Thursday, 31 December 2009

Christmas Eve at Crusty Hall - Mischief, Laughter and Visitors.

It was Christmas Eve morning and as one walked down the Grand Staircase for breakfast, one could hear sniggering coming from the reception room to the right of the main door. One’s curiosity was ignited and one sashayed to the room to investigate.

Opening the door carefully until one could see one’s faithful houseboy, Chu Me, with his head hidden behind the luxurious gold-braded, red velvet curtains, and his shoulders jerking up and down with every snigger.

“Chu Me, dear, you sound like Muttley! What on earth is tickling your fancy so?” One asked.

He withdrew his head from behind its thick velvet wrap and, with tears cascading down his little face, beckoned one to the window. He slid his head back into its velvety hiding place and one took up position to his side. Peering out of the window, it all became clear.

The vicar’s wife, Marjorie Flecks, had decided to pay one an unexpected visit (No doubt trying to lure a Christmas Lunch invitation … but the Dame was not for luring). She was desperately attempting to make her way up the footpath from the main gates. The thick, untreated ice was making her trek treacherous and it was this that was pushing Chu Me past the point of hysterics.

Dressed in yet another floral ensemble, accessorised with a grey duffle coat and navy blue moon boots, she was devoting complete concentration to each step she made. Often her arms flung themselves outward and flapped like chicken wings as she attempted to maintain balance on the glistening surface.

Five minutes had passed and, by this time, Chu Me’s sniggers were becoming infectious and Crusty too began tittering at the morning’s unexpected entertainment.

Halfway to the house she must have made contact with a particularly slipper patch; it was as though Mother Nature’s children had grabbed the DVD remote control of life and were alternately pressing fast forward and rewind, just to annoy their matriarch. Marjorie’s right moon boot hit the surface but she clearly realised balance was to be lost and immediate action was required. She brought her left boot forward but sadly at that point the right one shot back. Within a matter of seconds she was sprinting faster than Hussain Bolt, yet not actually moving from her current location.

She slowly managed to regain her composure then, almost at the point of rest, the rewind button was pressed and she began flapping her arms and sprinting backwards … then forward … then backward. The speed of her movement was so fast, she took on the appearance of a large, rather plumb, floral butterfly hovering above one’s grounds highlighted by the wonderful winter sun.

Finally, close to exhaustion and clouds of breath bellowing out of her mouth and nostrils like a stoked up steam train, she crashed to the ground. Chu Me and I were screaming with laughter.

She managed to position herself on all fours and like a plump panther padding its way towards it pray, she managed to reach an altogether more agreeable surface and raised herself, gingerly, to her feet.

Eventually, she reached the safety of the gritted steps in front of one’s residence and staggered to the main door. Her exhaustion could be heard clearly through the window as she pushed the button to ring the bell. One looked at Chu Me and we both had pools of mischief rippling in our eyes. We pressed ourselves against the ornately papered walls, like spies on a delicate mission, so we were completely out of sight.

The bell rang again … and again … finally a five second blast filled with fury and frustration. One could hear Marjorie clearly but it would be unwise to print her words here; let us just say that sort of language is not what one expects to hear from a vicar’s wife.

After five minutes of waiting she turned, defeated, and prepared for her journey back to the gates, though one felt it would be infinitely simpler as it was all down hill. If she was unfortunate enough to fall and duffle coat friction proved less than adequate, one was quite sure she would at least toboggan towards the gates relatively quickly.

As one took up one’s viewing position once more, with Chu Me at one’s side, Marjorie managed fifty yards from the Hall when, coincidentally, this is exactly what happened. As the screams dissipated and she shot off into the distance, we wiped the tears of laughter from our eyes until we saw Marjorie’s head disappear down to incline near the gates. At that very moment one saw the grill of Wing Commander Bertie of Chipmunk Squadron’s Bristol Brigand appearing.

“Chu Me!” One said, clapping one’s palms twice, “We must welcome the Wing Commander.”

Hearing the powerful engine of the Bristol coming up the drive took one’s mind back to happy days; days when one would spend delightful summer weekends with Bertie and his late wife, Agnes at their delightful country cottage. The Bristol Brigand was the only thing he had left – apart from his memories – of his childhood sweetheart.

