Tuesday, 10 February 2026

Of a culinary vamp, tenors, treasure, old farts radio, brutalism, gay disappointment and Bowie in cabaret


Congratulations to the "sex kitten" of TV chefs Nigella Lawson, who steps into the shoes of previous hosts Dame Mary Berry and Dame Prue Leith as the new presenter of The Great British Bake-Off.

It's another snippets post, dear reader:

  • Brutal(ist), indeed news: The hideous concrete monstrosity that is London's Southbank Centre [the 1950s adjunct to the otherwise OK Festival of Britain survivor the Royal Festival Hall, it encompasses the Queen Elizabeth Hall, Purcell Room and the Hayward Gallery, and was later joined by the National Theatre next door, and the British Film Institute (BFI) after that] has become a Grade II listed building. It's still depressingly ugly.

  • Muddled history news: It is once again LGBT History Month in the UK and, unlike in its heyday when Camden & Islington LGBT+ Forum actively facilitated loads of events that appealed to all sorts of groups who vaguely sat under this stupid "alphabet soup" banner, and we always found at least one or two events to go to, there's not a lot that appeals. Not for several years, more's the pity. It's all "trans" this, "queer" {{shudders}} that and "lesbian" the other; at least in our locale.
    One event did indeed catch my eye, however - a touring dramatisation of a long-forgotten radio script from the BBC all about homosexuality in an age when it was completely illegal: Stephen M Hornby’s play The BBC’s First Homosexual. Unfortunately, and possibly inevitably since its London run is a) cheap (£5) and b) hosted at the teeny-tiny Cinema Museum in Kennington [which I have been dying to visit], it's sold out! As is the centenary celebration of the irrepressible Kenneth Williams at the British Library. Dammit.

  • And finally: Sad news arrives of the death of Mr Des de Moor. Latterly known for his passion for real ale and his writings about the subject, he seems an unlikely candidate for a tribute here - but his name rang a bell when I saw it in the obituaries. With very good reason - for, way back in 2003, I happened to purchase a copy of a real oddity: his tribute CD to David Bowie, in cabaret style, with the late Russell Churney [of Fascinating Aida and Julian Clary fame] Darkness and Disgrace! And here, for your delectation, are two tracks from it:

And the weather? Shit.

Monday, 9 February 2026

Oh, how hot..? *

Slow, slow, slow - that just about sums up how today is going, since our return from Spain late on Saturday. Despite having mental plans of things to do in the garden (while the rain holds off) and/or the flat (I have had some more pictures framed, so there's some rearranging to do to accommodate them before we run out of wall!), all I've really managed is to get some washing done.

Hey ho. I haven't forgotten, however, despite still being on holiday all this week, that it is a Tacky Music Monday - and with that in mind...

...why have just one Spanish diva to cheer us up, when you can have three?!

¡Olé!

Have a good week, dear reader.

[* Ay que Calor = "Oh, how hot" in Spanish]

Sunday, 8 February 2026

El regreso...

Leonardo and Martha. A nice couple we met on our holiday? "Nice" would be pushing it... Two of the fiercest "named storms" of the season; unfortunately they both visited Andalusia in the same week while we were there.

We arrived on a pleasant, breezy, quite sunny weekend and enjoyed sitting in the sunshine - but after that it went all grey and blustery and showery with sunny intervals, and by Tuesday we had proper rain (and bought a brolly). One morning we had sleet hitting our balcony! Friday (The Madam's birthday) was particularly schizophrenic - on my way down to our regular beach bar Palm 5, the rainstorm was horizontal and I could hardly keep the brolly up, yet by 2pm we had nary a cloud in the sky, and basked in the sunshine until the sun went down! To finish things off "nicely", as we waited for our evening flight yesterday we were huddled at the back of the bar terrace, freezing, and watching the Palm 5 staff fighting to get one of the windbreak roller blinds back into place as Martha had blown its hooks out of their mounts.

We were concerned about our flight taking off in such a "hurricane", but all went well (we even landed in Luton Airport twenty minutes early). Bizarrely, by the time we were having our first British pint at the Wetherspoons at Kings Cross St Pancras, we were warmer sat at their outside tables at 11pm than we had been at lunchtime on the Costa del "Sol"...

We still had a fabulous holiday, regardless! We felt really welcomed wherever we went, had loads of laughs, ate some great food, caught a bit of sunshine on our skin - and burned the candle at both ends with post-siesta nights in the La Nogilera gay area in Torremolinos (as is our wont). [And we're booked to go again at the beginning of May, so there's that to look forward to...]

