The same as a week in Ibiza?

A group of drinkers who spent three days snowed in at a Yorkshire pub are gamely pretending they loved it. They didn’t and nor would you:

Day one, snow
It is intrinsically exciting to look at heavy snowfall through windows while inside and warm. Add that to the adrenaline rush of getting pissed and the day flies by. It’s early evening and dark before you know it.

Day one, evening, snow
Except now you can’t see the snow. And you’ve got that queasy day-drunk feeling in your guts and while you were gazing out of windows the other patrons secured the best beds, couches and patches of floor. Continue to order pints in lieu of genuine merriment.

Day two, snow
Wake hungover and cold. The landlord’s doing cooked breakfasts and your stomach’s lurching, and he’s charging £22.80 for them which makes you heave. And full price for drinks? Three days in a Yorkshire pub’s going to cost you the same as a week in Ibiza!

Day two, afternoon, snow
After a morning of sulky abstinence you hit the booze and go out to make a snowman, have a snowball fight, and urinate your initials into a snowdrift. All tremendous fun until you return indoors, panting and red-faced, and realise your clothes are soaking and you didn’t bring any spares because you were only coming to the pub.

Day two, evening, snow
Right. At this stage you’re trapped in a building with people you’d rather not be trapped with and all entertainment options have been exhausted. The thought of a pint makes you ill, but you can’t even have a Coke without it costing £2.80. Settle to getting shitfaced but grimly, as Captain Oates might have done.

Day three, more fucking snow
Still? Still snowing? Are they taking the piss? When you’ve woken up from a nightmare about The Shining, shivering under a damp coat, to the sound of the landlord taking a plunger to the toilets? You step outside into the snow to vomit copiously into it. This won’t make the regional news.

Day three, escape
The roads are cleared. The media arrives to cover the wonderful time you’re having. You pay a photographer £100 for a lift back to civilisation. It’s small change compared to the £600 you’ve spent locked in this fucking pub. Make it home. Vow never to enter a pub again. Go that night, to brag about how great it was.

The Daily Mash

Of course.

[The "real" story]

Of sackings, shoes, Tallulah and Darragh

It's another snippets post, dear reader...

• Dance with the Devil news: Poor Prince William had to put on his best statesmanly grimace for a meeting with President-elect Trump in Paris to discuss "the special relationship" between the UK and the US.

• Auntie Beeb does it again news: In another in a long line of "let's really piss our loyal audience off" moves [see also Paul O'Grady and Clare Teal], one of our favourite broadcasters, host of Radio 3's In Tune for 27 years Sean Rafferty has been unceremoneously replaced axed! We are so pissed off. Again.

  Mind you, the "send-off" on his last show on Friday was a remarkably emotional show of support - as the "great and the good" of the classical world and beyond turned up to play and sing music, and make toasts all dedicated to him, including Ailish Tynan, Marcus Farnsworth, Nicky Spence, Barokksolistene, Anna Tilbrook, Dame Sarah Connolly, Angela Hewitt, Elena Urioste, Tom Poster, Guy Johnston, fellow Radio 3 presenter Tom Service, and none other than Dame Joanna Lumley!

• It'll still be dry as fuck news: Xmas turkeys are on sale in Holland Park in London [Eddie and Patsy's neighbourhood], ranging from £81.13 for a 6lb bird to a whopping £363.38 for a 28-pounder! I think we'll stick to pork. Or duck. Or anything that tastes nicer than turkey.
• Pity she's a whore news: Remarkably, an archaic police power - the issue of a "prostitute's caution", that, unlike any other similar sanction, remains on record for life - is still being exercised in the UK today! No wonder the girls are angry about it.
• There's expensive shoes, and then there's bloody expensive shoes: Those ruby slippers worn by Judy Garland that went to auction with a pre-sale estimate of £4 million? Ah, yes. They sold for $28 million (£22m)!! There's some rich queens out there...

• And finally: RIP, Broadway trouper Miss Helen Gallagher, at the ripe old age of 98. She wasn't exactly a "household name", but I discovered this marvellous little video of her performing as Tallulah Bankhead which suggests she would indeed have been "our kind of girl"...

Helen Gallagher in Tallulah

And the weather? Another cunty "named storm" - Storm Darragh - has battered the crap out of Wales and the West of England, and even here in London the gales are fierce!

---

STOP PRESS:

Sorry, Krampus!

...we missed your "Nacht"!

Now, Baby, Now!

What else would the British weather throw at us after a few days of rain... than sub-zero temperatures, guaranteed to kill the last few remaining plants in the extensive gardens here at Dolores Delargo Towers that had mistakenly thought winter was over?!

Deep joy.

