Friday, April 01, 2005

The Column The Stars All Read

Our Show Business Correspondent Letitia Lipgloss writes:

So Christopher Eccleston is already jumping out the emergency exit of the Tardis for fear of being typecast.
Hang on, skull face.
Quick reality check here.
If you have the slightest concern about typecasting then you don't take a part like Dr Who in the first place.
Secondly, if your name is Christopher Eccleston then you're already typecast as that smug, pretentious twat with average acting ability and big ears.


Graham Norton, don't ya just love him?
Correction. We used to love him when he was discussing vibrators with Mo Mowlam and putting mini-cams down audience members' boxer shorts to show grainy pictures of their cock rings.
But Strictly Dance Fever at Saturday teatime? Bastard son of Pop Idol and Strictly Come Dancing, the only fever it produced was in the suits at the Beeb when they saw the viewing figures their £5 million investment in Graham had produced.
Once again the Beeb has dropped a bollock in the transfer market. And poor little Graham......bless! He's completely parted company with his bollocks, God love him.
Plonked amongst a coterie of dancers as camp as a row of pink tents and unable to utter even a single entendre.

A week today a wrinkled old crone marries a boring old fart.
Yes, Deirdre is marrying Ken in Corrie. Who did you think I meant?!!
Letitia's tip for the big day: wear a polo neck, Deirdre darling, to cover those throbbing neck veins.
As for Ken, well nothing's throbbed there for about thirty years. Still, the cuddly old teddy bear could quote William Blake at you over the bedtime cocoa. Bless!


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