But what did we miss while we were away? Not a lot, truth be told. The Winter (yawn) Olympics are on in Italy, apparently; sacked former ambassador to the US Peter Mandelson is a bogeyman again, and Prime Minister Starmer's under pressure again; no amount of false posturing from the orange moron in the White House has prevented that evil cunt Putin from bombing Ukraine; among the amazing treasures uncovered during ongoing works on the HS2 rail route are a Neanderthal hand axe, a set of 19th Century gold dentures, a Roman gladiator "good luck" tag, and a gold "three lions" pendant from the 13th-14th Century; and finally - a man had to be rescued from a tree on the Isle of Wight, where he was sheltering from being attacked by an angry cow.


[click any pic to embiggen]

Oh - and tennis totty Carlos Alcaraz became the youngest player to win a Grand Slam. New balls, please...

No doubt what you're asking, dear reader is - did we bring anything back with us to share? Of course. A triple-bill, no less!

Spain's Eurovision entrant in 2024, doing what she does...

...a proper Spanish number (ish)...

...and finally, my fave!

Is it good to be home? ¡Ni hablar!

Saturday, 31 January 2026

We're off...

By the time you read this, we'll hopefully be in the skies on our way to our annual winter break to Benalmadena!

There is a traditional song I always play on such an auspicious occasion, and so - here it is:

It's traditional.

"Normal" service will resume sometime next weekend, dear reader...

Friday, 30 January 2026

I would rather be just a little shady

¡Olé! indeed. Just one more day of tedious slog to go, and it'll be time to slam that laptop shut for the next seventeen days!

As you are no doubt aware, dear reader - we're off to Spain for a week tomorrow (followed by - for me, at least - another week off to mong about, pottering in the garden, no doubt).

To mark the very welcome end of the week, how about a little bit of Spanish campery..?

Gracias Disco ¡Es viernes!

Have a great one, dear reader!

Thursday, 29 January 2026

Just too good to be true?


Benalmadena has changed a bit since the 1970s

With only a couple of days left before we bugger off in pursuit of some sunshine, one might have expected to be able to wind-down a bit - but no, the tasks have just been ramping up instead. Bastards!

I don't care. One-and-a-bit days... then at 4pm tomorrow, sod 'em all!

Meanwhile, here's one of our fave Spanish combos, without whom no countdown to a (hopefully) stress-free holiday on the Costa would really be complete...

Ah, that's better.

Wednesday, 28 January 2026

Earth below us, drifting, falling


Indeed...

Among another assortment of celebrants, including Alan Alda (who blows out 90 candles on his cake), Colette, Acker Bilk, King Henry VII (Henry Tudor), Jackson Pollock, Sir John Tavener, Harry Corbett (creator of "Sooty"), Ronnie Scott, former French President Nicolas Sarkozy, Olympic champion Dame Jessica Ennis-Hill, Sir Roy Clarke (the genius behind Keeping Up Appearances, Last of the Summer Wine and Open All Hours - thankfully still with us, aged 96), Nick Carter, Frank Skinner and Elijah Wood, it is the 70th birthday today of a true "one-hit wonder", only really known outside his native Germany for this Bowie tribute way back in 1983...

An inspiration for (the far more successful) A-Ha, perhaps..?

Viele glückliche Rückkehrer, Peter Schilling (born Pierre Michael Schilling, 28th January 1956)!

Tuesday, 27 January 2026

Shanties of the damned

The bus station of every town and city is a wild, lawless place where society has broken down entirely and madness reigns, studies have confirmed.

Researchers found that any terminal where buses begin and end journeys inevitably, for reasons unknown, devolved into a post-apocalyptic Mad Max environment where the weak are prey for the strong and the 87 to Eyres Monsell never comes.

Professor Henry Brubaker, of the Institute for Studies, said: “Our findings won’t come as a surprise to any unfortunate souls who’ve found themselves in these shanties of the damned. McDonald’s after 11pm comes a notable second.

“All of the signs are wrong, there’s bird shit everywhere, every horizontal surface is covered in spikes and the reek of piss is ever-present. They’re not so much vital parts of the public transport infrastructure as a preview of the nightmare to come.

