Tuesday, 6 April 2010


Three things caught my eye on reading tonight's news. Firstly, the sad news that Dawn French and Lenny Henry have announced they are to separate after 25 years of marriage. I sometimes get a bit blase and think 'whatever!' over showbiz nuptials that end in a blaze of publicity. Dawn French and Lenny Henry are the exception in that they have never courted publicity over their private lives. I'm currently re-reading Dawn French's 'Dear Fatty' book and the way she describes her husband is both eloquent and deeply moving. It's sad news indeed..

The other news is that Gordon Brown has finally called the election date for May 6th. Frankly, I'm bored already. It'll be wall-to-wall political debate, political haranguing, who has the best haircut, who is the most sexy (?), and the thought that various pillocks will be calling round at my house with huge rosettes asking my voting strategy. I always vote, but could do without the media saturation day in day out on the lead up to the election.  

And thirdly, the bizarre story of Gitta Jarant trying to board her 91 year old husband Willi on to a plane at Liverpool John Lennon airport. The main problem to this little trip was that Willi was a little on the dead side. Sharp eyed checking staff who are usually more concerned with baggage excess weights and whether your tweezers are locked away in a suitcase in case you decide to break into the pilots cockpit, demand to be flown to Tripoli and shape his eyebrows whilst you're at it... saw that Willi was brown bread and not in fact going to see in his 92nd birthday.

Despite Gitta's attempts to conceal her Willi's corpse-like look by putting on some RayBan's and a hat, the airport staff noticed a touch of the rigor mortis and perhaps an unwillingness to answer 'Did you pack this case yourself sir?'. Gitta was taken into custody by the police and claimed he was alive when they entered the airport. The fact he was stone cold and they're going to have to bury Willi and his wheelchair in the seating position, didn't give the game away to Gitta. Perhaps it crossed Gitta's mind that to send Willi back to their native Germany in a coffin would cost an absolute packet, so bugger it, let's bypass the fact that Willi has been dead a few days, get him on to Easyjet, put some headphones on him, spray some air freshener around Willi and bob's your uncle.. sorted. She would have got away with it as well if it wasn't for those pesky check-in scousers and the sniffer dogs going a bit doolally around Willi's crutch area. 

After all, most people look like corpses on Easyjet. I think it's the orange uniform and the price of the Pringles... 

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