Oh, thank gawd for that - it's almost over bar the screaming!
Yet again, my first week back after a fortnight away has been torturous. Hey ho, just a few hours to go - and we have a sunny Bank Holiday weekend to look forward to [for a change].
Time indeed for a(nother) party - and, since it was Mama Cher's (gulp) 80th birthday this week, who better to kick off proceedings, as only she knows how?
Thank Disco - and Cher - It's Friday!
Enjoy the long weekend, dear reader, whatever you get up to!
Pay heed to the "Nanny Stern" of the fashion world!
There are loads more such gems over at Glamourdaze...
Drink pints and eat chips: Manchesterism in practice, explained by a Mancunian
Andy Burnham is all about Manchesterism. And, what with living in Ardwick, so am I. Let me tell you how it works here on the ground:Chips for tea
If Manchester stands for anything, it’s chips for tea. Not every night, unless you’ve the misfortune of being vegan. Every Friday, usually Mondays, Wednesdays occasionally, Sundays if you’ve not been able to shift your hangover. Also we have chips for dinner. What you’d call lunch.Pints
You can get cocktails and the like up here but you can’t really go wrong with a pint, can you? And another pint after that. Followed by whatever you like but chances are it’ll be another pint once you’re two down. If anything else seems like the thing you’re not fitting in.Rain
Not sure how Andy’s planning to shroud the whole country in the beautiful rain we get 24-7 and 365 up here, but he’ll need to if we’re going to get everyone in anoraks. You can’t beat a good downpour. Makes the cobbles glisten.Gays
We’re very big on our gays up here, but they’re proper gays. Not these online queers you get down south. To claim an alternative sexuality down Canal Street you’re still required to pass the physical examination. Also, you have to eat at McTucky’s and survive.Curry
It’s not all chips, as I detailed above. There’s also the Curry Mile, a phantasmagoria of spices and neon signs that serves everything the Indian subcontinent has to offer. Your arse’ll be smoking like there’s a flare up it.Very specific musical nostalgia
All the best bands come from Manchester if you insist on an arbitrary cut-off point of roughly 1996. Joy Division, New Order, The Smiths, the Roses and the Mondays, Oasis, music ends after that. There’s the lad who does the rapping I suppose but he’s not on Factory.Hatred for your immediate neighbours
You’re no real Manc if you don’t despise Liverpool, loathe Leeds, look down on Birmingham and consider London beneath contempt. Personally I think anyone from Salford’s a twat. Should fit right in with Britain’s post-Brexit foreign policy.Bees on shit
They only used to be on the bins, but this last 15 years we’ve adopted the bee as the symbol of our fair city and plastered them on everything. They represent Manchester because they work together for the good of all, they’re natty little bastards and if you mess with them, they’ll fuck you up. Alright?
Of course
It's another snippets post, dear reader:
Utter genius!
And the weather? Blustery, showers, still too cold for mid-May. Grim. However, the forecast looks much improved for the end of the week and the Bank Holiday Weekend!
Yes, yet again we had a marvellous "gathering of the clans" for our Eurovision Song Contest party on Saturday. We cheered, we booed, we gave points, we drank, and the buffet I prepared (with additions from guests, all of whom were allocated to bring food from one country, booze from another, and a country to support) was polished-off nicely over five hours...
...and yet again, the UK was dealt a crushing blow as our valiant entry Look Mum No Computer [see here for his song Eins, Zwei, Drei] received the grand total of one solitary point [from the Ukraine jury], coming last! Even if his song divided opinion [even among our little gang - some of us (myself included) loved it, others loathed it], it didn't deserve to receive no points at all from audience votes.
Sigh.
Our gang, as always, pulled out all the stops with their costumes...
l-r from top row: Madam Arcati: France, me: host/UK, Lou: Lithuania, John-John: Greece, Houseboy Alex: Germany, Baby Steve: Italy, Joe: Belgium, Russ: Malta, Crog: Australia, Hils: Finland]
John-John, Eurovision fanboy as he is, prepared our scorecards and a spreadsheet(!) for capturing them once marked. That's always a fun part of the party - being bitchy about naff acts - and it's also interesting to compare our consensus with the final scores at the "real" contest.