“Pity anyone forced to use them on a daily basis. Herds of depressed commuters, all who know they’re only one wrong glance away from a riot kicking off? Protected only by their earbuds and their indifference? A grimy, vaping hell.

“The only way to escape these ghettos is to make a cursed deal with the sullen-faced wardens who despise them the most: bus drivers.”

Regular bus traveller Martin Bishop said: “Bus stations aren’t that bad. If you know a better place to buy 15 kilos of dog hair for two teeth, I’d like to hear it.”

The Daily Mash

Of course.

Monday, 26 January 2026

¡Empieza la cuenta atrás para nuestras vacaciones!


Just a few more days...

Yep. Monday again. Work again. It's still miserable, grey and dank out there, with more rain on the horizon (particularly tomorrow).

However, the countdown has begun - just five days to go, and we're off to Spain on Saturday! Can't wait...

Meanwhile, on this Tacky Music Monday, here's an old fave - our Patron Saint of Histrionics Señorita Rocío Jurado!

As I said last time I posted it:

With a plethora of safety gays and girls who look like drag queens [I'm sure I spotted a youthful Dame Hilda Bracket in there somewhere], bizarre costume changes, piss-poor miming and a duettist who looks like Ron Burgundy sans moustache - this is just perfect!

It remains so:

Have a good week, dear reader.

Sunday, 25 January 2026

Bowie and Burns


Me with the powder-blue suit Bowie wore in the iconic music video for Life On Mars

Back in 2013, the V&A staged one of the most comprehensive and mind-boggling exhibitions dedicated to the life of one person, ever - the wonderful David Bowie Is..., the most visited exhibit in the museum’s history. I went along, and was blown away by it!

Then in 2023, thanks to a donation from the Blavatnik Family Foundation and Warner Music Group, and in collaboration with the great man's estate, the entire archive around which that exhibition was based was acquired by the V&A for the nation - and for a permanent [albeit with items on rotation] display at the new David Bowie Centre in Stratford, which officially opened in September 2025, with tickets strictly limited, and members a priority.

So it was that Madam Arcati and I (V&A members) were able to snaffle tickets - for us and for John-John [Hils, for whom we also booked a ticket, couldn't make it] - for a viewing yesterday!

The V&A takes great pains to emphasise that this is not solely an "exhibition" - and indeed, in comparison to their usual dazzling multi-room, multitudinous-exhibit events (dozens of which we have been to, and thoroughly enjoyed), it is quite tiny; just one room, with ten visual display cases, a big screen and floor-to-ceiling shelves around a table. 

It's the latter part that makes clear the true purpose of the centre - for anyone, by request in advance, can take a closer look at any of the 90,000 items in the collection! If you want to handle Bowie's platform boots, his fedora from The Man Who Fell to Earth, or his personal diaries, you can do so!

Of the items currently on display [as I mentioned above, many of these will periodically be refreshed and changed], I was enthralled by the variety and range, from all eras of his career. Highlights: That suit [pictured at the top of the post] from Life On Mars (and the cream suit from the Serious Moonlight tour I went to see in 1983, and his "Ziggy Stardust" costume), a pair of letters - one a "reference" written by David's dad, the other a very curt rejection letter from Apple Records - his high-drama metal "wings" from the Glass Spider tour in 1987, the handwritten lyrics to Heroes (and the synths played in those "Berlin sessions"), the Stylophone he played on Space Oddity, and, and, and... everything!

It was a brilliant day!


[Click any pic to embiggen]

About the David Bowie Centre

[PS We also took a wander around the V&A East Storehouse itself, which is a stunning (and bewildering) warehouse-scale display of objects of all types and from all eras, that are a mere part of the museum's gargantuan collection, which visitors walk around, under and above - worthy of another visit, and another blog post all of its own - read the review from the ever-wonderful The Londonist instead.]


Meanwhile...

...happy Burns Night!

Bringing the two things together nicely, here's Scotland's uncrowned Queen, Lulu singing the song Bowie wrote for her (together with the great man on backing vocals):


We passed upon the stair, we spoke of was and when
Although I wasn't there, he said I was his friend
Which came as some surprise; I spoke into his eyes
I thought you died alone, a long long time ago

Oh no, not me
I never lost control
You're face to face
With The Man Who Sold The World

I laughed and shook his hand, and made my way back home
I searched for form and land, for years and years I roamed
I gazed a gazely stare at all the millions here
We must have died alone, a long long time ago

Who knows? not me
We never lost control
You're face to face
With the Man who Sold the World

Saturday, 24 January 2026

I'd like to be a gallery, put you all inside my show

Those rancid little gnomes at Blogger just cannot leave well alone, can they?