Let's have little "lounge-music-a-go-go interlude" to warm us up, shall we? - courtesy of the genius of Soft Tempo Lounge:

Soft Tempo Lounge - The Now Sound

Ah. That's better.

[Music: The Pandora Orchestra - Running Free]

It can actually slice your nose off

Britain is unsuitable for human life, it has been confirmed.

Amid blade-like freezing gales that can actually slice your nose off, international aid agencies have offered to evacuate the population using helicopters.

A Red Cross spokesman said: “We want to get as many people out as possible, then we’ll figure out how to distribute them across nicer places, like Spain and Portugal.

“In the meantime, just stay inside. Do not attempt to leave the house or even look out of the window, it’s far too psychologically damaging.”

Stephen Malley, from Doncaster, said: “I’m sure this country is like a giant haunted house, it’s evil spirit trying everything it can to drive us out.”

The Daily Mash

Of course.

[The "real" story]

Current mood...

...Regina Linnanheimo in Restless Blood.

The "Big Freeze" continues, and the chances of dozens of plants in the extensive gardens here at Dolores Delargo Towers surviving it are getting slimmer, work's being a bitch, I heard Mariah Carey playing for the first time (in a shop so was unable to run and switch it off), and a mysterious and worrying discovery - an entire folder of my "projects" has been wiped off the expansion drive of our home PC, and (despite downloading several freeware file recovery programs) I think it's all gone for good.

It's lunchtime, and I am tempted to pack up and head to the nearest pub.

Madonna - Holiday

I need a holiday, indeed.

Rompin', stompin', pumpin', jumpin', slidin', glidin'

We've had six inches, and that's just the start of it...

The Big Freeze continues - we haven't had temperatures above freezing for days, and the combination of four consecutive nights hitting -5C, freezing fog, and now snow has seen off swathes of our pot-grown specimens. And there's no end in sight.

Hey ho. As the Madame said over at her blog: "...we will just have to wait and see, get the seed catalogues out and replace the dead in the Spring where we need to. Our garden is due for a rethink so this will be a good time to do it."

On this Tacky Music Monday, as I decide whether or not to venture to the office, let's cheer ourselves up with a sunny trip to the beach(!) - and a choon I described back in 2017 thus:

"...the faintly-ridiculous-yet-forever-remembered "barn-dance" song 5, 6, 7, 8 [which remains one of the biggest-selling songs never to have actually hit the Top 10 in our charts]".

Steps - 5, 6, 7, 8

My boot-scootin' baby is drivin' me crazy
My obsession from a western
My dance-floor date
My rodeo Romeo
A cowboy god from head to toe
Wanna make you mine?
Better get in line
5-6-7-8

Foot kickin'
Finger clickin',
Leather slapping
Hand clappin'

Hip bumpin'
Music thumpin'
Knee hitchin'
Heel and toe

Floor scuffin'
Leg shufflin'
Big grinnin'
Body spinnin'

Rompin', stompin', pumpin', jumpin', slidin', glidin',
Here we go

My boot-scootin' baby is drivin' me crazy
My obsession from a western
My dance-floor date
My rodeo Romeo
A cowboy god from head to toe
Wanna make you mine?
Better get in line
5-6-7-8

Tush-pushin'
Thunder-footin'
Cowgirl twistin'
No resistin'

Drums bangin'
Steel-twangin'
Two-steppin'
End to end

Hardwood crawlin'
Some four-wallin'
Rug cuttin'
Cowboy struttin'

Burnin', yearnin', windin', grindin',
Let's begin the dance again

You're mine, all mine now bubba
Gonna rope you in
So count me in
5-6-7-8

My boot-scootin' baby is drivin' me crazy
My obsession from a western
My dance-floor date
My rodeo Romeo
A cowboy god from head to toe
Wanna make you mine?
Better get in line
5-6-7-8

They just don't write lyrics like that any more. [Actually, they probably do, it just that you can't understand a word nowadays with all that mumbling.]

Have a good week, dear reader. Keep warm!

Day's dawning, skin's crawling

This Arctic freeze hitting the UK is getting beyond a joke now, and we are resigning ourselves to the fact we are likely to lose quite a few plants from our collection here in the extensive gardens at Dolores Delargo Towers, despite our best efforts of cramming then against the walls of the house.

Hey ho. There's nothing we can do about that except keep our fingers crossed...

