Sunday, 27 September 2009

Gordon Brown Does Not Roll Over.

Brown: "Result!"

Goodness! One has been reading the headlines on the interweb and Gordon Brown whipped off on a tangent when pressed by the media recently. They pressed him on whether or not he should resign before the next General Election.

"I do not roll over!" He replied.

Bit of a bugger for his ladywife if he´s hogging the quilt ... no?

Saturday, 26 September 2009

Crusty Remembers At Madrid Fashion Week

While one was holidaying in glorious España this year, one paid a quick visit to Madrid Fashion Week to have a shufty at what was coming out of the country's designers; Spanish fashion is often very sexy and very stylish, in particular the designs from the likes of Maria LaFuente.

As well as perusing the latest gorgeous garments of one's favourite Spanish designers one also likes to watch the models moving up and down the catwalk; this year one model caught one's eye immediately; it appeared she had either only one banger in the centre of her chest (or a rather unpleasant and angry spot) ... one was mesmorised by the poor dear!

Anyhoo ... there are many occasions when one visits these affairs that one is reminded of the fun time one had at the 1993 Vivienne Westwood show. It was at this event that Crusty was a little naughty; as Chu Me had opened the Bentley's door for Crusty to alight, one's pearl necklace caught a button and snapped. As a result, the beads of pearlescent perfection cascaded down one's coat and ended up everywhere.

Well, one was in a hurry and had no time to pick them up so - still looking stunning and adorned in other jewelled items - one continued on one's way and took one's seat by the runway.

One read the program and discovered that grotesquely overpaid clotheshorse, Naomi Crumble, was participating (Give Crusty the smolderingly delicious Tyra Banks anyday!). As the audience sat and waited for the show to begin, one put one's hand into one's pocket and found a loose pearl that had found its resting place there, rather than the floor of the Bentley. One thought no more about it until Naomi Crumble appeared on the catwalk in a stunning Westwood creation accessorised with a vertigolicious pair of platformed shoes.

As she began to walk unsteadily down the catwalk, one remembered a moment of madness and flicking the pearl onto the floor, right in front of her. Chu Me turned and looked at one, first with a look of shock and disbelief then a look of glee, as he clapped his little hands together. Seconds later Naomi Crumble crashed to the floor.

One still smiles now when one thinks how the press and members of the audience maintain it was the shoes! Naomi, however, realised who was to blame. When I told the story to the landlord at The Badger's Snatch - Willy O'Dour - he rather eloquently yelled, "What? You did that to her! Were you not afraid she would slap the crap out of you, stot a mobile of your head and rip your face off?"

"Not in the slightest, dear!" One replied, " She couldn't walk in those shoes, let alone run. Chu Me and I made our escape with elegance and ease. One sashayed back to the Bentley as normal - giggling as one glided - and all one could hear from behind was the distant horse-like clomping of footwear and a potty mouth."

Fashion is a funny thing, is it not poppets?

Whitney the Poo Out From Poo Corner.

Whitney at a recent Come As Joan Rivers
party in Hollywood.

One was greatly disappointed watching Telecinco recently – while relaxing with my dear Catalan friends in Barcelona - to see that Whitney the Poo has managed to clean herself up.

In an exclusive interview, with the gorgeous Oprah Winfrey, she revealed with the aid of soft lighting, precisely applied make up, carefully coiffured hair and correct camera angles, that her mother had dragged her back from the brink of insanity and the dark, desolate world of drugs; furthermore, from the clutches of Bobby My-Perogative-My-Only-Hit Brown.

Her mother, Cissy Houston, had had enough and evidently turned up at Poo’s house one day with legal papers to take her into rehab. As she poured out her feelings, Cissy pleading to have her daughter’s sparkling eyes back (why they had been lent out in the first place, is unclear). Then, turning to Bobby My-Perogative-My-Only-Hit Brown, she warned him not to make a move, or interfere, otherwise the sheriff and his men would go down on him.

Whitney the Poo - for the aid of one’s younger poppets who won’t have a clue who she is/was – hit the charts in the eighties with the hit ‘Saving All My Love For You’. Very similar to the take off of Mariah Scarey, Poo sang beautifully on her debut single, then sadly as the hits began spouting forth from the record company, she realised she had a set of lungs on her and decided emotion was not the methodology she would use, simply scream out the lyrics from the cusp of her diaphragm (poppets would be advised to cross reference ‘I Will Always Love You’ by Poo and by the writer, Dolly Parton, to see how emotion in the song can give it completeness).

At the start of the interview the magnificent Oprah, gushes over Whitney and recollects the first time they met and she realised Poo had ‘the voice’; with the likes of such vocal talents as Babs Streisand, Anastacia, Chaka Khan, Beverley Knight and Dame Vera Lynn, let’s be honest, she has ‘a voice’. Further more; one is quite sure that one could replicate it - quite easily - with the aid of a set of bellows and a kazoo.