This week's little "surprise"? - yesterday, the function for comments-upon-comments in a thread [aka "embedded", as it's described in the settings menu] stopped working, with the "reply" link greyed-out. Whatever this shit is, it's also hit the setting whereby the reader clicks a photo to embiggen and it opens in "LightBox" (a widget that lets you scroll through posted photos) - photos currently open in a new window/tab instead. Other navigation functions have also been affected. Sigh.

I digress...

This afternoon, Madam Arcati, Hils, John-John and I are off to the wilds of Hackney Wick, to visit the new David Bowie Centre at the V&A's "East Storehouse" - and that's a collection I am champing at the bit to see [despite already having already been overawed by the David Bowie Is... exhibition back in 2013] !

Something appropriate for the occasion is in order:

Like to take a cement* fix
Be a standing cinema
Dress my friends up just for show
See them as they really are
Put a peephole in my brain
Two New Pence to have a go
I'd like to be a gallery
Put you all inside my show

Andy Warhol looks a scream
Hang him on my wall
Andy Warhol, Silver Screen
Can't tell them apart at all

Andy walking, Andy tired
Andy take a little snooze
Tie him up when he's fast asleep
Send him on a pleasant cruise
When he wakes up on the sea
Be sure to think of me and you
He'll think about paint and he'll think about glue
What a jolly boring thing to do

Andy Warhol looks a scream
Hang him on my wall
Andy Warhol, Silver Screen
Can't tell them apart at all

Andy Warhol looks a scream
Hang him on my wall
Andy Warhol, Silver Screen
Can't tell them apart at all

Apparently Mr Warhol was not best pleased. I'm certain David lost no sleep over it.

[*I'm pretty sure that in his original lyrics, this word was not "cement" at all, but "semen"; sanitised for 1970s audiences, no doubt.]

Friday, 23 January 2026

Get ready (Baby) tonight

The weekend is looming - and it's just seven days tomorrow till we're off to Spain..!

To lead (moon-walk?) us into the party mood, who better than the eternally uplifting Soul Train alumni Shalamar? That'll do nicely.

Thank Disco It's Friday!

Have a fab weekend, dear reader, whatever dance you do!

Thursday, 22 January 2026

Of George, irrelevant awards, cocks, life-forms, cult TV, a jam-marketeer and a cow


A new production of Sondheim's Sunday In The Park With George, starring Ariana Grande and the very lovely Jonathan Bailey, will open at the Barbican Centre in London in summer 2027. We must get tickets!

It's another snippets post, dear reader:


RIP Patsy King, better known as "Governor Erica Davidson" in Prisoner Cell Block H - heavens, how I loved that show! "That will be all, Miss Bennett!"


[click any pic to embiggen]

And the weather? Pissing down all day, and no sign of it brightening up for a while yet. Roll on our trip to Spain!

Wednesday, 21 January 2026

Baby no more

Sharing the day with another mismatched assortment of names, including Telly Savalas, Plácido Domingo, Martin Shaw, Benny Hill, Billy Ocean, Cristóbal Balenciaga, Steve Reeves, Christian Dior, Geena Davis, Edwin Starr, Jack Nicklaus, Lola Flores, Phil Neville, Richie Havens, Karl Wallenda, Wolfman Jack and - erm - Rasputin, our own ickle Baby Spice is (gulp!) fifty years old today [born the same day as the first commercial flights by Concorde]!

Now I feel old...

Here she is, with her biggest solo hit:

This cover of an old Edie Brickell song, however, remains my favourite:

Many happy returns, Miss Emma Lee Bunton (born 21st January 1976)!

Tuesday, 20 January 2026

Satire's not dead yet

A new study has found that taking part in “Dry January” leads to a sharp and measurable increase in smugness, with partners, friends and bar staff reporting noticeable behavioural changes within days of the month beginning.

Researchers said participants displayed heightened levels of self satisfaction, particularly in pub settings, where abstinence was often announced loudly and repeatedly, despite no one asking.“It’s not just that they’re not drinking,” one increasingly weary partner lamented. “It’s the way they sit there watching everyone else like they’re morally superior. It’s made me drink even more if I’m honest, mainly out of spite. Sometimes I just go to the pub without them.”

