The Daily Record - Webeditor Blog

Farewell to Fern, but will hubby go too?

Thu, 26 Mar 2009 10:56:37 +0000

SO Fern Britton has decided to quit This Morning.

OK, she was a bit economical with the truth about her dramatic weight loss - how did that gastric band get there? - but she seemed genuinely warm and likeable.

The public have forgiven her and she will be missed from our morning telly.

There may be, I hope, one good thing to come from her quitting however. No more Phil Vickery.

Did the fact his wife was the host help him to get the job as the resident chef? Just a little bit, perhaps? Just a soupcon?

Apparently he's a prize pudding maker - prize dumpling, more like - but his skills don't translate onto the box.

For the first couple of years I couldn't follow a thing he said as he mumbled his way through his slot, promising to explain things later, and never doing it.

Phil, sorry, but you have all the charisma of a wet dishcloth. You won't be missed.

Let's hope This Morning's bosses do the right thing and get a proper chef back on. John Torode, are you available?

Heston Blumenthal: The unpalatable truth

Wed, 25 Mar 2009 10:14:41 +0000

WATCHED Heston Blumenthal's Roman Feast last night.

I was feeling a bit nervous from the start when Hest announced he was going to create a meal in the style of the "deviant" emperor Caligula.

Hold on, wasn't he the bloke who impregnated his sister, then cut out the foetus and ate it? Yummy, are we getting that as a starter or main course?

But this doesn't deter our Hest. Unusual tastes are just one thing the boffin chef seems to share with the Romans. Although, to hear Hest, you would think it was more a case of they shared with HIM.

"The Romans liked to amaze their guests with stunning dishes... just like me!" opines modest Heston. "The Romans liked to keep their houses warm with central heating... which I invented," he went on. "And they were also keen on straight roads, the principles of which I laid down three weeks ago last Tuesday."

OK, he didn't say that, but you get the point. With Heston, it's all me, me, me, I, I, I. What an ego he has. Ego, of course, appropriately enough, being a latin word.

It all sounded a bit like Monty Python doing their "What have the Romans ever done for us?" routine. All that was missing was John Cleese offering otters noses and jaguar ear lobes as snacks.

Although that would have been an improvement on what was to follow.

What did Emperor Heston choose to serve up? For starters - I kid you not - pigs' nipples. Next course, calves' brain custard - accompanied by a sauce made with fish guts. Mmmm, just like mum didn't used to make.

For main course, sausage. Hurray, something that sounds normal, I hear you cry. Er, no, this sausage, it turns out, is cut out of a roast pig's belly to look like a load of intestines spilling out. Coming soon to a dinner table near you soon... butchery.

And for afters? An ejaculating cake. I swear I have not heard the word "ejaculating" so many times nor suffered so much puerile humour and sniggering since the class had to watch a sex education video when I was 12.

Heston Blumenthal: He came, he saw, he made me want to puke...

Bohill's weekly, trendy blog*

Wed, 18 Mar 2009 11:53:31 +0000

HELLO there once more. The world's laziest blogger is back on the block.

Not since my cousin, Rip Van Bohill, became the world's first blogger when he reported on the invention of the world wide web 20 years ago - and was never heard from again - has there been such a hiatus in blog entries.

So what could have happened to prompt me from my slumbers and set fingers to keyboard? Well, it's only George Dubya Bush is going to write a book!

Remember this is a man who had enough trouble colouring books in, never mind writing them.

And what subject is the former leader of the free world going to tackle? The answer is his 12 toughest decisions.

If ever there was an occasion for "insert own gag here" this is it.

So what momentous decisions will Dubya write about, do you think?

I reckon the first one will be: Who should I ask to tie my shoelaces, Laura or the cat?

Number two could be: What's the best way to fill time when you're bored? (a) Have a snooze. (b) Press that big red button Don Rumsfeld says I'm not to touch EVER? Or (c) Invade another sovereign nation without the backing of the UN.

And number three could be: What do you do when your country is in the middle of the biggest terrorist attack in history? Should you prove your worth as a world statesman by taking immediate and decisive action? Or sit in a school classroom chewing on your lip and looking like a total divvy? The choice is yours.

Forward planning, you may realise, was never one of Dubya's strong points. But a chimp in a Swedish zoo has proved he can do it just swell. (Apologies for the weak segue).