Agnes was a strong woman who had a passion for these luxury motorcars and had managed to acquire two of them. One recalls those sun-soaked summer weekends when one would be lying on their sun terrace with a gin and tonic and the weeks glossies - allowing Señor Sol to kiss one’s exposed epidermis – while the Wing Commander would sit on the lawn, in his Air Force budgie-smugglers, lubricating his prop shaft and Agnes would be perspiring like a racehorse, between the open garage doors, lovingly polishing her Bristols. Halcyon days indeed, poppets ... halcyon days indeed.

Anyhoo … he was the only visitor for Christmas to travel any great distance, so Chu Me escorted him to the Warr Room. This is a bedroom inspired by one’s special poppet Mark makes-my-mouth-water Warr. It is full of delicious soft furnishings, immaculately crafted furniture, a breathtaking view of one’s enchanted garden and cushions embroidered with one's poppets dreamy face. It is altogether warm and welcoming; perfect for the Wing Commander’s short stay.

It suddenly dawned on one Christmas had arrived. One was as excited as one was when one was but a little Damelette

The Big Flop - 17th Century Meets 21st Century.

One has been interested in the new, revamped series of Time Team, which appears to have move to the wonderful BBC.

While out on one of his field expeditions, it appears Tony Robinson – he who is famous for Black Adder and …. Black Adder – has been fortunate enough to dig up the scripts of a series of comedy plays from the 17th century. He has then managed to entice an array of television celebrities and Amanda Holden to take part in their re-enactment.

The series of plays, entitled The Big Top, has been commissioned by the BBC and is shown on Wednesday evenings.

Though it is an insight into our history and would have certainly entertained a nation that had nothing better to do than to watch weeping sores and the local witch being burnt alive, one feels the comedy does not cross over well into the 21st century. It is certainly not assisted by its ‘sexing up’, with Miss Holden sporting black hotpants, sheer hosiery and hair like C. S. Lewis’s Aslan with nits.

Furthermore, one appreciates that in comedy a straight man is important, however Robinson’s attempts to carry the weekly pieces as the character Anusmist, or some such fancy, does not succeed. One has never seen such a total lack of effort by an actor since that of Dexter Fletcher in Hotel Babylon.

Thankfully the performances have not been filmed in front of a live audience otherwise one suspects the description ‘live’ would be redundant and plenty more digging would be required by the archaeological team… along with mourning and multiple burials.

It is unclear how many of the plays were discovered but let us keep our digits crossed it was few rather than many.

Had it been a recent comedy offering it would most certainly have been entitled The Big Flop rather than The Big Top, but clearly as a historic piece it is acceptable as an example as to how much we have evolved over the centuries.

Friday, 18 December 2009

A Christmas Poem From Crusty

All that I remember
From that freezing Christmas Eve,
Was standing at the window,
In a dressing gown, I believe.
As I released the tied back curtains
And closed the vertical blind,
There was only one important question
Running through my mind.
Is there really such a person
As the legend, Santa Claus?
Does he really come down chimneys?
… Does he never use the doors?
Then suddenly, there came a crash and
I was knocked towards the floor,
I didn’t know what on earth it was
But I really was quite sore.
I sat there limp and slightly dazed
Propped against the bedroom wall,
When my hand fell down between my legs
On something round and small;
I tried to focus, with concussed eyes,
On where my hand had led
But I couldn’t make out what was stuck down there
…it was certainly glowing red.
Then suddenly, up my inner thigh
I felt something hard and furry.
Moving up towards my underwear
…Though not in any hurry.
I grabbed the mystery object
Before it reached my lady-garden
And mustered up the vocal strength
To shout, “I BEG YOUR PARDON!”
All my concentration,
It’s literally what it took,
To raise the object higher
So I could take a closer look.
I blinked my eyes, looked straight ahead
Consumed with dread and fear
But was rather shocked, yet quite surprised
To see a red-nosed, bruised reindeer.
Two huge hands, with sparkling nails,
Pulled the reindeer back, quite slow,
And throughout my destroyed bedroom
Echoed a thunderous, ”Ho! Ho! Ho!”
It was then that I finally realised
That what had happened was quite amazing;
Santa hadn't used a chimney …a door
He’d crashed through my double-glazing!!

Winter Arrives At Crusty Hall.