Friends reported similar responses.“They can’t just quietly not drink,” harped one disgruntled drinker. “They have to mention it. In the pub. Over and over. It’s quite annoying.”

Bar staff said the behaviour was instantly recognisable. Jim Bingham, bar manager at The Bouverie Tap in Folkestone, Kent, said Dry January customers tend to let you know as soon as they walk in. “They want to chat about how well they’re doing. But we’re busy,” he bristled. “We don’t need your life story. Just order a fucking drink.”

“No one orders a lager and explains they’re doing Fat February. But in January, ordering a lemonade comes with a TED talk. We don’t care.”

Pubs confirmed sales of alcohol free beer, cider and spirits rise sharply throughout the month.“We order extra every January,” Bingham said. “It’s not a trend. It’s for these numpties.”

Alex Furness, a bartender at the pub, said customers often seemed disappointed by the lack of reaction. “They announce they’re doing Dry January and just stand there,” he said. “Like we’re meant to clap. I don’t give a shit.”

The study revealed the most common phrase recorded was “I’m actually doing Dry January”, often delivered with a smug expression, as if they’re quietly enjoying the smell of their own fart.

Researchers also noted a marked increase in phrases such as “I don’t even miss it”, “I actually feel amazing”, “I’m sleeping so much better” and “I’ll probably just carry on in February”, usually spoken while staring longingly at someone else’s pint.

They found smugness typically peaked in the second week of January, before collapsing rapidly following phrases such as “I might just have one” or “I’ve still done really well”.Pubs expect behaviour to return to normal by early February, when participants begin saying they have “basically cut down now” while ordering a pint.

The report concluded that while Dry January may offer personal benefits, it places “considerable strain on pubs, relationships, and anyone seated nearby”.At time of publication, bar staff confirmed they had ordered enough 0% options and were “looking forward to Full Fat February”.
- this post from The Bouverie Tap in Folkestone makes me want to pay them a visit!


Brooklyn Beckham and Nicola Peltz have never worked a day in their entire lives.

They really do believe they are suffering over a wedding dress and a typical in-law disagreement.

Zero adversity in life is what creates this phenomena [sic]. People worldwide are starving, dying, and being slaughtered in their hometowns - but poor Brooklyn and Nicola had a dust-up at their billionaire wedding.

They are so wealthy, they were then able to organise another wedding to make up for the first - but they want the public to realise how stressful it is that they had to have TWO multi-million dollar weddings because his brother said something mean to him and his mother danced with him at the wrong time.

Truly traumatising. Pray for them.
- Candace Owens

[The "real" story]


“Retaliatory tariffs are a bad idea,” said Starmer. He isn’t wrong. A trade war would undoubtedly harm the UK economy. And falling out with your most important ally who helps maintain your nuclear deterrent can generally be filed under “bad idea”. But where do you draw the line when The Donald goes ahead and does all the things he says he is going to do? Imposes tariffs; annexes Greenland; trashes Nato.

In KeirWorld where no boat should ever be rocked, The Donald operates in a world without consequences. Where every humiliation is only greeted with an invitation to inflict further humiliation. Were Trump to take a fancy to Scotland - hell, he owns a couple of golf courses so why not the whole country: first he takes Turnberry then he takes Holyrood - what would Starmer do then? Apart from saying how disappointed he was and that we needed to maintain good relations with the US at all costs.

Maybe Keir will prove us all wrong. He will secure a meeting with the president in Davos and The Donald will see the light. But you wouldn’t put money on it. Starmer has acquired the reputation of being the world’s best Trump wrangler but right now it’s hard to see we have got that much in return.

It could just be that Keir used his best bargaining chip long ago when he offered the president a state visit on the first date. That’s the only thing The Donald has ever really wanted from us. We gave it away too cheaply.
- John Crace in The Guardian

Amen.

Monday, 19 January 2026

Tumble out of bed and I stumble to the kitchen

  • "God tells us not to judge one another, no matter what anyone's sexual preferences are or if they're black, brown or purple. And if someone doesn't believe what I believe, tough shit."

  • "If something is bagging, sagging or dragging, I'll tuck it, suck it or pluck it."

  • "It costs a lot to look this cheap."

  • "If I hadn't been a woman, I'd be a drag queen for sure. I like all that flair and I'd be dressing up in them high heels and putting on the big hair. I'd be like Ru Paul."

  • "The way I see it, if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain."

