Month: September 2003

Has anyone else noticed how chubby that David Blaine chap is looking these days? Of course I’m sure it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he’s about to spend the next 44 days in a perspex box dangling over the Thames.

Honestly, who the hell cares? I might have seen a fair bit of Big Brother in my time, but even I’m not going to be watching live coverage of the nappy-wearing fool slowly wasting away until his inevitable triumphant emergence. It’s one thing making yourself levitate to freak out Americans on the streets of New York, but does he really expect people to be interested in this?

I mean, we can’t all be secretly hoping for the wire to snap, can we?

I see that that chap who crashed his plane into someone’s house this week is a brain surgeon. He’s just been cleared of the charges of “endangering the aircraft and the public”. Still, I’m sure on the kind of salary he gets he could afford to pay for the damage to be repaired…

I’ve been comfort shopping already this morning. It’s the only way I can cope with the twin gloom of it not only being Monday morning, with the full week in all its depressing glory stretching out before me, but also the indignity of having had to watch Everton get thrashed by Liverpool on Saturday in a pub full of (cocky and cockney) Liverpool supporters (by that I mean that I watched it in a pub full of Liverpool supporters; that’s not where the game was taking place – although that might have made for a more interesting prospect). My question for them, as for a selection of Liverpool-supporting Aussies at the afternoon’s barbeque, is, I’m sorry, what part of Liverpool are you from again exactly? C’mon Andrew, you’re from Melbourne for fecks sake, “the red part” is not the right answer to that question.

Anyway, if it makes me feel better, I’ll be having some of this, a bit of this, and oh, I don’t know, maybe Ross Noble tickets for next week.