So it would seem that now Sugar has Sage under his thumb (under a false pretence may I add) Sage is playing everyone and now he is all over Sugar… anything to stay on air… he really is an ass licker because he knows that Alan Sugar (the Zionist power broker that he is) can make or break careers… Sugar is constantly on the phone checking up on the progress of the show. It’s actually quite an ordeal and I don’t know how much more of it I can take… for I know that the Jewish persons in Stamford Hill have gone mad - they are walking funny and have said that if all this discourse and conspiracy continues Mossad will be called for… there is a hot line…

Just one other thing about Sage, just so you know and you can see him in a true light: It was on the day of the trooping of the colour and Winston turned up for work in fine British Military regalia he looked so fine, proud and worthy but Sage - being the bully that he is - had a pop… he said that Winston had no right to be at the trooping of the colour because he is black! Winston’s proud exterior slumped, a tear trickled down his cheek. He took off his hat, turned on his heels and slipped quietly out of the studio to change into his dungarees. Featherlite and I were stunned that Sage would say such a thing in this day and age and then it all made sense as Sage dropped his bag and from it fell a newly purchased Jim Davidson DVD - the Christmas special. ‘Oh well’ I thought ‘enough said’…on with the show. As all my sympathies were with Winston, knowing now that so called outdated views still existed even with a black man in the Whitehouse…

Now then, moving in a more positive vein, I am a very spiritual person. I believe in yogic exercise stretching and tugging. I like to put my legs around my neck and try to fellate myself. As an olde man it has become very difficult to achieve full stimulus but if I meditate like a monk… in with the bad air, out with the good… or it might be the other way round… maybe that where I’ve been going wrong! But I find myself in a true state of being where I can fly in the air like that Snowman (but with out that silly song). Why do I tell you these things? Well! Sage describes me as a philistine of sorts but I am cultured, open minded and always willing to give anything a try. I am fearless, deadly and dangerous -like Hunter S Thompson, Alan Ginsberg and Jack Osborne the bungee jumper, all mixed into one! Whereas Sage thinks playing with his own penis or touching a girls bottom makes him a gay… he is a mixed up man is Sage.

I also feel that it is important to pass on these nuggets of information for your education dear reader - Sadly I heard Sage on the phone talking to David Ike… he said that he was a fan of Ike’s anti-Israeli policies and that something must be done. Then he suggested… well!.. suggested that because he had connections with Combat 18 (the far right Nazi group all leather and massage oil) he may be able to help. But the rub of the conversation was (if you pardon the pun) was basically because Ike had issues with the lizards - who he says run the world - that maybe both parties could unite and bring down the Rothschild and Rockefeller organisations and Empires. And then get the gold back… I don’t know what he truly meant by ‘we can get our gold back, protect our people and our children’ but then I remembered his pure brilliant white Third Reich reference in the canteen and I started to piece together a sordid right wing conspiracy. It is awful to know that people you work with on a daily basis have such allegiances. I mean, don’t get me wrong, in some cases I feel that the Palestinians get a raw deal on the West Bank…but come on… give the Jews a break Sage. I’m not a fan of all there policies but they are a funny bunch once you get them on stage…

Sage has even suggested that only one of them is a real hero and that one of them pretends to be. I think Sage is suggesting that Ray Winstone is a pretender to Simon Weston’s melted crown. Yes he has interspersed a picture of the Belgrano going down and has photoshopped a screaming flaming man jumping ship. My mouth is filled with distaste like I was Paul Burrell on a Saturday night… but I bet Ray is livid… and Sage I feel I must warn you that Ray trains for an hour on a big heavy bag everyday. He has his now infamous pool ball in a sock at hand and he is searching for the perpetrator of the YouTube placement. Be scared Sage, be very scared. I mean, Ray Winstone is easily slighted - he is already sick and tired of this country - he says it’s gone to the dogs, too many people on benefits, unemployed wastrels and has threatened to leave England. He says it’s not how it used to be when he was the ‘Daddy’ - he now wants a police state set up to shut down the hoodies. He is sick of all the immigrants and he doesn’t like paying taxes… he is very much like Ronnie Kray in that respect… but I feel Sage’s attack could very well be the last straw.

