Headline in the Mail Online refers to a village in uproar over a woman who feeds a 'flock of swans.'
Then the intro refers to a 'herd of swans'. And gets the place wrong.
Honestly, I despair sometimes.
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According to the latest figures, the number of viewers for Vanessa Feltz's chat show on Channel 5 (where else?) has fallen to 100,000. Which is appalling. I mean, 100,000 people stupid enough to watch that?
I only 'met' Vanessa once. I was lucky enough to be sitting in Upper Class of a Virgin flight to Las Vegas when she swanned in (swans being a feature of today's blog). She sat on the edge of my seat and started talking to some bloke next to me who asked her about her much-publicised recent break up with her husband. She started crying. It was awful, I had to turn up the volume in my headphones really loud to drown her out.
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I have an Elizabeth Taylor anecdote. It's not that one about her gay French butler who called her 'the old trampoline' because even at the age of 71 she had to give him viagara so he could satisfy her sexual appetite. Thanks to Matt Drake for planting that unsavoury image in my head.
I have a friend who is a genuine Russian Princess. Her forefathers were kicked out after the revolution. I joke that her lot kicked my lot out of Russia so it was just deserts.
When she was a child, she and her brother used to play on a yacht owned by Taylor and Burton in the Med. As you do.
Liz used to towel down the young lad, kneeling before him as he stood. As she rubbed him down she would look in his eyes, wink mischievously and tell him that a lot of men would like to be where he was at that moment. He had no idea what she was talking about of course.
What I like about her is that she didn't make many crap films as she grew old. She made a few while young but also made some brilliant ones. She also trailblazed the campaign to highlight AIDS when gay men became pariahs. Having had to snog the likes of Roddy McDowell, Rock Hudson and Montgomery Clift on screen, she was well aware of the love that dares not bear its name. Those kisses prove she could act and her fundraising and campaigning prove she had a heart and a conscience. And the most fantastic eyes in the world.
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Asda's advert says it called its food range 'chosen by you' because it is 'chosen by you.' So, not by a focus group or via the millions of pounds a year it pays to the likes of Matthew Freud then.
Of course, it could do something revolutionary like not sell booze for less than bottled water, or take a moral lead and stop selling cigarettes, but it doesn't.
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There is a Facebook page going round titled 'that awkward silence when you tell someone you come from Essex' or something like that.
I know the feeling. I caught ten minutes of 'The only way is Essex' the other night, much of which is based round the corner to where I live.
I have grown up and still live in Essex. Not everyone is orange. But a lot of people are. And they're not all thick - but empty vessels make the most noise and all that.
I love Essex. I love (most of) the people, the culture, the history, the countryside, the coast, the towns, the honesty and the hard work.
A lot of us are here because our East End parents moved out to better themselves. I love that. A lot of people here with money have money because they worked bloody hard for it. They didn't inherit it. As a result, they wear it, they drive it, they spend it. But they don't sit around counting it and moaning about it. They get on with it. They are generous, both financially and in spirit. They are funny and warm and honest. Yes, really. Among the geezers and painted ladies there's a great deal of 'what you see is what you get' and I love it.
A great many of my friends come from Essex. They don't all live here still but many do. They are wonderful. They are warm. They are funny and they are diverse.
The stereotypes here could be stereotypes anywhere but I can live with that. I can live with the sniggers when you say you're from Essex. I'm from Essex, via Stepney and a bit of Stoke-on-Trent. I guess, like the hair of those in The Only Way Is Essex, I am sometimes betrayed by my roots.
So when I'm asked on Facebook, then, yes, I have to say I 'like' the awkward silence you get when you tell people you're from Essex.
Oi oi saveloy...as we say round here....Solly
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