Santino hated the visitors pointing and laughing at him so every morning, BEFORE the zoo opened, he would collect piles of stones and place them at suitable points where he could throw them at visitors. Clever monkey.

This behaviour was the first time any animal - other than a human - had demonstrated the ability to plan ahead. A momentous event in biology.

And what was Santino's reward for this? They castrated him. The head zookeeper must be a woman.

A few random thoughts before I go.

The horrendous racket that was Pink's So What? has finally faded from my eardrums. Good. But a quick memo to Pink: You're a pop star, love, not a rock star. Big difference.

Sky TV's Hollywood Greats series. A whole week devoted to Nicolas Cage? Approximately six days and 24 hours too long, I reckon.

And finally, that daft washing up liquid ad where the boy tries to put his scooter in the dishwasher. What self-respecting kid wants a clean scooter?

Enough for now, back later (who knows when).

*This headline could be construed as misleading and inaccurate on the grounds this blog is neither weekly nor trendy.

Time for an ASBO* for these pests

Fri, 03 Oct 2008 09:54:54 +0000

Today I really am going to tackle one of the major issues of the day.

Now regular readers may note a pattern emerging here. No, I'm not talking about me doing two entries in consecutive days and then sitting on my rear end for weeks.

What I'm talking about is me indulging in a big build up, claiming I'm going to tackle some major matter and then just using it as an excuse to be silly about something trivial.

Today is different. I'm going to tackle one of the major ills afflicting our society. I want to talk about the vicious, junk food scoffing, anti-social yobs that hang around our streets making ordinary folks' lives a misery.

I'm talking about seagulls. Like certain other creatures: wasps, slugs, those Amazonian fish that swim up your w***y, they are without any redeeming qualities.

Let's consider the evidence. Appearance: Evil, beady, yellow eyes and plummage the same colour as the substance they dispense so freely from their backsides. Noise: Very. Smell: You wouldn't want to get close enough to find out. Behaviour: Anti-social to say the least. Woe betide anyone who dare approach their nest sites. First they squawk at you, then they bombard you with poo and finally, they dive on you like a Nazi Stuka with talons slashing.

Honestly, if the council were to provide me with a .22 rifle and ammo, I'd be quite happy to operate a sideline in exterminating these winged scumbags. Sorry, bird lovers.

What harm would there be? It seems to me no other animal would be affected since the urban gull is top of the food chain. Nothing eats them. And the only thing they eat are KFC leftovers, half-eaten pizzas and kebabs dropped by drunks.

And, in fact, this diet may prove to be their undoing. After indulging themselves on all that junk, how long until the next generation of gulls is obese, unmotivated and doing badly at their exams? The time will come when they are all so fat that they can't fly and drop from tall buildings like bags of cement. Or waddle around on the ground, easy prey for foxes.

That day can't come too soon. Here, Mr Gull, have this leftover Chinese meal, all that monosodium glutamate is good for you, honest.

Back later. Off to convince the council of the need for a Pest Control Officer (Gulls). Sniper rifle supplied.

* That's Anti-Seagull Behaviour Order.

Today's red hot issue

Thu, 02 Oct 2008 10:12:26 +0000

I'm back. Two things to note after my first two entries.

(1) I was not lynched in the street by a mob incensed by my radical views.

(2) My door was not battered down by an army of fans desperate to know what toothpaste I use, tearing me limb from limb in the process.

I have therefore concluded that this blogging lark is probably quite a safe and harmless activity. Of course, the bloke that used to play the trumpet made of lead probably said the same thing.

Today, once more, I am going to tackle one of the major issues of the day. After an in-depth, journalisty, Macintyre style investigation, I have come to the following conclusion: red Minis are only driven by blonde-haired women.

I have further revelations to divulge: yellow Minis and those sort of cream, off-white colour ones are also usually driven by women, though not necessarily blonde. Blue and black Minis, on the other hand, are generally driven by men.

What is it with this vehicular, gender-based apartheid? And why does it not apply to other makes of car? What is the force of attraction at work here? Does the red Mini attract the blonde or vice versa?

I think the world should be told before the large haddock provider gobbles us all up.

One further motoring-related thought, before I return to the padded room which the boss claims is my work station, is it possible to lip-read in mirrors? Or does it come out the wrong way round?