I also wonder that, after seeing Sage’s YouTube distortion, will the wonderful Scorsese want Winston to play Simon Weston in his forthcoming blockbuster? I do hear it was going to be called ‘I Too Have a Tiger In The Tank’ or ‘The Simon Weston Story: Up in Flames’. A distasteful package in its entirety and I do hear that the soundtrack is to be performed by Slade. It sounds wonderful to me but the question remains has Sage destroyed Winston’s Hollywood aspirations with such a tasteless internet video? I think the worst thing about this whole affair was when Sage suggested that Simon Weston had scared the children at a party and that they had become spooked when the war hero had entered the room thinking he was Freddie Kruger the famous child killer and that things had got a lot worse when without thinking Simon put on his beloved red and black hooped hockey top. Sage really does push things too far at times a bit like Hitler….

I hate to belittle Sage but I have to! The man thinks he is funny referring to his new show ‘Chit a Chat’ as ‘Tit a Tat’. I mean… come on! Chris Moyles does better than that and he is a retard of the highest order!… and I think he’s a perfect example that infanticide could have worked for the benefit of human kind if those namby pamby liberals hadn’t banned it. We could have thrown Moyles over a cliff as a newborn and radio would have been instantly better and no one would have known why or how. I didn’t mean that on a general basis my good friends… it’s just Moyles gets under my skin. As for Sage, he is mundane with his silly joke. He says it was an accident and that he never meant to say it… a slip of the tongue as it were… but I think he has run mad and is trying to keep up with the shock jocks of the world - J.Ross and R.Brand spring to mind! Sage wants to be like them and make sexual jokes to shock and alienate his audience of middle Englanders… he flirts with Featherlite! Yes, he has lost his mind and without me I feel he would be lost. He is free falling like Tom Petty. He says I’ve driven him to drink and have made his life a misery because certain B list celebrities won’t come on to his show. But it was Sage who had a go a Joanna Lumley and once again I feel he was trying to shock and appal his listeners… he was shooting low for cheap laughs but he said that she may have been a sex symbol but that now she has nothing but a flaccid cunny and to see it would not be a privilege. Awful and cruel I say not to say offensive and vulgar. And Sage says it is I who takes him into the mire!

But the show without me is chaos and I only speak as I find. What with that half breed Alvin Lindwall doing his detective work - taking finger prints at the door and splashing talcum powder all over the floor looking for evidence. He was naturally concerned (as we all were) about the whereabouts of that missing girl in Portugal… but come on, I’ve seen better detective work done by Chief Inspector Clouseau! All I can say is Lindwall should stick to mopping and leave the experts to the finding of dear sweet Madeline. Send the SAS in I say, but no one listens to me and to be honest I find that very hurtful. But I feel I must say one other thing about Sage that disagrees with me and that is that he does continually (and with out irony or satirical bent) deny that the holocaust happened. He said that the Jews made it up so that they can justify maintaining a stronghold in Israel. I think Sage is like Dr Strangelove - a loveable Hawkinesque character like the Artful Dodger but with a limp. I also think he has Teutonic fantasies beyond the norm of being a Michel Ballack fan… because when asked what colour he wanted the canteen to be painted in - instead of saying Pure Brilliant White he retorted with contempt and vile in his eyes. ‘I want it painted in Third Reich White!’. All this said with a tourettes like stutter. He carried on eating his eggs pretending that he hadn’t said anything to offend a Nation… ‘Oh-oh it’s very dirty in here and it could do with a white wash’ he finished. Then he started singing White Christmas as he left the studio, clicking his Gaylord Crimson assimilatory jack boots as the swinging door shut behind him.

I tell you Sage you cannot be trusted, there is something behind the eyes… somewhat like Alistair Campbell, the demon creature, the lurching lurker, the baby killer and it’s very scary. He has no humanity, he only cares about his show, he treats the back room boys with contempt… he even called Cecil Parkinson an awful man and that since his sex change operation (Cecil’s that is)he has behaved like Margaret Thatcher on acid. Although I feel Sage is not far off having the obligatory snip tuck and fold treatment himself! But I say poor Cecil…

I mean, Sage did nothing to help Faye Featherlite in his hour of need. I on the other hand flew straight out to Thailand as soon as I heard that Glitter had been in touch with Faye. I did talk him down from the building as it were and helped him deal with the demons and scars of the past so that he could move on mentally from the hideous assault he had experienced at the hands of Paul Gadd the Glittered assailant. But did Sage show any sympathy? No… he threatened Featherlite with the sack for not being at work without a sick note..