But, before the voting stage, there was a rather faboo interval, that featured previous contestants, some of them winners of the contest, covering some of the most notable winners over the years. Fancy hearing the eternally youthful Alexander Rybak sing Sir Cliff's Congratulations? Verka Serduchka doing Puppet On A String? Goth-metallists Lordi performing Save All Your Kisses For Me? Ruslana belting Euphoria? Or the assembled talents of the aforementioned, together with more recent entrants like Erika Vikman, Kristian Kostov and Miriana Conte on Waterloo? Now's your chance:
Once the dust had settled after that, and John-John and I had filled all the points in on the spreadsheet, the Top Five scores from the Dolores Delargo Towers Jury were:
#1:
[Click here for the official video]#2:
[Click here for the official video]#3: Bulgaria [more on that in a mo]
#4:
[Click here for the official video]#5:
[Click here for the official video]The final, final official results of the combined Eurovision juries and audience scores were a bit different:
Bulgaria has not won the Eurovision Song Contest since making its debut in 2005 - but this was indeed a fabulous performance of a rather good choon, and a well-deserved winner, for a change!
[Click here for the official video]It was an utterly faboo evening, disappointments or otherwise!
Same time, same place, next year?
YOU BET!!
Eurovision round-up from the BBC
‘I haven’t had a loo break since 2009!’ The truth about Eurovision – as told by its biggest icons [The Guardian]
Nooooooooo!
Another lovely break is over and, for the first time in seventeen days, I have to open that bloody laptop and re-enter the ever-delightful world of work.
To add insult to injury, the nasty cold, dank greyness that has held sway the whole time since we returned from holiday is due to break midweek, and we'll have proper warm weather for this time of year, maybe even a heatwave - while I am in the office!
Sigh.
Never mind eh? It is a Tacky Music Monday, and, with memories of Spain fading from our minds almost as quickly as our tans - ¡Dios mío! - have I found a corker from that country, for your delectation, dear reader... Enjoy!Have a good week. I won't!!
Still coming down to earth after our fantabulousa Eurovision Song Contest party last night - I finally got to bed after 4am! - and still reeling from the UK entry's disappointing performance [more on that later, no doubt], there is only one thing that can help me now.
As two weeks of hedonism draw inevitably to a close, and I steel myself for "back-to-work-time" tomorrow - our "house band" has come up with the goods! Again...
We love Postmodern Jukebox!
It's been a busy old week, dear reader. Despite having the old "post-holiday blues" after a splendid week in Spain, and despite the shit weather, I haven't really stopped! Rearranging the garden, a bit of shopping here, a bit of sorting and tidying the house there, and there's still loads to do - but hey ho! We do indeed have "the party of the year", the "Gay World Cup", our annual Eurovision Song Contest party tomorrow - and a houseful of guests in ridiculous costumes are, as ever, expected.
So, to get the celebrations going, here's an old stalwart - the 2004 entry from Bosnia-Herzegovina, in all its campery.
Thank Disco It's Eurovision Eve Friday!
Have a good weekend, peeps, whether you're planning to watch the Euro-madness of the world's longest-running and biggest music event or not...
FOOTNOTE:
It seems the Google gnomes are still being bastards, as yesterday's post took seven hours to appear in the Reading List. I think we need to mount a coup...
FOOTNOTE UPDATE:
This post was set to publish at 9am this morning. It is now 11pm, and it's still not in the Reading List!! Is this some kind of sabotage effort by the Google gnomes to piss us all off so we end up moving to the (evidently hellish, according to some) world of Wordpress? It reminds me of the dying days of MySpace, all over again.
Sigh.
It's another snippets post today, dear reader:
Morecambe & Wise - Shirley Bassey:
And the weather? Up and down like a whore's drawers again, dear reader - one minute brilliant sunshine, the next black skies, rain and even thunder. Britain, Britain, Britain.