  • "I look just like the girls next door... if you happen to live next door to an amusement park!"

  • "I'm no natural beauty. If I'm gonna have any looks at all, I'm gonna have to create them. Thanks to Botox and fillers, as well as the work that I've already had, my face pretty much maintains itself."

  • "I'm old enough and cranky enough now that if someone tried to tell me what to do, I'd tell them where to put it."


Dolly Parton, Goddess.

Our Patron Saint of Rhinestones, the ever-adorable Miss Dolly Parton is - gulp - eighty years old today!

On this Tacky Music Monday - as we adjust ourselves once again to the fact that, yes, we do have to go to work in order to pay the bills - there is only one song in the great lady's repertoire that fits the bill, really...

Many happy returns, Dolly Rebecca Parton (born January 19, 1946)!

Have a good week, dear reader.

Sunday, 18 January 2026

Ecco nuova musica! Può darsi...

A very mild, pseudo-Spring-like weekend is upon us, despite the fact that the sun barely rises over the houses over the back from the extensive gardens here at Dolores Delargo Towers at this time of year. We may be tempted outside to tackle some of the inevitable tasks that need to be done (in the quest to "banish death" from the garden in preparation for new growth to come)! [I did make a start yesterday, chopping back the old flowering stems of the Verbena bonariensis and Salvia ulignosa - both of which throw out over 5 to 6ft of growth every year, but once the flowers are dead, look ugly. Browned fern fronds are next on my radar.]

Meanwhile, how about another selection of some of the "newer" music that has caught my ear of late..?

Let's open with a number that's not new at all - in fact it was released in 1967! - but it appeared on the lovely Rylan's show on Radio 2, as he was in conversation with two of the stars of Strictly Come Dancing [where it has apparently been a regular dance choice; I dunno, I never watched the show in my life]. Having never (knowingly) heard it before, here it is! A slice of irrestistibly catchy cha-cha-cha:

Back to the present...

Our Glorious Leader Queen Madge has - out of the blue - released a cover of the song that made Patty Pravo [see here and here] a massive star in Italy (in support of a marketing campaign for D&G, it appears). Quite a departure for her, but beautifully done!

I only very recently stumbled across this one - and I rather like it!

A jolly enough number, from an ex-girlband member (Little Mix), with a rather odd video - what more do we need?

Yay! Another new choon from our favourite eccentrics du jour! Pain? What pain?

And finally, saving the best to last, it's another cracker from the eternally-sexy Mika!

Hello!

As ever, dear reader, let me know your thoughts...

Saturday, 17 January 2026

Viva la Diva(s)!


It's another Betty White Day today!

There's a huge cornucopia of birthdays today, including the remarkable and beloved Betty White, Our Patron Saint of purring Eartha Kitt, and (Lord) David Lloyd George, Muhammad Ali, Vidal Sassoon, Jim Carrey, Paul Young, Calvin Harris, Shari Lewis, Ryuichi Sakamoto, Neville Shute, Andy Kaufman, Susanna Hoffs, Mack Sennett, Chris Montez, Benjamin Franklin, James Earl Jones, Michelle Obama, Tiësto, (Lord) Keith Joseph, (Sir) Compton Mackenzie, Al Capone, Shabba Ranks, Richard Hawley and Sheree North, and today marks the centenary of the birth of Moira Shearer...

...but it is to our most regularly-featured Patron Saint (of Hair-Swishing?), stalwart employer of every safety gay in France, and (another) "birthday girl" Dalida to whom we turn for respite today, dear reader! Enjoy...

Dalida était l’une des plus grandes de toutes les divas!

Friday, 16 January 2026

Everything I touch turns to...


Wise words of the day

Another very odd week crawls to its inevitable demise. I have found myself feeling a bit like a prisoner, working from home [a thing I hate, and never did before the pandemic arrived in 2020]. Today I feel so "stir-crazy" I am finally going to venture into the office (now the rain and murk has stopped, for a while at least). Woo-hoo.

Just one day more, and it'll be time to breathe again...

To prepare ourselves for the weekend ahead, we need to get into more of a party mode - so let's apply the "super-gloss" hair gel, dig out our best padded shoulder floral print jackets (with clashing shirts, of course) and a little touch of diamanté, and boogie on down with Midnight Star [whatever happened to them?]. Thank Disco It's Friday!

Have a good weekend, dear reader!