This morning, one was descending elegantly down the grand staircase at Crusty Hall, in a rather stunning Versace gown. At the bottom of the staircase stood one’s faithful houseboy, Chu Me.

He had a look of excitement on his face and looked as if he was about to burst as he made small jumping motions, while rapidly clenching his little clenched hands.

“Hail, mistress!” He shouted.

As one passed him, one patted him gently on the top of his head, “Goodness, Chu Me, your practically family, dear … a simple good morning would have sufficed.”

A puzzled expression locked on his gorgeous little face.

One continued down the vast main corridor towards the Breakfast Room, but as one passed by the Drawing Room, Chu Me stopped one in one’s tracks. He beckoned one’s gaze towards the door, then gripping his hand around the glistening knob in front of him and began to push forward.

It was then that one saw the bleaching tumblage of tiny hail stones ricocheting off the giant window with a frantic wintry rhythm (as if entertainment legend Bruce Forsythe were tap dancing away on a sheet of black ice).

Winter is officially upon us, poppets!

One knows one heard a lady of weather predictions – and on the BBC, no less - warning us of a bitterly cold and snowy winter but one dismissed such nonsense immediately.

We all remember the prediction earlier in the year - from the very same source, too - of the barbecue summer we could all expect, which turned out to be two hours on a Tuesday afternoon in July. Sadly one had been out so missed it, although even if one had got back in time, Chu Me had already put Mr Peppercorn’s sausage away.

Anyhoo … all indications suggest the BBC bad weather boffins are accurate with regard to the forthcoming Winter.

One prays all of one’s poppets and twitter-chums stay safe and warm as Mother Nature blasts her icy wind across Her Majesty’s realm.

Tuesday, 15 December 2009

Sarah Jessica Parker Avoids Fallout.

One was fingering one's mouse the other day, while waiting for my faithful houseboy, Chu Me, to light the fire in one's private office, when one came across an article on the glorious gossip-fest that is Closer Online.

It appears that Sarah Jessica Parker had a spot of bother at a recent red carpet affair (poppets will know Sarah from 'Sex in the City'. She's the one who has an air of Nosferatu about her but with hair and a better dental regime).

Wearing a fabulous hot pink jaquard-style mini dress, she arrived at the red carpet parade for Did you hear about the Morgans? in Leicester Square and, while standing next to the mouth-watering Hugh Grant, persisted in yanking down of her hem and hoisting up her busty plateau.

At one point, Hugh almost appeared to be holding up her dress, as his hand slid round her back toward her zip during a photo opportunity (Honestly! He's shameless!)

One is quite sure her dilemma could have easily been averted with a little forward planning, some magic tape and a pre-extravaganza exfoliation. Ladies know that, without a good scrub, rough skin can act like little kittens claws and drag fabric any which way it pleases.

Anyhoo ... a valuable lesson learnt by Miss Parker and, though her fashion fixation may occasionally suffer unexpectedly, Crusty believes she is fortunate, in that she will never know the pain of losing her looks.

Monday, 14 December 2009

X Factor (week 10) – Crusty Reflects On Events

One awoke on Monday morning quite exhausted after one’s outrageously childish screaming and dancing the night before when one’s little South Shields stud-muffin, Joe McElderry, took the crown of this years X Factor competition.

After a deep, deep sleep one managed to restore one’s composure to Dame-like status and sashayed down to the breakfast room to reflect on the previous night’s events.

One was sitting in the Drawing Room with one’s faithful houseboy, Chu Me, and our two remaining hopefuls sang the songs they considered to be their favourite from the whole competition – Oily singing ‘Twist and Shout’ and Joe, ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ - plus their version of the (rather poo) song that had been given to them to release as a Christmas hit (not a sleigh bell in earshot! Outrageous!). Despite the song, the vocal emotion of young Joe's voice brought it's lyrics to life
While the nation waited for votes to be counted, we were pampered with a plethora of twinkling stars and heavenly bodies (one refers to the uber-licious George Michael, of course, for the latter).

First of the professional stars filling our stockings, were the foxy foursome, JLS and the gorgeous Alexander Burke singing a mutual medley of their biggest hits. It was wonderful to see the winner of last years contest and the runners up merging in perfect harmony. Indeed, one thinks the version should be released. It would most certainly sell, would it not?