I will be blunt and say it outright: Sage holds the lease on a large piece of real-estate in Thailand.  I heard certain plans being discussed as I was standing on a lavatory seat looking for Andy Peters’ crack pipe - a scurrilous piece of merchandise that I believed was secreted behind the system, like Al Pacino’s gun in The Godfather. You may well ask about the bounder that is Peters but that can wait until another day, the point about it is Sage must have thought he was completely alone in the lavatory… he must have checked under the compartment doors but he couldn’t see my feet so he continued as if he were alone. Anyway, he made his notorious phone call to the bounder that is Sir Robert Trouser whilst popping his penis through a glory hole.  ‘Strange’ I thought as I looked down to see such a sight: Sage’s manhood waiting patiently for a partner to take it and release him from the quagmire of physical dependency… and another thing… who said men cant multi task? Probably those vile TV Loose Women pontificating about nothing.

What I heard will shock you even more: as Sage switched his phone to loudspeaker thinking that the coast was clear. A schoolboy error if ever there was one! Yes like I say what I heard will shock you to the core of your being… from what I could gather - Trouser and Sage were in the process of opening a sweatshop in Thailand making ladies under garments designed by Ashley Cole the Chelsea and ex-Arsenal man. As they talked I was able to get the basic idea of the obscene design - Trouser called it ‘The Rectorial Mobile Phone Split End Placer’ with ‘Clean Up Pack’ - a soft tissue elaborate - or the sales name of ‘The Moby’ or in fact ‘The Knicker Bocker Glory’ - the later being my preference…

Now if you haven’t gathered a full mental picture of the dreaded Ashley Cole design, here is a clear colloquial description of the ladies underwear blueprint scheme and plan: There was to be a split in the rear of the pant for mobile phone placement with tissue dispenser at the front for clear up purpose. And as the dirty dog that is Cole had said to Trouser (and as Trouser relayed to Sage) -he’d seen a gap in the market [ha  bloody ha] for the vibrating phone and ‘he went for it’ said Trouser, ‘And why not?’ said Sage… pulling his little dickey from the glory hole… a disappointment indeed (depending on how one looks at it). Not my bag, but each to their own. But Sage would have got a shock if I had made my ‘presence’ felt and gone to work on his little procreator. I must also add this as proof positive with regard the explorative nature of Cole… and of course the bounder doesn’t care who he uses to achieve his fiendish ends. I mean; everyone thought that his dear wife was being ultra sensitive by crying too much on the X-Factor - sensitive yes! But not for reasons emotional…

The fact was she was sensitive to one of Ashley’s anal probing prototypes! The fiend that he is! I mean he would ring her up on silent vibrating mode every time there was a judgmental situation developing. If you look closely you can see that the poor girl is in pain and cries like a baby… the man is a monster and so is Sage to want to make pennies from that heinous penetrator of Coles. And that is the real reason he left Arsenal - he wanted Arsene Wenger to back him…yes! back him financially (if you pardon the whimsical aspect of my terminology). I do apologise, not for the offence, I’m just sorry that you are offended when one considers that at just this minute someone has been shot in a war right now. But needless to say the Arsenal coach was appalled by Ashley’s business proposal and the rest is history. This in itself I could forgive, but to use Paul Gadd the Glittered one for recruitment for the new factory in Thailand… that really is a bridge too far and sick like the Aristocrats. I also fear that Ashley was wearing the said split Knicker with mobile vibrator when he gave the ball away against Kazakhstan in the all important worlds cup qualifier. That is why he was dropped against Belarus for when Fabio Capello found the now blood stained pants he beat our hero in Mafia style with a Parmesan cheese block and a bicycle chain… Wayne Bridge was called in - I know London Mayor Boris Johnston is out raged by Cole’s beating… as he was seen hurling tin baths out of City Halls top window…

Now lets be clear about this those who booed our Ashley so vehemently  after the incident - I mean; if you are going to blame someone for the Kazak goal blame Cheryl Cole who had rang the new-fangled  probing vibrator in vengeful mode putting Ashley off his game. If you look at the film footage you patently will see that after the goal was scored it seems like Ashley had a pained expression… don’t you believe it! That was a look of ecstatic orgasmic pleasure - the dirty dog that Cole is! I now know that Rio Ferdinand (the acting captain of the day) has confiscated the vibrating phone and given the knickers to David Beckham… who likes to wear them on his head around the house while tugging on his galaxy quest with a vigour that only Ashley Cole could understand. Each to their own I say…

All I can say is that Sir Robert Trouser is not a man to be messed around with and he doesn’t like to be spoken about on Radio. Sage should watch his back… especially if Henry Kissinger gets wind of what has gone on.

