gorgeous Spanish equivalent of Champagne (although technically it is Catalan) - it is certainly not merely a cheap sparkling white wine as many Lambrini girls would think.

There are many fabulous brands of Cava, such as Mestres and Codorníu, but Dame Crusty's particular favourite is that which is produced by Pere Ventura. This relatively small producer makes the most fabulous, crisp Cavas I have ever tasted - even surpassing the quality of many of the famous Champagne houses. If any of my Crustettes are in the area, I would strongly recommend you arrange a tour.

Anyhoo..enough about my cellar. I recently took my faithful houseboy Chu Me out for a spot of dinner to celebrate another loyal year of service to his mistress; we were walking through the local restaurant, where the annual celebration is religiously held, when a rather shiny, pimply young man, who was clearly trying to impress his orange, ringlet-festooned lady friend, tried to attract the attention of the waiter. As Chu Me and I walked past the table I heard him shout, "Waiter, can you bring us a bottle of CARVA?"

Dame Crusty's diamond encrusted shoes screeched to a halt by his side and poor Chu Me simply ran for cover. I turned to face him, smiled at the orange ringlet stand, picked up his near empty plate and smashed it over the top of his head.

"Do not ask for things one is unable to correctly pronounce, dear!"

Dame Crusty would like to advise all her Crustettes that the gorgeous nectar of Cataluyna is not pronounced CARVA or CARVAR as the toffee nosed "experts" and chefs would have you believe; this may have already been noticed if one has tried to order a bottle while in Spain and the waiter has given that look of what are you talking about, you stupid Englishman?

It is simply pronounced CABA - CA (as in CAT)BA (as in BAT - although the B must be soft), even CA(CAT)VA(VAT) would show more respect than that given by the "professionals" who bastardise the word on a regular basis.

Though Crusty has never wanted to preach to anyone, there are certain things that simply must be! Spread the words, my darling Crustettes...make Crusty proud!