Whitney, divulges that while she was lying around her lavish home high on Cocaine and Marjories-wanna she didn’t even think about her singing (It appears we have something in common) but thanks to her mother she has now brought out another single and her singing career has risen from the ashes. (Thank you Cissy! Your daughter wanted to run an organic fruit stall on a Caribbean Island with her daughter but you got her back to a microphone! One cannot find the words!)

Anyhoo … the damage is done and the single has been released on the world like a genetically modified H1N1 Flu virus. For those of my poppets who feel the need to buy it, please keep the volume down or one shall have to dive for the muffs.

Sunday, 20 September 2009

Crusty On Tour - The Holiday Begins.

September each year is a special time for Crusty; it is the time of year when one locks up Crusty Hall securely and takes a relaxing break under Señor Sol, allowing his lips of bronzing warmth to kiss one´s velvety soft flesh as one relaxes by a pool or on a sun-drenched terrace somewhere.

This year a long awaited visit to one´s dear, dear Catalan friends in the beautiful city of Barcelona and the gorgeous town of Palafrugell, near Girona; following that, a quick flight to Granada to spend 10 days of reflection and tranquility at Crusty Villa.

Some months prior to one´s departure, one was sitting enjoying a chat and small libation in The Badger´s Snatch with landlady Fanny O´Dour and one of the village triplets, Ida Rash. We began to talk about holidays and Fanny remembered it was nearing the time of one´s annual big trip.

It was at this point during our intercourse that the Vicar came behind me. He had overheard our conversation and suggested one´s private jet should remain grounded - owing to the current economic climate - and that one should use a budget airline instead, as I had earlier in the year (One asks ... what is the point of having one´s own plane if one does not use it?). After a lengthy, heated discussion and the Vicar´s promise that his wife, Marjorie Flecks, would not sing at the Christmas concert, one yielded.

Anyhoo ... One must say that the Easyjet flight out from Newcastle International Conservatory was a rather perculiar experience. On the 9th September, Chauffer dropped one at the enterance of Newcastle International Conservatory, along with my faithful houseboy, Chu Me. Everything, so far, was going smoothly. One was expected the security experience to be unpleasant - it always is at Newcastle International; one understands the importance of security but one can still be vigilante and pleasant at the same time. Each time one sashays through the detectors and one is approached by a member of the security staff, one feels like shouting, "Crack your face and makes your arse jealous, dear!"

This time one was asked to remove one´s jewel encrusted footwear (one doesn´t remember diamonds or rubies ever being used by terrorists before) and then a lady - for want of a better word - ran her hands up and down one´s legs. When she had finished, she looked up with a face like a dockworker´s daughter. One looked down on her ... smiled ... and said, " I wonder, dear! While you´re down there would you mind refitting one´s shoes? ... Hmmm?"

That was the worst part over, one could now relax in the VIP lounge until called.

Eventually we boared the plane and Chu Me covered three seats with a thick velvet throw and scatter cushions; he hung one´s framed pictures of Mark Makes-my-mouth-water Warr and Colin his-twinkle-make-y´tingle Briggs over the seats in front (they travel everywhere with me). One reclined and fastened a seatbelt around one´s slender waist and watched as chaos ensued. It would appear that the majority of passengers had never flown Easyjet before ... if flown at all. Six people! .... Six people approached Crusty! All waving boarding cards," Do you know where the seat number is on here?"

"Goodness, dear! Does one look like staff? It´s free seating ... anywhere ... ANYWHERE!" I replied, waving them away with the back of one´s right hand.

Finally, all passengers were settled and a rather hard-faced stewardess (genes or an over excessive application of make-up, one is uncertain) greeted us with rapid succession of words that would have surely confused the foreign passengers on board; in the event of an emergency, we purr ??!!

Still, the rest of the flight was acceptable, or at least until we approached the magnificence of Barcelona´s El Prat airport. After such a silky smooth flight, it would appear that the pilot had not seen the rather large length of rapidly approaching tarmac beneath us. After an initial whack against the runway, the scream from the passengers and a spillage of gin, the plane bounced twice before the brakes were applied fiercley and all on board were propelled forward towards the seat in front. The remainder of one´s gin flew over the woman in front but, frankly, her split ends were annoying one intensely and the liquid managed to produce a far more appealing result.

The drama over, it was now time for Crusty´s holiday to begin.

Sam Mitchell To Leave Eastenders ... Again.

Reading the latest gossip pages on the interweb, it has been revealed than Danniella Westbrook is to leave the highly depressing Eastenders by the end of 2009.

Danniella has come back after a period of 9 years (has anyone been counting?) having left the show to achieve success nowhere else. She is the character who - in a perculiar way - resembles the legend Barbara Windsor ... only older.

A spokesperson defended Ms Westbrook strongly after rumours began to circulate that her part had been axed; apparently, it was the original plan for her to be a part of the current highly uninteresting storyline for only a brief period of time.