Moving on, I was shocked and disgraced to hear that Sage had rubbed himself up against Dianne Abbot on a busy tube train. Disgraceful behaviour! And I just wanted to let you know… you out there who depend on me… where I stand on such issues -Rubbing your semi-conscious deviant dickey onto the rear of a fully dressed Hackney MP is a scandal! It’s not as if Dianne Abbot doesn’t have enough to deal with… what with having to keep Michael Portillo’s sexual advances at bay: which has become very difficult since Michael has lost weight and has become very versatile in his attacks. But now for the first time in her life she has had to experience blatant and flagrant sexual tomfoolery on a tube train by our very own Sage Mackorkadale!

I must say I have offered to pay for the dry cleaning but Dianne (being the olde war horse that she is) has said that she will scrub the stain away herself - in true working class East End fashion. All this with a solution of vim, fairy liquid and elbow grease… under any other circumstances it would be ‘well done Sage!’ but in this instance working himself off in this appalling anti-social manner-well! I cannot forgive… and neither can Dianne’s loyal constituents. One of whom being Ernest Pickering-Foster who, as I have explained, is no stranger to vile sexual practice. But even he is outraged and has said that if he ever sees Sage on a tube train he will be at him with his soiled pack of Walkers crisps. All I can say about that is: Sage, it will be no picnic with Pickering.

I feel that Sage should have been more sympathetic towards Featherlite and his needs. He should have given him paid leave… I mean having himself been tampered with in the past he should have understood Featherlite’s issues of deep torment. But Sage refuses to admit to his lanyard being tugged by that dirty dog of a Scoutmaster Ernest Pickering Foster - a cad of the first order I say. I knew Pickering-Foster so I know what Sage was up against. Yes! I in fact I had led a Scout Troop of young boys up the famed Box Hill and the blighter Pickering-Foster asked me if I wanted a crisp…a kind offer, I thought. As I put my hand in the Walkers pouch I felt the mans little flaccid todger. The thought is as awful now as it was then… even now I shudder at the memory of Pickering-Fosters inane grin as I squashed the head of his morbid thruster and he flinched in pleasure. At first I thought that it was one of those little blue wrappings containing the salt but I soon realised that I was the victim of a filthy dirty sexual trap and after chastising the scoundrel that was Pickering -Foster he explained in all innocence that it was something that he had picked up from a young Gary Lineker and that the damage had been done all those years ago when Gary was playing for Leicester City. You can see the links in Gary’s lifestyle as we speak, the Crisp fetisher that he is. So, yes I know Sage’s persecutor and I know what dear Sage lives with every day. But to play with Featherlite’s feelings well! Its awful and almost unforgivable…

Anyway like I say - the backroom boys did return and as they both entered the studio, tail between their legs and explanations at the ready, Sage looked as smug as ever and self righteous and judgmental as always. Completely refusing to accept that Faye Featherlite (regardless of how hideously Glitter had treated him) did care about the leader of the gang.  Sage even mocked Featherlite’s repetitive tourettes-like sexual noises which I feel Faye uses to release the tortures of the past.. as he remembers those days when he used to back comb Garry Glitters hair hide in it and sing.

Believe this or not; I do have film footage of Sage (Wham period George Michael’s wannabe) with Sol Campbell (the Portsmouth and ex-England centre half) on a Regents Park boating lake - in Brideshead Revisited posture… all shorts, floppy cuffs and stripy espadrilles. The scene is quite sweet if one can dismiss the fact that Sage wishes to deny all aspects of this part of his distorted nature. Now, when questioned he winced like a school boy who had been caught bang to rights with cigarette in mouth in the gents… but he still refused to admit his wrongdoing It’s was this fear of such unbidden thoughts, the fear of being found out, the fear of falling into the pit of lustful distorted limp wristed eroticism that stops him admitting anything now. Sage hates to be judged just as he dost judge! This puts Sage into a mindset of absolute denial. So with a ‘hand in glove’ and ‘the sun shines out of our behinds’ attitude Sage battles on. I mean… it’s like… it’s like Monty banging on the door… aroused and fit to burst in ‘Withnail and I’. Manner-or like an early Style Council music video: all oil and naked flesh. Like a ‘Priscilla Queen of the Desert’ fantasy- Sage dressed as Cilla Black fisting Sol Campbell dressed as Boy George as they sweep the New York Streets. All this as Eddie Izzard in drag performs a lewd act with a carrot whilst Matt Lucas shits his nappy!!

