That American loony bellyflopping 35 feet into 12 inches of water. Mate, we all want our 15 minutes of fame – but that’s just plain silly.
The first guitar Jimi Hendrix ever set fire to on stage selling for $575,000 at Fame Bureau’s ‘It’s More Than Rock and Roll’ auction on Thursday. Well it’ll look nice on the wall next to the flying ducks…
The new iPod accessories. Listen, my bank manager is already at the front door demanding readies. Leave it for a while Apple you fabulous company.
Cycle 08, October 9th-12 @ Earls Court, London. Well, as the world’s number one shoplifter, here comes some new spokes to the Princey household. Piece of cake on a bike…
‘Bestival’ weather. Ouch. And Amy Winehouse’s rider. Are you just buying tabloid pages ordering two crates of Jack Daniels thinking you’re cool whilst off your head on any Class A’s we care to mention…? Rearrange the word SECTOIN to see where this girl should go…
Big Brother. Did anyone actually watching that shit? And if you did, had someone tied you to a chair in front of the TV for the summer? Fridays are free again…thank the lord…
Soccer Aid. That’s as far as I go with this sentence. Dreadful – even if it was for charity.
Russell Brand hosting MTV in America on Sunday. Mate, your cock is the size of a gherkin I have been told – get over your ego and have a shave. You look like a werewolf who hasn’t washed in the river for a month.
Getting e-mails offering you free Dave Pearce DJ dates. Those dates are long gone dude – I would rather book my gardener Paul to spin for me at my clubs these days than Mr Baseball Cap Head. Lawnmower headphones on him or not…
Guy Ritchie – nice to have you back dude in some sort of film form and your Robert Downey Jr. ‘Sherlock Holmes’ flick sounds interesting coming up. But ‘RocknRolla’ with the hand in mouth line “you’re in there like swimwear”. When did you actually hear someone actually say that Guy? I nearly choked on my poppy…
The last ‘Egg Beach Party’ in London for the summer last Saturday. Well that’s a watch lost, £200 down the drain on booze and neck ticklers and a hangover the size of someone who has just fallen down twenty five flights of stairs. Thanks then to DJs Guy Williams, Lady Bianca, Malcolm Duffy and everyone else on the music duties ensuring I nearly went home in a body bag.
The smell of dishing out dog food after a seriously late bender. It smells like your granny’s fanny. Er, apparently…
Nipping over to Paris for a cheeky Sunday night. Georges Restaurant and a bit of action at Christian Dior never hurt anyone in my book. Except when you bump into Ronan Keating at St Pancreas Station. What a tiny lad! The Moulin Rouge is still shit but big ups and high fives to the Guetta gaff, Avenue Montaigne for the shops, the girls in tiny dresses who just know they look incredible and the head bending French red wines. And a sloppy kiss under Pont Marie. Well it beats coming out of The Egg at 6am.
www.style.com – just no need for this laptop fashion expenditure…
That nutbag jumping on stage in Canada clamping Oasis’s Noel Gallagher. Just so funny.
The new exhibition of some of the world’s smallest artwork’s in Soho, London – courtesy of artist Slinkachu who has created scenes with plastic figures only millometers tall. Rumours that DMC’s Martin Madigan modeled for the show are, at this time, unconfirmed.