All that positive hantavirus publicity got you thinking of booking a cruise? Before you set sail like a carefree, ocean-going Zack Polanski, consider these reasons not to:The passengers
You’re trapped with them. Vacuous, boring bastards in pink polo shirts with wives in their 50s made up to be in their 20s. There’s no escaping the twat who’s immensely proud of setting up the most successful tyre supply business in East Renfrewshire, not on this trip, and keelhauling is sadly outlawed.The food
Food is included in the price, or the permanent buffet of shite in the prison-like canteen is. They make it as tasteless as possible to drive you to pay for meals in the very costly restaurants. And if you want a drink? You’ll be ordering it from the barman on every single occasion you need liquid. Yes, there will be a queue.The entertainment
No entertainer worthy of the name would sign up for three months in a windowless cabin at sea. Plenty of entertainers not worthy of the name will. Given an audience of tossers who believe an Elvis impersonator who can instantly switch to Robbie Williams is astonishing, they will pander to them. Night after night. And you’ll be there because that’s where the gin is.Seasickness
Seas get rough, and once your lavishly-appointed ship runs into a storm and begins lurching around like a drunken hippo with labyrinthitis everyone will be throwing up. You’ll be confined to your cabin and timing vomiting to when the toilet isn’t slopping water all over the bathroom floor you’re kneeling on.Viruses
And that’s when the metal container you’re locked in with thousands of strangers doesn’t become an incubator for an exciting new virus, keen to work its magic in this Petri-dish with hot tubs and a climbing wall. All while many, many nautical miles from the nearest hospital. You begin to realise why ghost ships were such a frequent phenomenon.The stops on land
After what feels like months trapped at sea but has actually been three days, you get the chance to escape. Bliss. Three hours in the most touristy harbours the world has to offer, where every shop is geared to selling you expensive jewellery you won’t notice the flaws of until you’re back on board your floating prison with that twat from the tyre business again.
Of course.
The first sunny day since we've been back, and it was inevitable that I'd spend it in the extensive gardens here at Dolores Delargo Towers! We now have two sets of display shelves - and each needed a bit of propping-up to avoid them shifting on our uneven, sloping paving, so all the pots needed to come off. Then came the job of gathering up the plants again (and more), to arrange them on and around the shelving for maximum display and to disguise the edges. At each turn, the crud and litter (mainly from the bastard weed trees) had to be cleared [as did the pots/troughs of spent daffs and the dead wallflowers and tulips, to be replaced with the foxgloves, the first of which I potted-up] - and several plants needed potting on/refreshed compost as I went along. Needless to say, I'm aching...
What finer tonic could there be after all that, than a trip into the heart of Swinging Soho - courtesy of the ever-marvellous Soft Tempo Lounge?
Ah, that's better.
[Music: Polish Radio Orchestra - My Girl, Suzy; Original film: Swinging Britain in the 60s: A Psychedelic Dream (1967) - British Pathé]
Yes, we're back in miserable, dank Blighty, after a wonderful week in the blazing sunshine of Benalmadena. Great friends, great food, booze, totty-spotting, banter, booze, lots of laughs, nights out in the sleazy environs of La Nogilera in Torremolinos and booze - business as usual, really!
Our journey out was knackering: only a meagre amount of sleep, and a taxi at 2.30am to catch a flight from Gatwick at the crack'o'doom - so much so that we didn't even go out on Saturday night - and our journey home from Luton airport was marred by the fact that there were no trains to London, so we ended up on a coach transfer to some god-forsaken hole (Hitchin) to get a connection. At least that train got us straight to Finsbury Park (nearer home than Kings Cross) - but there was no Piccadilly Line either, so we had to get a cab... None of that matters, of course, when the bit in the middle was such a joy!
But - what did we miss while we were on our week of hedonism? Well, there was a massive furore over that plague ship that needed to be evacuated after several passengers died of a Medieval disease; and it was a local elections wipeout for Labour, which has put PM Kier Starmer at risk of being ousted. Then there was the glittering Met Gala (now sponsored by the Google mafia Jeff Bezos and Lauren Sánchez), the important scientific discovery that beer is good for you as it contains vitamins, the departure of Ted Turner for that great 24-hour-television-channel-in-the-sky - and the man who pulled a car using his penis, while on fire [I'm not making this up, you know]!
