MY BBC producer rang me early. He wants me to come in and say a few words about Andy Murray. "Let's play up the angle that you two have a lot in common, what with the fiery temperament and all". I told him that apart from having two arms and a dick, we've got jack shit in common, and if he wakes me again, I'll take a piss on his shoes.
Despatches from Poppy Spalding
Monday: Sydney, Australia
My first week on the road finds me in Sydney, which is a bit like London, only with more sun and fewer Australians.
MY preparation for Wimbledon hasn’t been ideal. I was forced to pull out of the Sandwich Spread Classic in Margate due to sore eyelids and then, to make matters worse, I bruised my knuckles punching a wall after my brother Jamie beat me at Swingball.
By Mervyn King, Governor of the Bank of England
Dear Chancellor of the Cocking Exchequer,
As if I did not already have enough on my plate clearing up all your other shit, you now expect me to bend over so you can stick it right up me in public, like some tit-knobbing arse jockey, just because a loaf of bread now costs a clitting fiver. Well try publishing this, fuck-button.
Ooo-o-o-o-oooooh ! Your temperature was up a bit
So I just called NHS Direct
They said it’s probably a 24-hour thing
And that you should take a Nurofen and stay--yeee--yayyy in bed
Whoooahhhh! Ooooohhhh ! I also told them I have a gaping wound in my
so-o-o-o-oul, er, as well as a dull pain in my lower b-a-a-ck.
By Karen Fenessey
I’m sure many people have bad days at work but I guarantee no one has suffered the catalogue of errors that took place in my classroom yesterday. This is what happens when you take a stand against the most disgusting people in our society: RACISTS! Also, I may need an eye test.
By Karen Fenessey
In the hard work I do for Britain's primary schools, I battle with complicated class registers on a daily basis. But within the education system, there exists a sub-division who are more familiar with a different kind of register. I refer, of course, to 'art' teachers.
THE most awesome thing about living in the United Kingdom of England is that I can take a gentle stroll down to my local pub, The Aunt Bessie, accompanied only by my entourage of porn dwarfs, pubic hair weavers and, of course, Nimbus, the big black rabbit with red eyes, who follows me wherever I go.
By Karen Fenessey YOU might think when you watch Duncan Bannatyne on the BBC's Dragon’s Den program, that he is a really great guy who knows a thing or two about how to keep fit. But let me tell you: all is not as it seems in this so-called den and Mr Bannatyne is actually a tyrant who exploits the souls of innocents.
'IF I catch you stuffing food into that pouchy slab of a face once more, I'm going to twat you one' would've been the first words I'd have uttered to John Prescott if I was the counsellor treating him for bulimia - but there again I know how to speak to him, I know it's the only way he’ll listen: you want to know why I know this? It's because as a high-flying QC, best-selling writer and last-but-not least, mother of four children – I've learnt to trust my instincts.
Christopher Walken remembers the 1982 World Snooker Championships
DIDDLY-dee! diddily-dee! That’s the sound the wheels on a train make – diddly-dee! diddly-dee! I hate that noise, I hate it almost as much as I do Adam Sandler movies, so I pulled the emergency chord above my head, bringing the 12.57 from King’s Cross to Sheffield, shuddering to a halt.
By Karen Fenessey
I really believe it’s a wonderful thing that I can look around our British streets and see so many different walks of life being not only tolerated, but encouraged. The whites walk alongside the blacks, the rich with the poor, and the gays with the normal.