Cheryl Ladd turns 65

Cheryl Ladd
Cheryl Ladd in 1978 recently.

Fifteen years ago today, I noted in utter astonishment that Cheryl Ladd had just turned 50.

I'm no mathematician, but I reckon that makes Cheryl Ladd 65 years young today.

And I'm now 51, which makes me older than Cheryl Ladd was when I was astonished at her being 50 just a few short years ago.

None of this makes any sense.

Anyway, in celebration of this remarkable event, here is what was always my favourite track from Cheryl's eponymous first album.

The track is called Skinnydippin'.

To be honest, that is almost certainly why it was my favourite.

Many happy returns, Cheryl.

Power vacuum

Power vacuumOn a more positive note, with Cameron abandoning ship, Labour self-imploding, the Lib-Dems (remember them?) being led by a god-botherer named Tim, the Scotch about to take the high road, Screaming Lord Sutch long dead, and the English electorate having taken total leave of its senses, could now be the perfect time for the Gruts Party to rise from the shadows to save a grateful nation?

Let's face it, we would have massive popular appeal (cat-owners excepted, obviously). I appreciate we don't actually have any policies at the moment, but we could take a leaf out of the Brexit campaign's book and make up random, undeliverable promises as we go along. Who knows, with any luck, we might even be able to rope in former Italian Prime Ministerial nominee Prof. Alice Roberts. She'd be handy in a political fist-fight.

Clearly, we'd need a catchy tagline, but we've got that well and truly covered. Or maybe we should come up with something more jingoistic:

PUTTING THE GRUTS BACK INTO BRITAIN: THE HOLE IS GREATER THAN WHAT'S LEFT OF ITS PARTS.
Union flag

Please feel free to leave your undeliverable manifesto pledges, voter-duping scare-stories, and campaign mottos in the comments.

We can do this.

Arseholes

Clueless, window-licking, credulous arseholes.
Repugnant, racist, Daily-Mail-reading arseholes.
Cretinous, xenophobic, bed-wetting arseholes.
Bigoted, jaundiced, flag-waving, arseholes.

Odious, small-minded, knuckle-dragging arseholes.
Despicable, unenlightened, vile, vile, arseholes.
Detestable, deluded, jingoistic arseholes.
Disgusting, intolerant, nationalistic arseholes.

Narrow-minded, hateful, hate-filled arseholes.
Lager-swilling, spittle-drooling, Land-of-Hope-and-Glorifying arseholes.
Slack-jawed, fractious, brown-shirted arseholes.
Empire-yearning, yester-yearing, Union-Jack-draped arseholes.

Pathetic, amoral, stupid, stupid, arseholes.
Senseless, chauvinistic, remember-Agincourting arseholes.
Twisted, fuck-witted, quarter-brained arseholes.
Cloddish, brutish, British arseholes.

Who are you going to blame now?

 

14% less rain under Brexit

Today is the June solstice, officially marking the first day of summer in the northern hemisphere. Predictably, here in the UK, it's raining.

Not to worry: the Brexit campaign assures us there will be 14% less rain if we leave the EU. Summers will be 17% longer. Furthermore, the force of gravity will be reduced by 3%, meaning any rain that does fall on England's green and pleasant land will fall more softly—just like it did during the Battle of Britain. Better summers for hard-working British families!

Brexit aren't against rain, you understand. Oh no. But enough is enough. Our water-management systems can't cope with all this foreign precipitation. Once we've left the EU, pesky foreign weather-fronts will be prevented from moving into British airspace. British reservoirs for British water!

Don't believe a word of the scaremongering R[em]AIN campaign and their so-called meteorological experts. We are Great Britain.

Union flag

Long may we rain!

Mentalini

It has been brought to my attention that I used non-politically-correct language yesterday when, in describing Benito Mussolini's attempts at smiling, I said that he ‘ended up looking totally mental’. I apologise if my words caused offence.

In my defence, however, I would ask you to examine this photograph of Il Duce trying to smile:

Mentalinini

I rest my case.

Umbrella

Guardian: North Korea releases unretouched photos of Kim Jong-un
Kim smiling

You can say what you like about Kim Jong-un—unless you live in North Korea, obviously—but he certainly comes across as one cheerful tyrant. On the toothy-grin front, he knocks the rest into a cocked hat.

Nicolae Ceaușescu, for one, took himself far too seriously. Never cracked his face, by all accounts. And look how he ended up. Then there was Pol Pot: another total misery-guts. Augusto Pinochet did his best: he'd spend hours in front of the mirror practising his engaging grin, but it didn't sit at all well beneath that general's hat of his. Bashar al-Assad, well, quite frankly, he doesn't have the teeth for it. And as for Idi Amin, the expression on his face most of the time was as if somebody had let one off nearby, but he was too polite to mention it. True, once in a while, Benito Mussolini would attempt a real face-splitter, but he could never pull it off and ended up looking totally mental.

Which is why the North Korean leader's latest official portrait is such a breath of fresh air. You look at that photo, and you think there's one happy man! There's a chap who knows how to say ‘cheese’.

I can't help thinking other tyrants are missing a trick. All their aloof seriousness is getting them a bad press. They would come across as far more sympathetic and approachable if they took a leaf from Kim Jong-un's book and lightened up a bit. Show us your teeth, chaps! A smile is an umbrella.