We also missed celebrating the 90th birthday of Engelbert Humperdinck, the 85th of Earth, Wind and Fire co-founder Philip Bailey, the 80ths of Sir David Suchet and Thelma Houston (and what would have been the 80th of Lesley Gore), the - gulp - 65ths of Jay Aston from Bucks Fizz and George Clooney...
...and Sir David Attenborough's 100th birthday!
But did we bring anything back for your delectation, dear reader?
This being a Tacky Music Monday, it could only be Spain's answer to Dame Shirl, the late, great Señorita Rocío Jurado, at her big-haired, OTT best!
Is it good to be back?
NO!
By the time you read this, dear reader - if ever you do, given yesterday's debacle - we should (hopefully) be just about landing in Malaga for another week of hedonism...
Here's a little variation on our usual theme of Vamos a la Playa to keep you entertained:
"Normal" service will be resumed, with any luck, in a week's time...
"Hooray, hooray, the first of May! Outdoor sex begins today."
In the extensive gardens here at Dolores Delargo Towers, the daffs, tulips and primulas - as well as the cherry and apple blossoms in the neighbourhood - are over. The air is now scented with the intoxicating perfume of lilacs, jasmine, rowan and the last of the wallflowers. How does one adequately encapsulate the scents of Spring? The combination is simply divine.
To add to the uplifting mood, I'm counting down to the end of a particularly gruelling week - and tomorrow we're up in the deathly hours in order to get a taxi to Gatwick Airport, to catch our flight to Spain for a week's much-needed holiday! I have never needed a holiday this much [since the last one, of course 😎]!
Let's have something suitably Spanish to get the celebrations going, shall we - and who could be more appropriate than our Patron Saint of Plastic, Charo?!
¡Gracias Disco Es viernes!
Have a great weekend, dear reader! We intend to.
STOP PRESS:
I don't know when - or even if - you will actually see this, dear reader, but I timed it to publish at 7.30am...and it is now 6.30pm and it still hasn't shown up! I hate the Google gnomes.
It's another snippets post, dear reader:
And I say, hey yeah yeah, hey yeah yeah
I said hey, what's going on?
Indeed. It's a mindfuck...
And the weather? Utterly glorious!
Sharing the day with another panoply of "names" including Zizi Jeanmaire, William Randolph Hearst, Sir Thomas Beecham, Duke Ellington, Sir Daniel Day-Lewis, Leslie Jordan, Jeremy Thorpe, Uma Thurman, Sir Malcolm Sargent, Celeste Holm, Emperor Hirohito, Tammi Terrell, Andre Agassi, Lonnie Donegan, April Stevens, Baron Jacob Rothschild, Toots Thielemans, Professor Heinz Wolff, conductor Zubin Mehta (who is 90), Willie Nelson, Tommy James of The Shondells, Rod McKuen, Jerry Seinfeld, Jo O'Meara of S-Club 7 and - erm - Bernie Madoff...
...it's Bill Drummond's birthday today. Who? I hear you ask...
He was, of course, the co-founder of that most wonderfully loopy of late 80s/early 90s electro rave combos, The KLF!
I need no more perfect excuse (as if I would need one) to play this, their most completely off-the-wall hit that resurrected the career of a forgotten diva. I love it!
There never was anything like it before, and I very much doubt there'll ever be anything like it again.
The Daily MashI told him my ballroom is a mile high just to see his face, says King
The King has admitted claiming to own a domed ballroom a mile high in conversation with Donald Trump to see his crestfallen reaction.
The president had taken the Royal party to see a hole which he was boasting would soon be an even greater ballroom than Hitler’s, when Charles replied ‘Of course, we have terrible issues rerouting planes around ours.’
The monarch continued: “You’d think the view would be wonderful a mile above London, but the diamond capstone on the top is actually in the stratosphere so it’s all clouds.
“Holds 1.7 million people, though it’s not been filled since George V’s inaugural ball because I’m afraid there aren’t enough aristocrats left. Nowadays we use its solid gold art deco interior for family get-togethers and charity events.
“It really is a magnificent edifice and, of course, owned by a real king. But yours sounds like it will be nice too. How large? 90,000 square feet? Ah, so the same size as the palace kennels.”