Leona Lewis was wheeled out again – quite literally – on a raised platform to sing her version of the Oasis hit, ‘Stop Crying Your Heart Out’.

Quite an appalling choice of song, although it was refreshing that the normal military percussion wasn’t banging away behind her. It was really just an excuse for her to stand motionless and scream like a gold-gowned harpy, while a montage of X Factor video footage distracted us from behind.

Many loyal viewers of the wafer-thin Stephen Fry - and his quality BBC show, QI - will know that the most suicidal song in history is Billie Holliday’s ‘Gloomy Sunday’. After listening to listless Leona singing her depressing number, one feels Billie may have a little competition.

Anyhoo … One had hoped that George Michael would be returning to the stage for the last show, and one was overjoyed to see it happen (and didn’t he look as cute as a button?). A refreshing Christmas song and a stunning set of seasonal style.

As if that wasn’t enough and for the final surprise … Sir Paul McCartney.

One was delighted to see he had opted for appropriate footwear and not the trainers he usually wears with dress trousers and one was quite moved - on this Sir Terry Wogan’s last week on the Radio 2 Breakfast Show – that he opted to sport Sir Terry’s hairstyle, in homage, for his performance.

Our Liverpudlian legend of loveliness gave us two songs (although, in fairness, just under half of one would have sufficed).

Now, he’s always been a bit of a joker that one and, true to form, he kept the other band members on their toes by singing in a completely different key. After song number one, he sat at his multi-coloured piano.

‘Oh no,’ one thought, “Not ‘Hey Jude’!”

Even one’s pussy , Crotchet, had the same idea and left the room immediately – growling under his whiskers as he padded off - but then, as he hit the keys, one vaguely recognised the introduction from ‘Live and Let Die’ (Honesty, dear! One’s cleaner plays more melodically when she’s dusting the keys on the Grand, and she's got hands like a pit pony's hooves!)

Then the lines were closed. The nation had reached its decision. The lights went down and the camera fixed on Dermott.

“Remember, this is in no particular order. The winner of the X Factor 2009 is …”

One stood up and glided to the first floor lavatory, while Chu Me walked to the kitchen to make a pot of tea for himself and mix another gin and tonic for his mistress. After 5 minutes we were back and as we settled down, we took a sip from our respective receptacles …


Well, it was worth the wait! Absolute madness ensued within the confines of Crusty Hall. One telephoned one’s dear friend Fanny O’Dour, down at the Badger’s Snatch and one could hardly hear a word she said, the screams coming from the villagers were deafening!

“Crusty!” She screamed, “Isn’t it wonderful news! You must be elated!”

“One is indeed, Fanny; one is indeed.”

It shall be a night one shall always remember. A magical moment, in a most magnificent mould.

Sunday, 13 December 2009

X Factor Winner 2009 - Sir Joe McElderry

Ladies, Gentlemen, Crustettes and Poppets!!!!!! Crusty has pleasure in announcing that her South Shields stud-muffin has WON the X Factor.

Congratulations, poppet! mwah mwah

X-Factor (week 10) – The Final part 1.

It was a quiet affair for the X Factor extravaganza at Crusty Hall this week. It was all becoming just too exciting and one did not want to appear in a public state of distress if one’s little South Shields stud-muffin was unsuccessful on his journey to super-stardom. As a result, one give all household staff the night off and Chu Me and I sat in the Drawing Room with a small, flavourful array of nibbles and a sufficient supply of gin, tonic and Pere Ventura Cava to last the evening.

The show began and deliriously delicious Dermott took to the stage to set the ball rolling. The judges were introduced.

The boys were smoothly dressed, as they have been most weeks.

Dannniiii Minge (sorry, my keyboard’s sticking) appeared from the back doors like a Roman empress in her flowing dark coloured toga, with her complementary potato waffle earrings and tatty hair.

Cheryl y’-nailed-it Cole scuttled out in an apparent mermaid’s costume, made from the skin of very large silver fish. The poor creature had obviously been caught very recently as it still appeared to have an array of little, black, parasitic tiddlers attached along its length; the majority of them had settled around the bustal expanse (they are unlikely to find much to feed on there, one fears).

Eventually, the final was underway and - as we learned later in the show - this evening, we were going to have the pleasure of three songs from our popstar hopefuls.