Let's celebrate the fact it was the lovely Brian Molko of Placebo's 50th birthday yesterday, shall we, with something suitably dark:

Placebo - Pure Morning

A friend in need's a friend indeed
A friend with weed is better
A friend with breasts and all the rest
A friend who's dressed in leather
A friend in need's a friend indeed
A friend who'll tease is better
Our thoughts compressed, which makes us blessed
And makes for stormy weather

A friend in need's a friend indeed
My Japanese is better
And when she's pressed, she will undress
And then she's boxing clever
A friend in need's a friend indeed
A friend who bleeds is better
My friend confessed she passed the test
And we will never sever

Day's dawning, skin's crawling
Day's dawning, skin's crawling
Day's dawning, skin's crawling
Day's dawning, skin's crawling
Pure morning
Pure morning
Pure morning
Pure morning

A friend in need's a friend indeed
A friend who'll tease is better
Our thoughts compressed, which makes us blessed
And makes for stormy weather
A friend in need's a friend indeed
A friend who bleeds is better
My friend confessed she passed the test
And we will never sever,

Day's dawning, skin's crawling
Day's dawning, skin's crawling
Day's dawning, skin's crawling
Day's dawning, skin's crawling
Pure morning
Pure morning
Pure morning

Sigh.

I'm a rebel just for kicks, now

Oo-er - had a couple of inches up my back passage this morning! Snow, that is. The extensive gardens here at Dolores Delargo Towers bear a passing resemblance to Narnia at the moment, but I have no doubt before too long it'll look more like a swamp as it all turns to slush...

To take the chill out of the situation, here's a lovely summery number from our "house band":

Postmodern Jukebox ft. Joey, Adanna, Nina Ann - Feel It Still (Portugal The Man '60s "Mr. Postman" style cover)

Perfect "Sunday Music".

[For the original, see this post from 2018]

Je soigne les remords

Do you wake up to clear blue winter skies only to find the sun’s gone by the time you’re dressed? Here’s how to make the most of your tiny slice of daylight.

Get out of bed
Special as it can be to watch the sun rise and set in six minutes from under the duvet, it means you’ll be doing everything else in the dark for the rest of the day. If you get up while it’s light you’ll feel you’ve achieved something, even if it’s just putting on underwear.

Gaze out of the window
Spend a few of those precious daylight moments looking out of the window. It might be the only time you’ll see the outdoors bathed in natural light all week so, as well as admiring the pretty clouds, take a moment to check the car hasn’t been nicked.

Look in the mirror
If you haven’t seen your face in natural light for several days, be brave and have a good look in the mirror. It will be a miserable experience compared to the soft glow of your smile in a low wattage light bulb, but it’ll prompt you to get your roots done before Christmas.

Go outside
If you find a moment when it isn’t pissing with rain, step outside. It’s important to let some vitamin D penetrate your dry, pasty skin and make sure the few muscles left in your wasted, sedentary body still vaguely work.

Get back into bed
By the time you’ve achieved anything, your tiny window of winter daylight will have closed and it will be pitch dark again. Like a bird with a blanket over its cage you will immediately return to sleep.

The Daily Mash

Of course.

Let's escape from the gloom for a moment, courtesy of "The Little Sparrow" (who was born 115 years ago today), allons-nous?

Édith Piaf - Milord

Oh, that's better...

Édith Piaf (born Édith Giovanna Gassion, 19th December 1915 – 10th October 1963)

Il pleut à verse

Winter murk has descended with a vengeance here in London over the past couple of days - it's pissing down, the days hardly get light, and the temperatures are in single figures (with little prospect of improvement). Deep joy. I hate this time of year.

An appropriate moment, methinks, to transport ourselves away to somewhere gorgeous in the company of beautiful people - courtesy of those geniuses over at Soft Tempo Lounge...

Soft Tempo Lounge - Professional

Oh, that's better!

[Music: Soft Sell by Keith Mansfield; film: Day For Night (La Nuit américaine) (1973)]

Brass-bollock weather

We've had quite enough, now!

Winter has entered its 18th consecutive fucking month, the Met Office has confirmed.

With sleet, rain and snow forecast for the weekend, meteorologists have admitted that the weather is so cold that it has frozen time itself, with no thaw in sight.

A Met Office spokesman said: “It’s March now, but that’s just what we call the month. It makes no difference to it still being winter.

“The time dilation effect caused by the absolute brass-bollock weather we’re suffering means that winter has gone on forever and will continue to go on forever, until all we can remember is winter.

“Occasionally it will merely piss it down while not being absolutely freezing, and we’ll all be pathetically grateful for two days before it returns to being utterly foul with an Arctic wind.”

Martin Bishop of Cleveland said: “We’re British. Winter is the only season we deserve.”

The Daily Mash

Of course.

As we suffer, once again, miserable freezing conditions and can merely watch as all our potted plants shrivel and die, we desperately need something - or someone - to bring us a bit of cheer.











And who better to do it than that stalwart of British entertainment [and very cute when he was young], Mr Kenny Lynch, who celebrates his 80th birthday today?

Kenny Lynch - Crazy Crazes

Groovy.

Many happy returns, Kenny Lynch, OBE (born 18th March 1938)!