He added: “You should have seen his mean, crumpled face. He started bragging about 80s golfers’ dick sizes to recover, but of course Camilla has hands-on expertise there.”
Trump said: “I’ve checked on the internet and it’s all true. I fired the aide who told me it was AI.”
Of course.
Another lovely weekend spent pottering in the garden and - whoosh! Here we are again...
Never mind, eh? - it's just a week, then we're off to Spain at the crack'o'doom on Saturday, and I have another week off after that, so I'm not too despondent.
Meanwhile, it's the 60th birthday today of one of our fave actresses, Miss Siobhan Finneran! We first fell in love with her as the harassed mum "Janice Garvey" in the sitcom Benidorm - dealing with her hapless husband "Mick", pregnant teen daughter "Chantelle", pretty-boy son "Michael" and her bombastic battleaxe mother "Madge" while trying to enjoy her holiday - and she played a blinder in Downton Abbey as the wicked ladies' maid "Miss O'Brien". She was also in Emmerdale, Happy Valley - and this, her first starring role, and a film I absolutely adore. It is a Tacky Music Monday, after all!
Have a good week, dear reader.
We had hazy sunshine all day, but that didn't stop me getting out there to complete a few more tasks in the extensive gardens here at Dolores Delargo Towers - more big salvias repotted into fresh compost, some primulas that have gone over tidied-up in preparation for their summer hiatus, and I split one of our indoor peace lilies that was looking very sorry for itself and needed a bit of TLC, among other pottering jobs...
Meanwhile... The bastard gnomes at Google/Blogger have been playing silly buggers again. I published a post at around 6 o'clock yesterday. It remained in Limbo, as far as the Blogger Reading List is concerned. Suddenly at 1 o'clock in the morning - boom! There it was...
WTF leads these creatures to think that a five-hour delay is acceptable is beyond me! Yet another blogging annoyance... Sigh.
Never mind, eh? Here's something soothing from our "house band" to ease our troubled souls...
Ah, that's better...
It was another beautiful Spring day today, and the chilly wind of earlier this week had completely dropped - so, obviously I spent most of it in the extensive gardens here at Dolores Delargo Towers. The last of the summer annuals-filled window-boxes and a wall pot are done. I moved-on a few more plants in little pots into bigger ones, then began the task of tackling the moth-eaten overwintered large-leaf salvia collection, which have all exhausted the soil they were in. More tomorrow, no doubt - and then hopefully everything will be ready for the summer "jungle" display. Once we get back from Spain, It will be time to do the "Tetris" task of placing the gazillions of pots into the best location for them to thrive and look their best [of course, everything's covered in a coat of flowers and detritus from the bastard weed trees at the moment; there's not a season when they don't give us grief]...
Meanwhile, sad news - Mademoiselle Evy Lenton, lead singer of the camp-as-tits one-hit-wonders La Belle Époque has donned her last glittery jacket and ascended the dry-ice strewn staircase to Fabulon, at - gulp - the age of 80.
It's obvious what to play in tribute, of course, really, since they only ever had one hit:
Love it!
RIP, Évelyne "Evy" Lenton (born Evelyn Verrecchia, 16th December 1945 - 22nd April 2026)
TFFT! Another week of drudgery - while looking out on the glorious (if slightly chilly) Spring sunshine from the stuffy and airless office - is over...
...and we have a Diva birthday to celebrate! Sharing her day with our Patron Saint of Hoofing Shirley MacLaine, as well as the likes of Jean Paul Gaultier, Tony Visconti, Paula Yates, Aidan Gillen, Anthony Trollope, Jill Ireland, guitarist John Williams, Kelly Clarkson, Sir Stafford Cripps, Clement Freud, Gabby Logan, filmmaker Richard Donner, Olympic cyclist (Dame) Laura Kenny, Rory McCann and - erm - "Lord Haw Haw" William Joyce - it's "MegaBabs" Barbra Streisand's birthday today!
As it is the end of the week, and we have a party to start planning, so how about Babs' most successful foray into dance music - in the company of another glittering gay icon LaDonna?! I think so. Thank Disco It's Friday!
Have a great weekend, folks!