Now, the assimilatory aspect of this sordid adventure is caught on camera (as I have said) and Sage is begging me not to place it on YouTube. The man said if I destroy the film of he and Sol Campbell’s boating shenanigans and devious weather forecasting he would give me a lift on his punter. I said to him “Ahh is that what they’re calling it now?!” I can’t say the he was amused… he seems to be able to blot out the more sordid aspects of his nature and that’s when he dropped his butt plug! I watched him kick it under the mixing desk thinking I hadn’t seen…

I let the incident pass without comment, why embarrass the chap? Why destroy him live on screen as it were? You could say that the whole thing was sad but true. But I assure you, when you see the film footage of Campbell with his Teddy bear in Brideshead repose… and Sage on the punt… you will not question me or my motives in having to tell the truth about Sage’s contradictory fruity frolics…

You will find the excuses that the unscrupulous pairing have made are in essence quite far fetched. I say why would you go into the reeds to listen to the shipping forecast?! I know that it is Sol’s unbinding ambition and life long passion… yes his love of shipping forecasts is the stuff of legend… and that’s why I believe he moved to Portsmouth all those years ago. But to say that the only reason they found themselves in the foliage was that the Regents Park Mosque had its windows open and Sol couldn’t hear his precious forecast on the radio because of the loud chanting. Well! It’s a little hard to swallow (if you pardon tenuous the pun)…

Now moving on. My biggest fear is that I should be blamed for the unscrupulous anti-Islamic anti-Semitic and homophobic utterings of the mad man that is Sage. The fact of the matter is he blames me for everything negative about his show and that’s not on! Let’s be honest, people only listen to it because of me… this is not ego but the truth. But I refuse to continue taking bullets for him… and I’m tired of keeping Alan Sugar at bay… the bulldog that he is. I know Sage thinks I am unfair in this respect but I say ‘bollocks’! The point about it is I have seen the scar tissue on the bottom of one of Sugar’s ex apprentices (Sugar doesn’t mess about what with his olde East End connections). So all I can say is if Sage wants a fight I will give him one… Jenny Two Fingers to the lot of them I say. I can’t help my feelings in this regard. I mean - Sage (if the truth were known) wants me out of the picture… he wants me in Parkhurst prison or worse Highgate cemetery… he said that… his words not mine…

I ask you is that fair? I am an old soldier looking forward to my retirement from public life with the Chelsea pensioners and weekly visits from Michael Parkinson. I have already been fitted for my red coat by Sage’s tailor Gaylord Crimson of Saville Row.

So you see how things are not what they appear to be on the surface…

I do know that Billy Bragg is at the Junction with that other freedom fighter Roy Chubby Brown… singing Bragg`s new song: ‘Blink At The Kink If You Agree With Me’. What a fine poet is Bragg… Dylanesque.
I would put him up there with the wonderful Derek Pringle whose poem ‘Don’t Mock Me For I Am Still Alive’ has inspired generations of dead people.

Now Before I leave you my wonderful readers once again, I would say Sage seems to have a bad attitude towards the wonderful perceptive Brian Sewell (the art critic extraordinaire). Well, that is (in my book) subliminally unhealthy. I am quite good at reading between the lines as you know my friends and to imply that Sewell is some sort of leather fetisher… especially after Sage’s alleged new found tin bath activities… well it really smacks of the pot calling the kettle a negro. All this because Sewell was sitting down in his dressing room with a leather jockstrap on whilst reading the Richard Littlejohn column in the Daily Mail. Not a lot wrong with that! The only strange aspect of the whole procedure was that Alistair Campbell (the nipple twister in chief) was hung upside down totally nude (‘Man Called Horse’ fashion) applying nipple clamps to his genitalia! So you can see that Sage might be a little shocked at the surreal proceedings surrounding Brian Sewell. Each to his own I say! Grow up Sage and let Brian alone… for I think that Alistair being an addictive personality, is fed up with marathon running and is looking for something more… and Sewell obliged by letting him use one of Sage`s Chit a Chat dressing rooms.