It doesn't show signs of stoppin'

Terrified Britons are frantically preparing for today’s icy blast by already having everything they need to comfortably survive it.

Forecasters have warned the only way to protect yourself from the ‘Beast from the East’, forecast to bring temperatures down to -15ºC with up to eight inches of snow, is to continue behaving as normal.

Meteorologist Helen Archer said: “You don’t even have to turn the heating up. Just leave it on.

“Pretend to be terrified of some snow if you like. But we all know that by 7pm you’ll be inside looking at it through double-glazing sipping a hot drink and wearing a t-shirt.”

“It’s basically as if a zombie apocalypse was approaching, but everyone already had impregnable zombie-proof fortresses and fully-functioning anti-zombie suits.”

Susan Traherne of Ipswich said: “I haven’t got any gloves, so there is a real danger I could lose one or more fingers to frostbite.

“But then it turns out they sell them in the shops.”

The Daily Mash

Of course.

Yes, there have been a few nasty snow flurries. Yes, it's cold. But, Hell's Bells! It is only February. Get a grip.

On this Tacky Music Monday, I have made a new "diva discovery" - which always delights me more than words can say - and not just one, but three of 'em! Ignore the Xmassy theme of this video [you try and find a version of this song that doesn't involve tinsel'n'baubles...] - and enjoy this appropriate number from the Gospel Queens:

Gospel Queens - Let It Snow!

Have a good week, dear reader, and grab a few snow-balls...

Gotta get my gear out ready for a winter spill

Having spent all day yesterday with "our gang" - at one of our newest innovations, a "Film Club" - drinking vast quantities of alcohol, and watching hours of campery (the Technicolour remake of The Prisoner of Zenda, followed by The Grand Budapest Hotel), I was in need of a lie-in. No such luck, as the demon spawn upstairs decided that destroying furniture while screaming at the tops of their lungs was a good idea at 9am on a Sunday...

...and to top it all, the world turned white overnight (which will make a trip to the shops that little bit more tedious than usual)!

Hey ho. We might as well welcome the arrival of winter proper with a suitable number, courtesy of former Edwin Starr protégé turned Hi-NRG singer Mis Laura Pallas:

Laura Pallas - Ski-Ing In The Snow

Let's hope I stay vertical.

Storm in a teacup

Oh, the British tabloids do love a weather story... And now that the venerable bods at the Met Office have decided to take the Americanised "dumbed-down" approach to forecasting - giving weather fronts Tw*tter-friendly names, and using made-up cod-scientific terms such as "weather-bomb" to describe what is in fact a regular and common occurrence in the UK; rain, sleet and wind in winter - so we witness acres of coverage of the "devastation" (a few fallen trees) and "chaos" (airports postponing a few flights till the cross-winds subside) caused by this "deadly" (one unfortunate woman killed by falling roof tiles) event called Storm Doris.

Yes, Doris.

What better way to welcome in what appears today to be a gorgeous spring-like weekend, methinks, than with a simply faboo remix of an all-time classic choon by its namesake?

Thank Disco Doris Day it's Friday!

Doris Day - Perhaps Perhaps Perhaps (Gregg Morrish's Short & Curly Mix)

Have a great (storm-free) weekend, peeps.

The Snow Queen has visited...

...the extensive gardens here at Dolores Delargo Towers are now very, very frosted indeed.


[Not actually our garden, but the effect is similar]

No wind, no rain, nor winter's cold can stop me, babe

Britain's cigarette addicts have confirmed that no amount of bad weather will stop them inhaling carcinogens.

With snow and sub-zero winds predicted, smokers said they would be having their fag break even if there is a cyclone with cows and buildings swirling around in it.

Sales co-ordinator Stephen Malley said: “I’m in that office for hours at a time, staring at a computer screen, hating everything about the day.

“So if you think a bit of rain, thunder or a mild blizzard will stop me going outside for a smoke, you are very much mistaken.

“And if you think I should maybe try an electronic cigarette instead, I would suggest you maybe switch to decaffeinated coffee. Yeah.”

Hospital patient Nikki Hollis agreed: “Major surgery hasn’t stopped me from enjoying hourly gaspers in the bus shelter, so I’m damned if something as paltry as 16 feet of snow is getting in my way. I am literally burning my way through all obstacles.”

Non-smoker Roy Hobbs said: “I might be likely to live a lot longer than them, but I wish I had something in my life I was that passionate about.

“They are, in their modest way, heroes.”

The Daily Mash.

Of course.

British newspapers are talking about the weather. Again.

I need a fag.

Red Ingle - Cigareets & Whusky and Wild, Wild Women

Indeed.

Brrrrrr

As the cold snap really starts to hit, with Arctic winds hitting London and Alaskan conditions in Scotland, here's an appropriate song that came to mind...

Tori Amos - Winter