This thought occurred to me as I watched one driver verbally abusing the driver in front as we waited at lights. If only you could lip-read, you could understand exactly what was being said. And if you had an extra large driver's mirror fitted inside your own car, you could reply in equally insulting terms. And your passenger could join in using the vanity mirror. Wing mirrors too if the guy behind had particularly keen eyesight.

There's a world of opportunity waiting to be explored. Sound, eh? So overrated. In the meantime, though, while I'm waiting for this brave new world to develop, I think I'll just stick to the traditional, two-fingered victory salute to get my meaning across.

Any lip readers out there, please feel free to tell me if you can lip-read in mirrors.

More nonsense at a later date. Off to learn to lip-read.

Something fishy going on at CERN

Wed, 10 Sep 2008 10:13:57 +0000

Just like buses. You wait months for a Bohill blog and then two come along all at once.
Actually, I'm just so relieved that the world has not been swallowed up by a black hole that I could not resist the temptation to tickle the keyboard this fine morning.
In fact, if you look at my picture, right, you can see the relief. Or that could be the look of a man who is chewing a particularly large toffee and has just discovered that his teeth are stuck together. I don't look like a gurning halfwit all the time, honest. Memo to self: Must remember to get another picture.
Anyway, it turns out that the large haddock provider, sorry, large hadron collider, has not swallowed the world after all. Much to the disappointment of Sky News.
I was delighted to see on this morning's coverage a young, female presenter getting stuck into the technical information with all the glee of a shampoo ad voice-over. "And after the protons have been accelerated to near light speed and crashed into each other, the resultant reaction will produce a shower of hydroglycerides which will provide a vital insight into the universe... and make your hair go all shiny and bouncy."
Actually, I knew the world wasn't going to end because Stephen Hawking said so. Now there's a man who doesn't have to explain his answers on a TV quiz show (see below). We can take it on trust that he's clever. And it would take too long anyway.
But wait, what's this? Could the CERN experiment have gone wrong? Why I do feel an irresistable urge to head in the direction of Switzerland? Oh, it's just in the same direction as the canteen. See you later.
PS I've just discovered that the boffins were only switching on the large haddock provider today, they don't start bashing things into each other until next week... the end of the world is nigh, after all.

And it's hello from me...

Tue, 09 Sep 2008 13:09:21 +0000

Hello there readers.
After months of bullying, er, encouragement, from the boss the time has finally come for me to dip my nervous toes into the mysterious world of blogging.
I aim to take an irreverent and funny (hopefully) look at some of the stories of the day. I may mouth off about one or two more serious issues along the way. We'll see.
Oh, the boss has just prodded me to remember to say that I will also be pointing you readers in the direction of some of the new and exciting content on DailyRecord.co.uk.
To kick off, I suppose you want to know a little about me. Well, I like the normal things: football, beer, food, that kind of stuff. I'm not particularly fond of cats or reality TV.
So that's me taken care of.
For my first blog I thought I'd take on one of the biggest issues of the day. Why do people on TV quiz shows always have to explain their answers? Why can no one just be clever any more? It's the equivalent of when I did maths at school. You had to write the answer on one side of the page and the "workings out" on the other. And woe betide anyone who got the right answer without explaining how they did it.
Now all the contestants on TV game shows have to show their workings out. For even the most idiotically simple questions. It generally goes a bit like this... Dermot: "Which of these people is a man? Victoria Beckham, Madonna or Sean Connery?" Contestant: "That's a toughie, Dermot, I'm fairly sure Victoria is a woman's name and I think I once saw a picture of Madonna with no clothes on and she looked like a girl, sort of, so by process of elimination it has to be Sean Connery." Even the Eggheads sometimes have to throw in a little bit of extra background info to prove they are not just guessing. Ridiculous. Can't we just accept that some people know stuff?
All of this is, however, a step up on Deal Or No Deal which is a quiz show for folk that can't answer quiz questions. But love psychobabble. Don't you just want to shake them and say: "Opening the boxes in the order of your dead pets' birthdays is not going to connect you to some mysterious, universal force that is going to grant you a fortune, you fool. It's just luck. If the banker offers you anywhere near 20 grand, take it."
So there you go, my first internet rant, er, blog, off my chest. There'll be more of his rubbish appearing here at a later date. I'm off to watch Goldenballs. Adieu.