First on stage was the lovely Dolly Dagenham. Her first choice of song was one of Crusty’s all time favourites, ‘What a Wonderful World’. One has always thought no one could match the great Louis Armstrong, but one must say one adored the version she gave the viewing public.

Next up, Oily Mares. During the video clip before the performance, we saw Oily going back to his hometown with Simon. They decadently travelled in a big, black chopper. One watched with playful glee as the aircraft tilted to the side for a turn. One smiled at the unlikely event of Oily releasing his mentor’s safety belt and pushing him out of the door (purely for entertainment purposes, you understand!).

His song of choice was the Stevie Wonder classic, ‘Superstition’. A pleasant enough performance and he certainly had a lucky escape at the start of his song when he nearly crashed to the floor as he slipped during his strutting (One thinks a little more oil next time, Chu Me).

Then, one’s heart began pounding underneath one’s bosom as Chu Me poured an ice cold gin and tonic. There could be only one more contestant and indeed, Joe McElderry was next.

One’s little poppet, returned home to our breathtaking region, unfortunately bringing Cheryl back with him. However, this didn’t have an adverse affect and the welcome he received from the waiting crowds was overwhelming. One must admit, even Crusty had tears in her eyes as his grandmother told him how proud she was of him. Even Cheryl was close to tears as she stood in the McElderry kitchen (admittedly one was quite impressed to see her progression from a can and straw to being able to drink from a glass … the only way is up now, dear!)

The lighting was perfect and a dreamy dribble of dry ice rippled over the stage as he chose to sing another of Crusty’s all time favourites; this time from the colossal catalogue of the late, great Luther Vandross, ‘Dance With My Father Again’. An absolutely sublime performance; a mixture of maturity, emotion and crystal clear vocals. ¡Bravísimo cariño!

One was quite undone and feeling very limp by this stage, after such a trilogy of performances, however several olives and a couple of blinis with smoked salmon, sour cream and chives later and one found the strength to continue.

Part two arrived and Cheryl’s aquatic apparel clearly still had a yearning to be near water. As the delicious Dermott got the show underway, she scuttled back to her chair having satisfied her garments need to dangle it’s scaly fins over the water in the toilet bowl.

The order of performance was to be maintained throughout, so first to perform with the secret list of singing superstars (that had already been revealed in the week’s press) was Dolly. With an incredible back drop of throbbing bulbs she began the Nina Simone classic, ‘I’m Feeling Good’. Her performance was quite wonderful and when joined in the middle of the song by the gorgeous Michael Bublé, the end of the song built to a wonderful crescendo and the song was simply electric.

Next, Oily Mares. One must confess he did look rather nice in his dark suit and his turkey legs were certainly concealed by well cut fabric. A happy go lucky performance of that irritating Robbie Williams song, ‘Angels’, with the relaunching superstar in duet mode along side him. Despite having sung the song 9223 times and once in the bath, he managed to miss his cue for entry, but when he corrected himself a adequate karaoke-esque performance was provided (similar to two half-cut friends on a night out on the town and having a bit of a laugh to impress the laydeeeeeez).

One’s stunning little poppet, Joe, was centre stage next and his glorious version of ‘Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me’. A lava-licious background on the screens and the golden glow of the lighting only highlighted him as the ingot of precious matter he truly is. Half way through, and time for his superstar introduction … the legend that is George Michael (One squealed at his iconic magnificence). It was as if Crusty was watching a pornographic film without the sex; two delicious specimens of manhood performing in the most thrilling way and almost making one reach for a cigarette afterwards. An utterly fabulous performance!

At this point, one felt one could not take anymore. Chu Me was having to fan one briskly while replenishing one’s beverages and nibbles at the same time (A marvel at multitasking, is he not?). As one began to cool down during the commercial break, part three arrived. Could one take any more?

Stacey appeared at the back of the stage in a short bejewel outfit with short skirt and flared out train. Looking absolutely enchanting, she belted out her Queen homage, ‘Who Wants To Live Forever’. The power from her lungs was such that the resulting blast of air almost caused Dannniiiiii and Simon’s foreheads to wrinkle.

Oily repeated his Tina Turner inspired ‘Fool In Love’. Certainly better than his previous performance, though his vocals at the start were a little shaky. His now seemingly personal dance troupe – the Oily Rags – helped give a tassle-tastic last performance.