Thursday, 15 January 2026

Got to be strong to be good

And so, farewell then, Sheila Bernette.

An obscure name even over here in the UK nowadays - but to anyone of a generation that remembers 1970s British telly, she was everywhere!

A naturally gifted and very funny woman, she appeared in The Dick Emery Show, Coronation Street, Butterflies and with Morecambe and Wise, Larry Grayson, Leslie Crowther and Jimmy Tarbuck, was Tommy Cooper's "magician's assistant", regularly sang and performed on The Good Old Days, and was probably best-remembered as one of the pranksters (often as a "little old lady") on Candid Camera.

And then there was this - her famous advert for Extra Strong Mints:

Simply faboo! 

Another little piece of the fabric of my childhood, gone. RIP.

Wednesday, 14 January 2026

Of beards, cultural deficit, zero zero, rough trade, Dilbert, fake pandas, Welsh Romans, Bowie and Gallic electro


A gamble that paid off news: a Belgian art dealer who bought a painting that caught his eye for under €100,000 (£86,600/$115,000) "on a hunch" is now the owner of not only a Rubens, but a Rubens "two-in-one" - if you flip the picture upside-down. [click any pic to embiggen]

It's another snippets post, dear reader:


RIP, Scott Adams, creator of Dilbert.

And the weather? Rain, mizzle, rain, ad infinitum...

Tuesday, 13 January 2026

Dry January?

A man who has sworn off drinking this month has clarified that it only counts as drinking if it is in the pub, for God’s sake.

Wayne Hayes has proudly told everyone he is laying off the booze for the month but was flabbergasted to learn they expected that meant at home as well.

He said: “You can’t not drink at all, can you? In January? I’m not superhuman.

“I will keep my promise not to set foot in the pub all month, even on quiz nights. Not a pint of Guinness will pass my lips. If you don’t think that’s an accomplishment you don’t know me.

“But at home? That’s my own business. You can’t stop me and you’ll never even know I’ve been drinking unless you see through the kitchen window where I don’t have a blind because it caught fire.

“It’s still one hell of an achievement. Drinking without the camaraderie, the warm haze of shared intoxication, the fruit machine. I tell you, I’ll be bloody glad when John’s pouring me a pint again. Don’t tell me that’s not hardship.”


He added: “Actually, I’m getting to quite like drinking alone at home now. You can start earlier.”

The Daily Mash

Of course.

Monday, 12 January 2026

Sugar Plums and vibrators

Groo!

I'm sort-of back to work today - basically checking emails and with an agreement that I can log off intermittently to rest my leg (it needs to be raised to heal properly and I can't do that without dispensing with the laptop from the corner of the desk where it sits while I am working from home).

To help ease the burden of dealing with the same old, same old shite - on this Tacky Music Monday, how about a little something from today's birthday girl (and staunchly out lesbian) Miss Patsy Kelly (and chum)?

...and here's an old fave, to boot. She knows exactly what she's selling...

Have a good week, dear reader.

Sunday, 11 January 2026

It's behind you!

Despite the fact my leg is purple and bruised from where the sun don't shine to below my knee, it's not as painful as it has been - and what better way to take my mind off it than our annual pilgrimage to the glittering London Palladium for the panto [in its very last weekend]? Oh, yes we did!

Panto has a long, long history in the UK, arising as it did from myriad sources including Medieval mummers' plays, troubadours, jesters and the European "Harlequin and Pierrot" masques, through taverns and music halls to the traditional tongue-in-cheek ribald comedy shows we know today. It stands alone amongst other "variety show" traditions, however, as being an event for all the family - the ever-present near-the-knuckle double-entendres being included for the adults, but with enough fairy-tale enchantment, colour, flashes, bangs, audience participation and spectacle for the little 'uns, to disguise the essentially smutty nature of the humour on offer. When I read supposedly "outraged" reports in the papers about parents walking out of this year's production with their kiddies because of all the alleged "filth", I continue to despair, in this day and age when just about every thick twat on social media is seeking attention for attention's sake and whose opinion is of no consequence whatsoever to anyone with a brain, as to why tabloids no longer employ real journalists - rather than people paid to gather the most "clickbait" bits off Tw*tter, Reddit or F**book and pass them off as if it were a real story...