Finally once again… oh the kindness of others… i’ts enough to give one an erection.
And this is the end of my current Memoirs people, if you want more you must let me know - Much love.

Another aspect of Sages personality that is a complete puzzle to me is his strange attitude to members of our upwardly mobile society- I mean his strange and sinister down on the excellent writer that is Richard Littlejohn of the Daily Mail. I mean, I know that the columnist has put on weight but to call him a fat bastard, well! That’s just  nasty. Littlejohn is a sensitive fellow and is hurt… cut to the core so to speak and I will ask Sage to apologise on air.  Yes it would be prudent to make the apology in his new talk Show Chit-a-Chat. Perhaps he might also have a consoling word for the Roy Castle Clan after those scathing attacks on the multi faceted hero. Sage really should wipe the slate clean…

Now changing the subject to the more socially aware aspect of my nature; If you remember I spoke of the possibility of Matron Schools…. the old way being the new way so to speak? This saying was first spoken by Native American chieftains. Well, I suppose they had no choice had they? Wiped out… the poor Barstards. All in the name of Christ. Wonderful Killer Christ. Not ‘Driller Killer’ but ‘Christ the Killer’. Anyway, it doesn’t matter he wasn’t there was he? He was on the cross, he had been killed by the early Catholics - the Romans or was it the Jews? Fuck it, blame the Jews - quicker all round. But yes I feel the schools are the only answer to our troubled National Health Service… I hadn’t heard that my old friend Hattie Jakes had passed over when I suggested her leadership qualities were needed.

Well to be truthful they are needed-and certain adequate sufficiency show business personalities have shown an interest in the idea. Vanessa Feltz has promised to put her weight behind the project (no pun intended Vanessa). Also, the other fat lady of morning television and retarded middle of the road speak - Fern Britton - is very interested on bearing down on the project. What a lovely thought… Fern bearing down on you with her fine voluptuous milk wallopers pressed against my aging rib cage…. sorry my friends, I got lost in a salacious moment. Now let me explain in Freudian terms the reason for the big babes declared interest in Matron Schools. I mean apart from the obvious upgrading of cleaning the rather dirty hospitals that exist at this time, the main reasoning behind the exciting project… and the question is posed as I said in Freudian terms… and I say this because Vanessa Feltz has done a survey on the fat nurse in our hospitals and has come up with some interesting findings: Yes it would appear that patients feel reassured by the over weight nurses and matrons. Also slightly scared into submission by the hefty weighty ones for fear of A Carry On Style thrashing or a piss take feather in the arse.

I must add my good friend and depressed homosexual Stephen Fry is very excited about the prospect of dressing up in Hattie Jakes mode and teaching the immigrant in-take the art of tea making in a good olde fashioned English Orwellian way. ‘One for the pot’ and all that ‘milk last’ and so on. Yes the Twinnings Rep will go all out in his quest for the perfect cuppa… as he sips the brown nectar as he calls it with an old English gait… that little finger posed upright like Johnny Sack in the Sopranos smoking a cigarette in thoughtful mode… a wonderful sight to behold. But I can’t wait to see the fat thespian dressed up as Matron strutting up the newly cleaned hospital corridors with his entourage of fat nurses. It will be a wonderful sight seeing Stephen dressed as Hattie with his teapot in hand. What a parade! Oh the kindness and bravery of others… you are a cad Stephen.!

In truth Otis Van Strapon’s theories with regard the missing gene in certain elements of our society doesn’t hold much water when you think of the talent from Torquay… … …. ….. ……. ……….. ………… …………… …………. ………………

But I suppose then again, on second thoughts, Sue Barker is the only one I can think of at the moment, and she is hardly a braniac. But anyway, if you (my avid readers) can send me a list of West Country talent we may be able to disprove the Van Strapon theories once and for all and be able prove that people who live south and north of London do have thumbs and that it is not a  misnomer.