After the shaking of an Oily tail-feather, things were brought down to end on a stunning ballad sung by juicy Joe McElderry; ‘Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word’. It was an outstanding vocal interpretation, again packed with emotion and soul, so rare in one so young and gorgeous. Three songs delivered with utter perfection.

As the nation reached for the telephone, it was time for a ‘musical’ interlude with the return to stage of Robbie Williams (This time, starting on cue). Then it was results time!

Who was going to be the person to be taken from the competition on this thrilling night?

First through … Oily Mares. One’s heart was pounding as one grasped the well filled drawers of the bow-legged tall boy for support. Then … tick, tick, tick ... Joe!!!! (Good show!!!).

As we said goodbye to the lovely Stacey, Chu Me and I raised a glass of Pere Ventura Cava and toasted her fabulousness. One thinks Dermott said it best, “You’re a proper lady, Stacey!”

She most certainly is, dear! The question is, however, who will be our X Factor King on Sunday night?

Saturday, 12 December 2009

Strictly Arlene v Alesha?

Former judge of that rather energetic hit BBC show Strictly Come Dancing, Arlene Philips has spoken out about her sacking from the show.

One always used to like to watching dear Arlene, as she judged the weekly performances from the participating celebrities.

Though she often spoke in riddles and her hair appeared to have been deployed in hedge-warfare, there was always something soothing about having her amongst the panel; similar to dancing as a child at a family gathering and granny spurring one on with her kind words, while slipping a quick shot from the hip flask stashed in the Louis Vuitton handbag under the table.

Anyhoo … on the decision and in an interview with Glamour, Arlene said once the producer gave it to her, she “couldn’t take it in.”

She thought she was good at what she did but then felt shocked to find out she was not.

It is true that Alesha may be aesthetically delicious, where as Arlene is not, but one must say a more mature outlook is required for such an important show and especially when it is to raise money for charity.

Furthermore, it is quite distracting the non-graspulization that Alesha has over when to use the words "was" and "were"; one minute sounding like a Street-wise teenager - "You was fantastic", "They was perfect steps" – and the next like a Somerset sheep farmer - “I were a dancer like you”.

She may be able to dance a light fandango but she is clearly unable to string a grammatical sentence together.

One thinks the probationary period is now over. We’ve had the addition of the fabulous Darcy Bussell and now one feels the party’s over for Ms Dixon and that Arlene must take her rightful place amongst the ‘men’ and Len again.

Oh yes, Alesha has had experience auditioning dancers for rather irritatiing videos for her music, however, that does not compare - in the slightest - to the work and experience that dear, sweet Arlene has acquired and provided over her many, many, many, many years.

BBC? Please re-think and return our queen to her rightful throne

Monday, 7 December 2009

X Factor (week 9) – Crusty Enjoys a Thrilling Semi

The excitement was building within the walls of Crusty Hall. Week 9 (I know it feels infinitely longer than that) of the X Factor competition had reached the Semi-finals. The remaining pop star hopefuls were now to face each other in the musical, gladiatorial arena to win a place in the final.

This week the contestants, again, had to tackle two songs; one from the vast catalogue of the late, great Michael Jackson and the other a song selected by their mentors; a song chosen to woo the public and propel their protégés into next weeks final.

One’s Ballroom was opened - as is now customary – and Chef had prepared a huge array of nourishing nibbles for us all to enjoy. The owners of the village pub, The Badger’s Snatch, were attending; Fanny and Willy O’Dour. In addition, we also had Mr & Mrs Tickles - the owners of the village florist and garden centre, accompanied by their daughter, Tess. It was going to be quite the party!

8pm arrived and the show was underway. Dreamy Dermott appeared from the giant opening at the back of the stage and the audience went wild. He strutted to the side, stood on his mark and introduced the panel of judges.

The gentlemen – Louise and Simon – were well turned out with suit and ties. Danniiii Minge (sorry, my keyboard’s sticking) was swathed in a rather pleasant flowing number. Indeed, the ensemble was 85% acceptable save the rather ugly pair of dreamcatchers hanging from her aural lobes.