Axe the lot of them, that´s what I say ... and bring back Eldorado. One misses the scrumptious Javier and Marcoos Tandy so.

Sunday, 6 September 2009

Beverley Knight - A 100% British Superstar


Crusty will be sending a member of household staff to stand in line at our village record shop early tomorrow morning. The reason? The release of the new offering from the stunningly gorgeous and talented Beverely Knight.

My faithful houseboy, Chu Me, has cleared the ballroom for the shaking of the odd tailfeather or two, once the CD arrives safely at Crusty Hall.

May all my loyal poppets purchase a copy and show the world that there are still people, such as Beverley, who put the Great in Great Britain.

Uncle Dick Makes Crusty Think.

Crusty had a comment left on one's last posting from that monument of magnificent manliness, Uncle Dick Madeley. He had expressed subdued Grrrrrr-iness at the whole X-Factor experience we are all to be subjected to over - what will seem like - the next year and a half. Though its format may have changed slightly with a live audience, we will no doubt still have to endure an appalling selection of hits from the judges - from a huge back catalogue of infinitely better ones available -for the final selection of contestants to sing each week. Also, to further endure the grand final when some international turns will appear and be fawned over and have smoke blown up their downstairs areas.

In particular, one recalls when Mariah Scarey graced the set to meet the remaining contestants and give them advice on their performances for that weeks show. How odd to have an artist who, at the start of her career, had the voice of an angel and after far too much Divary-pokery now sounds more like a deflating vintage Hoover bag. Her general attire leaves a lot to be desired too; everytime one sees one of her music videos it usually includes shots of her in skirts which are outrageously short and could quite easily run the risk of foof exposure.

Still, Uncle Dick got one thinking and it was then, after a delicous sip of chilled Pere Ventura Brut Nature Tresor, that one had the wonderful idea of a televisual ointment that could remedy the pain of a lengthy X-Factor run ... 'The Y Factor'.

This thought sprung into one's mind when I saw one auditionee sing her little heart out to the Dreamgirls classic 'And I Am Telling You (I'm Not Goin')' and I saw Cheryl y'nailed-it Cole looking at her thinking, 'God! That's what it's like to be able to sing?' (incidentally, funny how everyone associates Jennifer Hudson with that song when it was sung far better in the original stage performance by the fabulous Jennifer Holliday)

The Y Factor would be a program on which Crusty and a panel of judges (perhaps Crusty could become the next - and infinitely more elegant -Simon Cowell) would sit with a live audience and have existing pop singers etc. sing to them without the aid of hidden auto tuning equipment and technological wizardry supporting them. The nation, audience and judges could then ask themselves 'why?'; why did this person ever get a recording contract?; why did anyone ever open the recording studio door and let this one in?. Imagine it poppet, "Thank you for attending, Cheryl dear! You certainly have the Y factor!...NEXT!"

Anyhoo ... one has emailed the suggestion to the relevant television channels and I shall notify one's family of poppets should a reply be forthcoming.

Friday, 4 September 2009

X Factor Returns - The Competition is Afoot!

Well, my poppets, the contest is afoot and the X Factor has returned to our screens! Despite pleas from many quarters, it appears there is to be no change in the tired old judging panel (excluding the lovely Louise Walsh, of course).

In our second instalment, we saw a medley of outfits being worn by the female judges. One in particular caught Crusty’s eye. A creation flung on by Cheryl y’nailed-it Cole, which resembled something she could have ripped off an 86 year old pensioner as she was leaving her Tuesday night Bingo meet (the pensioner, not Mrs Cole); a paisley type affair with burgundy ruffles around neck and arm apertures. Quite bizarre, I can tell you! One has read articles written about our Geordie clotheshorse – by those who know no better - telling us how she dresses in a very ‘chic’ style; on scanning one’s keyboard, one can see how easily this typo can occur when the ‘C’ is so very close to the ‘S’ and the ‘T’.

Louise, thankfully looked very relaxed – one worries about him, you know? Simon, was…well … Simon and I do believe Dannniiiii Minge (sorry, my keyboard’s sticking) was leaking bollocks ….(thank you, Chu Me!) …. B-o-t-o-x!

I know, one could hardly believe one’s eyes; one is convinced that at some stage of the proceedings two wrinkle lines appeared above her right eye brow as she attempted some unrecognisable facial expression.

Anyhoo … there have been some very interesting contestants so far. In particular, the trio of beauties known as Misfits singing their version of Brittle Spears’ ‘Toxic’; Having seen poor Brittle in live performances of the song, I had always had a desire to see lyrics and lips synchronize in harmony but never quite managed it with Brittle. Misfits satisfied one’s curiosity and their audition was magnificent. Crusty would not be at all surprised if they go all the way.

We shall see how the rest of the auditions go but one has to say, one is quite excited about this years competition.