Now back to the wailing widow of Fagsworth Ragwort. I don’t think I have mentioned her name up to now. Yes, it is Jesse Fagsworth Ragwort (a non-smoker of course). Although she has been known to blow smoke rings out of her hidden orifice from time to time and goes by the stage name of Chow Chung Lew…. it is said (although I have not seen it myself) that she wows the olde boys at the Bernard Manning Establishment Club. Who said Manning`s Club was sexist? ‘Not I’ said she… as she did the rounds with a pint glass.

Moving on,  Jesse had married Sidney Fagsworth for a place in the upper echelons of society and with her being a lot younger than he - it was perfect. Yes, it would seem her talent for smoke rings was entertaining for she was a magnificent hostess… and I must emphasize that myself. For she was indeed quite something in the corridors of power. Even Prince Phillip was said to have been besotted and nearly started smoking himself!… But that is another story in itself…

Anyway enough of this background music my friends. This is all about saving the life of a wailing widow. So to cut a long story short- to cut to the chase as it were -  Dear Phil Spector cut her a break by secretly recording her ongoing wailings and the rest is history! Simon Cowell (the Devils pimple himself) put the said wailing to a musical piece by Rick Waller and the Pet Shop Boys. Of course a hit Record ensued and now Jesse Ragwort is wowing them and a wailing them all over the West Country.

They say she reminds them of their beloved Joss Stone and now it would appear that the maladjusted pairing of Jesse and Joss are to appear on the Graham Norton Show to perform a duet of ‘Smoke Rings in my mind’. It seems that the old fruit Norton is willing to have anyone on that particular lowest common denominator buster that he calls a show. I don’t say that the man Norton does not have talent, but it does make you wonder who chooses the format for that crass rubbish. So, like I say, Graham don’t be a people person because most people are as thick as the old Tiz-Waz junkies… in other words they find Lenny Henry to be funny and Chris Tarrant to be a genius. Enough said…

By the way my friends… have you noticed how much Sir Bob has begun to look like an old goat in his latter years? Just a thought. What a gathering of show business celebrity brain-dead shagnasties. Perhaps they should all stay in the Sudan together and shag each other for evermore… because they ain’t what you might call Rock and Roll these days… I think there is a song in there somewhere… But I`ll be damned if I’m gonna write it! But your Sperms in the gutter and your love is in the sink-Bollocks to you all you bunch of perverted nit wits…

I must add one last postscript in relation to Elton John and the breakdown of his excellent relationship with dear Rod Stewart.  It would appear that on hearing of Rodney’s secret graveyard romps… well!…  It would seem (I have been told this by Nessie Furnish the illegitimate son of David-Elton’s Partner and lover)… it would seem that in a meeting of the Famous Chin Society, Bruce Forsythe said that Penny Lancaster the ‘Dancing Essex’ girl and wife of Scotch Rodney had let slip that she was going to Highgate Cemetery with Roders that very evening… for secret games, fun and frolics. This was enough for Elton John, who was said to have uttered in a heated fuselage of expletives- ‘Fuck that for a game of soldiers I prefer mine alive and kicking and twelve years olde’. So the chord of friendship between Scotch Rodney and darling Elton was broken forever and now it would appear that Penny (who has excessive chin disorder herself) has asked to Join the Society of The  Chins. There is a waiting list but the Chairperson: Jimmy Hill  is optimistic…

And now I would like to say a word on Silas Mackorkadale  (Sage`s younger brother). The point I would like to make and raise is that I really can apologise… contrary to common belief. And that is what I would like to do… and apologise I do; for my unsavoury remarks about the young man`s tight hot pants that were pulled so very tight I could see the anal overlap. I mean, those butt-cheeks on display and all… that extremely camp walk of his. The fact that Silas has gone into hiding is not really my fault. But I feel Fay Featherlite was sent into a homoerotic rage and has not been the same since… this may be the reason for Silas going into his self imposed exile. But once again,  if I’ve caused offence, I’m deeply sorry Silas. Please come out of hiding and I will take you to the next Kyle Minouge concert and you can wear whatever shorts that you want to. I won’t laugh at those batty dimples or Featherlite`s thumb prints… and I promise you I will take you back stage and I will have Kyle Minouge’s gold hot pants removed by Otis Van Strapon’s hot pant remover- yes the famous- ‘I can’t get you out of my head hot pants’ and you can have those as a gift… an apology… Kyle’s sweat covered gold pants- you can do what you want with them … I don’t know perhaps you could give them of wash.