One read in the newspapers last week, that Dannniiii had said she was ready to leave the show to start a family with her hunkalicious beau. Normally this would have worried Crusty greatly. Why, only as recent as last year – with the alleged plastic surgery and bollocks in her face …sorry, Botox (thank you, Chu Me) – one always wondered how a nurse delivering the baby would cope with having to look up from her stressed and bloody lady-garden to say, “Congratulations, Miss Minogue, you have a lovely Barbie doll!”

Now that the Bo …tox seems to have diminished, one is happier now that something altogether more human would be blessed upon the glamorous couple, should they decide to breed.

Cheryl y’nailed-it Cole had clearly suffered a crisis back stage with the little black number she had chosen for the show. Now, one is unsure whether stains were involved or just a receding hem line that would run the risk of prime time foof exposure, but Wardrobe were resourceful enough to find a mother and baby out back and managed to whip away it’s soft, pink blanket … wrap it around Cheryl’s waist and use the safety pin to finish the innovative creation behind the left shoulder. An absolutely awful look but resourcefulness must always be applauded.

Delicious Dermott passed to Simon who gushed his thanks to Janet Jackson, who was to perform on the results show and added, “We’re gonna do our best to pay tribute to Michael Jackson tonight.” (one realised it was wise, at that point, not to expect too much).

First to the stage was Oily Mares. The song choice was ‘Can You Feel It’ and we certainly could. As the music started and the men folk were munching into Chef’s melon balls, Fanny and Mrs. Tickles took to the floor and were consumed by the beat.

Crusty, however, was slightly confused – momentarily - when one thought one was watching a video of the village sanatorium’s Christmas party last year. One was convinced it was the institution’s head nurse, Kera Lott, in her white uniform and matching white pumps, dancing on the podium surrounded by her patients. It was then that one looked closed and realised that it was, in fact, Oily. Oh, how one’s guests and I chuckled!

Anyhoo … a quite pleasing performance was given and Fanny was certainly panting bloodhound after enthusiastically shaking her tail feather. The judges comments were good and, of course, Danniiii had to notice him grabbing “his package” (the mucky mare!)

One headed over to the exquisite presentation of nibbles, eager to cut a slice out of Chef’s prawn ring. Just as one picked up the utensil to scoop out a chunk of his delicious crustacean circle , one heard a heavenly chorus emanating from one’s Bang & Olufsen surround sound. It meant only one thing … South Shields stud-muffin Joe McElderry was about to take to the stage.

As he sat at the back of the set to begin his song – ‘She’s Out Of My Life’ - everybody in the ballroom let out a sigh at the sound of his awesome vocals. Immediately, one grabbed Fanny and Chu Me’s dear Tess Tickles and the three of us swayed along with the rhythm of the music. One was so caught up in the emotion of the song, that one deeply wished to find the ‘she’ that had walked away from our poppet and upset him. One would have liked nothing better than to have Chu Me hold her while one slapped her dish.

When he finished, there was rapturous applause and Dickie Tickles declared, “That one’s certainly got the X Factor!” (one could not have agreed more as one wiped a tear of joy from ones cheek!)

After the other judges had given their glowing verdict, Cheryl announced she was speechless … yet her jabbering on, certainly seemed to prove the opposite.

Dolly Dagenham scorched the stage surface next. Her sexy, yet simple outfit, made her appear absolutely stunning and … Goodness me! … Her legs! They went all the way up to the brim of her hat! One did feel that at her key change - towards the end - she did falter slightly but one supposes it was inevitable after Yoda Freidman had her walking across a carousel of dining chairs. We were, however, all agreed that it wasn’t a song to showcase her gorgeous voice even though she sang it very well.

Last on for the Micheal Jackson homage was Danyl Johnson (he who has a penchant for man-biscuit as well as lady-trifle). Poured into a pair of leather pantaloons he sang ‘Man in the Mirror’ with gusto, though one was slightly distracted, not so much by the lonely Polar Bear behind him, more the burning bush and the large dried up crack that came later. How very biblical, one thought!

In the second section, the contestants continued in the same order and Oily took to the stage once more.

Simon had given him the Beatles number, ‘We Can Work It Out’, but with a slightly less catchy and somewhat underwhelming arrangement and, though one was growing more and more incensed by his, “..Life is very short, and there’s no ti-i-i-i-i-i-i-me” nonsense, one was filled with admiration for him as he continued through his performance while suffering some sort of fit, or seizure, across the stage. Bravísimo, dear!

