As some of you might already be aware, I’ve got a new book out. One of the best stories in the whole volume is that of Sammy Davis Junior going AWOL on the day of a Simon Dee chat show, only to turn up in mid-transmission with a sheaf of band parts. The full, glorious tale is told in the book (pp210-212) by Roger Ordish, who was producing and directing the show, but here’s the accompanying visual and aural magnificence. Sammy’s original recording has Ray Brown on bass. This has Joe Mudele, taking the lead and sight-reading like mad. You know what? It leaves the studio version standing.
Despite this blog being the fount of all light entertainment knowledge, I shall avoid dwelling on the Jonathan Ross/Russell Brand incident. Apart from to say that Andrew Sachs appears to be one of the most tolerant and decent men alive. If only those with a less direct connection to the furore could show such grace and restraint.
Roger Hutchinson in the Scotsman takes the honour of being the first person to review Turned Out Nice Again, and, frabjuous day, he liked it. I get to share the bill with Denis Norden too, which is no disgrace.
So, the last survivor of the Titanic disaster, Millvina Dean, has sold her mementoes for £30,000, to fund her twilight years in a care home. Doubtless the items have gone to people who will love and cherish them, but would it have been too much of a stretch for those who’ve done very nicely out of the whole Titanic thing, among them James Cameron, to see her right?
Congratulations to Atlantic on their Booker success with The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga. As one of their non-Booker-winning authors, I do hope it doesn’t make them all unbearable.
Back in my days on Publishing News, party small talk around this time of year always began with “What do you think of the Booker short-list?”. This would then be followed by vague mumblings, designed to give the impression that the answerer had read even a paragraph of one of the novels. It was one of those situations where you really could have had your opinions handed to you on a crib sheet.
Unless, that is, you were me or a colleague. I was always scrupulously honest and admitted that I had no idea, not being much of a one for fiction. This was always sure to produce a Bateman cartoon response, even though the person asking me almost certainly had no more of a real clue than I did. Once, a publishing type pressed further and said “Come on, you must read some fiction”, at which I confessed to a penchant for PG Wodehouse. “Oh,” came the reply. “Old books. Don’t you read anything new?”. “Yes, AI (advance information) sheets mainly,” feeling almost 99% sure that this person’s opinion of modern writing came from the same source and reviews. M’colleague’s response was far subtler, bordering on genius. He’d simply reply “Another good year for fiction”. Then, in the pregnant moment while the questioner was trying to work out whether he was expressing surprise that so much fiction should make it through to the short list of a fiction prize, or whether he was saying that he liked all of the books on the list, m’colleague would change the subject.
I’ve always fancied the Whitbread myself. Apparently Abdul Abulbul-Amir presents the winner with a case of Best Bitter. The runner-up gets 4 cans of Trophy, “the pint that thinks it’s a quart”.
Following on from the previous post, about Peter Kay’s laugh-an-hour ‘satire’ of talent shows, here’s something that crams more actual jokes and proper digs at the whole genre into 10 minutes than he managed in 2 hours. And it was for charity, too, which means that it didn’t actually need to be any good*. Oh, and it’s 7 years old. Now, children, can you spell ‘zeitgeist’?
In the interests of remaining well-informed, I sat through the whole two hours of Peter Kay’s Britain’s Got the Pop Factor-wyllantisiliogogogoch. It looked perfect, but it didn’t make me laugh once. As a satire (and some listings billed it as such), it was toothless, with Pete Waterman, Nicki Chapman and Dr Fox (who is, in the words of Lee and Herring, neither a real doctor nor an actual fox) all desperately trying to show how good they are at taking a joke and thus improving their own profiles in the process. As comedy, it was lazy. It seems that they’d spent so much time and effort getting the set right that they had no time to write any actual jokes. Still, we shouldn’t be too surprised. Has Peter Kay been any good since he parted company with Dave Spikey and Neil Fitzmaurice?
Anyway, I can just about tolerate the existence of bad comedy, but on Monday, ‘The Winner’s Song’ was released as a single. Extensive enquiries have brought forth no indication that the single is a charitable venture. So, it would appear that Channel 4 paid Peter Kay to make a two-hour promo for his own single, the profits from which will be going to buy his mum a bigger garden for her bungalow – I’m told she’s got her eye on a little place called Lancashire. If so, am I being hopelessly old-fashioned to think that the whole setup stinks? Even the useless Ofcom must take a dim view of this sort of corruption.
For years now, I’ve been keeping informal tabs on who might possibly deserve the title of greatest living Englishman. Until now, Sir David Attenborough has been the clear leader, but, after last night’s Friday Night with Jonathan Ross, he’s got a challenger in the form of Sir Roger Moore. He was the sort of chat show guest you don’t think they make anymore. Funny, twinkly, and with a neat line in Tony Curtis impersonations. Meanwhile, the genuine gleam in his eye when Wossy produced a gigantic pork pie (his favourite nosh) in lieu of a birthday cake was immensely endearing, as was saying “Is it Wall’s?” in the manner of an Antiques Roadshow expert (Actually it was Fortnum and Mason’s, and judging by the look on his face as he tucked in, they make an exceedingly good pie).
He gained points a while back, when it emerged that Sir Ben Kingsley was being a bit of a ninny and berating crew members who didn’t genuflect in front of him and call him Sir Ben. I contrasted this with the story of a relatively junior crew member approaching Moore, asking how he preferred to be addressed and getting the reply “Call me Rog”.
I think that Attenborough minor still just shades it, but the hat is doffed to Rog and his pork pies. Any other GLE nominations?
Going through the stats for this blog, I see quite a few people using Google Chrome. Nice, isn’t it? However, I can’t help wondering how long it will be before the first high-profile Google Chrome ‘incognito window’ divorce or sacking. They bill it as enabling undetected access for the purposes of present buying and surprise holiday planning. Yeah, right. It’s like the cotton bud packets that tell you not to stick the contents in your ear, when that’s their main purpose. The incognito window is for slacking and wanking.
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Open up the internet browser you utilize. Kind the LINK: “tutuapp.com” and surf. or Download Tutu Application here.
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Once its mounted. Open it. There will definitely be a listing of applications on the front screen. On the top there will certainly be Pokemon Go.
Tap on the Green Button excellent alongside this Chinese Pokemon Go hacked version. Currently itll begin download.
When it is absolutely downloaded. Faucet on it and set up on your phone.
Thanks go out to Sparks for flagging this up. It’s the once-underrated, now-feted (and deservedly so) Craig Ferguson saying roughly the same things I think about the current financial situation, only in a far more funny manner and in front of an audience of millions.