I digress. This year it was the turn of Sleeping Beauty to get the Palladium/Michael Harrison/Crossroads Pantomimes treatment - and in its tenth year [a milestone they endlessly, somewhat tiresomely at times, kept reminding us about throughout the show] of similar spectacles, the old stalwarts were all lined up to appear again - dear old Nigel Havers, ventriloquist Paul Zerdin, host/"continuity" Rob Madge and, of course, the centre of it all, the peerless Julian Clary.

Again, there was a guest star to get the "bums on seats" [past "guest turns" have included Paul O'Grady, Elaine Paige, Lee Mead, Dawn French, Jennifer Saunders, Janine Duvitski, Beverley Knight, Donny Osmond(!) and Jane McDonald] - this time, to our joy, it was Catherine Tate!

And again - inevitably - there was a mere nod to what scarcely resembled a "story"; Princess Aurora (whose name Julian as "the King", despite being ostensibly and unbelievably her biological father, never gets right, played by Emily Lane) is cursed by the villainous "Carabos" (Miss Tate) to prick her finger, sleep for a hundred years, and only be awoken by a kiss from her "true love" - the very hunky (especially when he and the chorus dancers get stripped down to their undies for the number Splish Splash) "Handsome Prince" Amonik Melaco, and they all live happily ever after. Ten minutes' worth of plot. That does need quite some padding-out - and that, dear reader, its what makes a show!

Indeed, of all the reviews I've read [and they are a mixed bag of good and bad], perhaps a fellow blogger, Yank in London Kara Dennison summed it up most succinctly:

"...there’s a story we all know, and there is a central title character, but really we’re all here to see a big group of very specific talents show off. The plot is secondary, perhaps even tertiary.

...There was no plot, the skits barely hung together with each other by a thread, and I had a great time."

Amen to that.

It was flimsy, it was basically a succession of variety-show numbers welded together in an effort to make a show out of nothing, and it did sometimes give the impression everything was about to fall about at the seams [although - as I have been reading from reviews from different stages during the run about similar "hiccups" to what we saw - this was all probably carefully scripted]] - but we had a bloody good evening's entertainment nonetheless! [In spite of the whole thing being interrupted and having to stop for a good fifteen minutes last night, when there was shouting from the stalls - which we immediately took for some kind of demo - that, as it turned out, was someone calling for help because an old lady in the audience had collapsed.]

The sets were utterly amazing. The dramatic end to the first half - where gigantic (inflatable) thorned vines expanded from ceiling, walls and orchestra pit to fill the entire vast auditorium (representing the bit in the fairy story where the sleeping princess is hidden behind a thicket of brambles) - was phenomenal. The choreography, and all the dancers, were excellent. The costumes - in particular, of course, our star Julian Clary's - were dazzlingly brilliant!

The "other guest star", impressionist John Culshaw (as "the King's private detective"), added some variety to the show, taking on Donald Trump, Kier Starmer and others, including Julian himself, which was very amusing. Julian was every bit as outré as we expected - even if the scripts this year gave him even less to work with as we may have hoped. His relationship with the ever-willing "foil" Nigel Havers - in particular a late-in-the-show duet - worked well. Mr Havers himself got a funny part of his own, in a parody of the Evita "balcony moment" [NB in the recent Palladium production, Rachel Zegler sang Don't Cry For Me Argentina every night from the theatre's balcony overlooking Argyll Street]. The inevitable comedy "four-performers-in-a-line-sing-a-manic-song-with-props" routine, a panto staple, was hilarious.

However it was Catherine Tate who [despite initial "protestations"] brought her audience favourite character "Nan" (among others) to the stage - first in a song-and-dance routine to Don't Stop Me Now and then in a brilliant tongue-twister routine based on the classic I'm not a pheasant plucker - really stole the show, and got the biggest round of applause of the entire evening.

Including the curtain call finale...

In spite of its faults, this was a genuinely fun evening, of that there is no doubt!

Same time, next year? Oh, yes, we will!

Saturday, 10 January 2026

And you, you will be queen

Fuck, how time flies! Remarkably it is TEN YEARS today since we lost the greatest of all my icons, the god who walked amongst us, the peerless David Bowie.

As you will be more than aware, dear reader, I have paid due homage to the great man many, many times on this very blog...

Read my week-long series of "Bowie Tracks of the Day" following his untimely death:

Read my two-part magnum opus in tribute to the great man on his 65th birthday in 2012:

I still mourn his loss, needless to say.

As does, it would seem, our "house band" here at Dolores Delargo Towers...

RIP, David. Well done, Sara, Scott Bradlee and the band.