Chu Me tried to convince us Oily was dancing, but we all laughed it off and such a silly suggestion was soon forgotten.

Once again the angelic choral harmonies filled the Ballroom and our South Shields stud-muffin was back. A song that Crusty had heard before but was not completely familiar with but OH … MY … GOD!!! As the sparkles cascaded behind him Fanny, Tess and I screamed and clapped our hands violently. As his crystal clear vocals oscillated around every millimeter of ones epidermis, one felt one was showering naked under a secret waterfall, hidden in the depths of the Amazon jungle. Quite stunning!

Poor Mrs Tickles was transfixed by his performance; so much so, she ended up dropping her crumbly muffin all over the parquet flooring.

The penultimate act was Dolly Dagenham. Stood centre stage in a fabulous frock and looking very Streisand-esque, her lungs blasted out all they could muster for ‘Somewhere’. As the last notes bellowed out of the speakers, one is quite sure one was pushed back three inches by the very might of her diaphragm.

And finally, Danyl. This time singing the well known Whitney the Poo song from Bodyguard, ‘I Have Nothing’. A powerhouse performance, though one did feel he was a little flat at the beginning and only reached pitch once his lungs began to gather momentum and the more powerful lyrics arrived.

Ironically, by the end of the results show, and other than some happy memories, that was exactly what poor Danyl had …Nothing!

Crusty shall miss his smouldering gorgeousness and puppy-dog eyes, but the nation spoke and Crusty certainly feels the right choice was made. Should Danyl wish to escape to a place for some inner contemplation, Crusty Hall is at his disposal and one has asked Chu Me to leave a pair of small, black budgie-smugglers by the indoor pool, on standby.

Incidentally, note to Ms Jackson’s wardrobe department; what on earth were you thinking, dears! A raincoat and a pair of bunny slippers would have been more fetching than that … that …assemblage.

The woman’s an icon for goodness sake, not a lavatory attendant!

Tuesday, 1 December 2009

Confused By

It was one of those mornings when one was at a loss as to what to do. More so, because of the wild, wintry weather that had descended on this beautiful region and one’s beloved Crusty Hall.

Chu Me had already rose from his slumbers very early to ensure the horses were warm in their stables; he had cracked the ice on the pond to allow the swans access, had fed one’s pussy, Crotchet, fed the chickens and put a small winter coat on his cock. Then, a quick wash of his hands and he even prepared me the most delicious fresh omelette from the morning’s plunder.

After breakfast, one took a little exercise and sashayed along the numerous hallways and corridors of one’s family home until one finally arrived at the top of the Grand Staircase.

Though it was subzero temperatures outside, there was a pleasing warmth that ascended one’s elegant frame as one took hold of the balustrade. Caused not only by the effective central heating but also by one’s two special poppets looking down at one from their picture frames; Mark makes-my-mouth-water Warr and Colin his-twinkle-makes-you-tingle Briggs.

Chu Me had done a magnificent job of mounting them; a quick bang here, a quick bang there, and one’s special poppets were swinging weightily in front of one’s beaming face. One could not have been more pleased.

“They are both well hung indeed, Chu Me! Good show!” One acknowledged.

Below me, one notice Janet – one of the household staff – cleaning the floor, while listening to a program on the radio.

Janet came into one’s service from the village undertakers, Diggett & Buryham; It was quite clear she was not cut out for work in such a sensitive environment especially after … the “incident”.

She had wanted to give one of the floors a good clean but there was a gentleman ‘resting’ in the centre of the parlour in question. Small but strong, she lifted the coffin off its easel and stood it up in a stationery cupboard, out of the way. A fabulous job was done of the floor but by the time she had finished, she had completely forgotten about the item she had moved. Sufficed to say, later that same day, the receptionist’s screams could be heard for miles when she went to get a paperclip to remove a foreign body from her stapler and instead caught a frighteningly stiff one in her hands.

Anyhoo … as one was admiring the shine Janet was achieving on one's nic-nacs, an advertisement was broadcast for and one must say one was quite concerned at the intelligence of their target audience.

“Yeah, it was really easy,” said a young man, “I just put into the search engine … and it found it straight away!”

You could have found it even quicker if you’d just typed it into the address line, dear! (the clue is in the name!) …For goodness sake!