Another snippets post today, dear reader:
[Photo:
the fabulous IanVisits blog; click any pic to embiggen]
Pull that string! [click to embiggen]
And the weather? Beautiful and sunny, but still a chilly wind.
The new Michael Jackson film is the first instalment of an interconnected cinematic universe of celebrity sex offenders, its producers have announced.
As well as telling the King of Pop’s origin story, Michael launches a multi-movie franchise about rich and famous celebrity wrong ‘uns which is projected to come together for a thrilling crossover finale in 2031.
Film insider Tom Booker said: “Don’t worry if you’re not familiar with all the dusty old source material on these guys. The NCU will tell you everything you need to know.
“Michael eases you in with a straightforward tale about a poor black kid who grows up to be the world’s most famous sex monster. Sit through the end credits and there’s a teaser for the next film in the series, 'Andrew: Prince of Paedos'.
“That leads into the Woody Allen biopic, then we go back a couple of decades and see the roots of it all with Jimmy Savile, Stuart Hall and Rolf Harris in 'It Was A Different Time: The 70s Story'.
“Yes, we’ve had to be creative in scriptwriting to tie it all together, but give Michael a magic rhinestone-studded glove and I think audiences will be in their seats cheering as the paedos put their differences aside to battle a galactic threat only they can defeat.”
Cinemagoer Martin Bishop said: “I can’t wait for them to keep churning these movies out long after they’ve stopped being good.”
Of course.
...in orange.
...in yellow.
...in green.
...in blue.
...in indigo.
...in violet...
...and in pink!
One hundred years ago today, our beloved - and still sadly missed - HM The Queen Elizabeth, the longest-reigning monarch the United Kingdom ever had [and second-longest-reigning in history, after France's Louis XIV], was born.
Generations of people knew no other monarch except her. She saw 15 British prime ministers and 14 US presidents come and go during her reign, as well as numerous global conflicts from Korea to the Gulf, the Cold War from Stalin's death through to the fall of the Berlin Wall, the transition of Empire to Commonwealth (on occasions bloodily, sometimes peacefully), the rise and fall of apartheid in South Africa, myriad political scandals from Profumo to "Partygate", tragedies from the Aberfan disaster to IRA bombing campaigns to the Dunblane massacre to the Grenfell Tower inferno, the decline of major British industries, the invention of the internet and the rise of the information age, a palace intruder, Royal weddings and divorces and the "annus horribilis", the death of Diana [as well as her mum The Queen Mother, her sister Margaret, and her husband Prince Philip], pretending to parachute into the Olympic Stadium with James Bond, the COVID pandemic and "tea with Paddington". She gave Royal Assent to 2,820 public bills and 235 private bills into law, presided over 70 State Openings of Parliament and almost the same number of Christmas broadcasts - and heaven only knows how many other speeches or dedications she must have made during her extensive visits to just about every country on the planet!
When she died four years ago, millions watched coverage of her funeral, and thousands upon thousands of people paid tribute in person, queuing - myself included, for eleven hours - to pay respects at her lying in-state.
Cheers, Ma'am. Nothing's quite the same without you.
Here's another tribute (of sorts):
Then one of us will be a Queen,
And sit on a golden throne,
With a crown instead
Of a hat on her head,
And diamonds all her own!
With a beautiful robe of gold and green,
I've always understood;
I wonder whether
She'd wear a feather?
I rather think she should!
Oh, 'tis a glorious thing, I ween,
To be a regular Royal Queen!
No half-and-half affair, I mean,
No half-and-half affair,
But a right-down regular,
Regular, regular,
Regular Royal Queen!
She'll drive about in a carriage and pair,
With the King on her left-hand side,
And a milk-white horse,
As a matter of course,
Whenever she wants to ride!
With beautiful silver shoes to wear
Upon her dainty feet;
With endless stocks
Of beautiful frocks
And as much as she wants to eat!
Oh, 'tis a glorious thing, I ween,
To be a regular Royal Queen!
No half-and-half affair, I mean,
No half-and-half affair,
But a right-down regular,
Regular, regular,
Regular Royal Queen!
HM The Queen Elizabeth II (21st April 1926 - 8th September 2022)
