My Big Fat Gypsy Tsunami

Oh come on, it's the headline the Daily Star is just itching to write given half the chance. But I owe them an apology. After suggesting they were being far fetched in claiming '100,000 feared dead' while all the other papers estimated it at around a tenth of that, it turns out they may be closer to the real figure in Japan's death toll than anyone else. Kudos to Hugh, Mick and the boys.
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My daughter played in a school concert tonight which included Mozart and some of that plinky plonky modern stuff by swan-eating Orcadian Peter Maxwell Davies. And guess what, the composer himself turned up. No, not Mozart. He couldn't even be bothered to send a note, the wiggy bastard.
But Peter - or Max as his new BFFs call him - stood up, applauded the orchestra (even though the flutes were a bar late in one piece) and socialised with the various dads and MILFs afterwards. Bless.
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I know it's a good cause, but either everyone I know is a cynic or it's getting harder and harder to find anyone who enjoys seeing these D-list celebrities trekking the desert or climbing Kilimanjaro or crying because they've split a nail or pretty much anything they do for Comic Relief these days.
And I bet Chris Moyles would find it easier to raise £100k if he promised to shoot himself live on air once he'd reached that target.
Tonight I caught sight of Craig David singing to some people I'd never heard of around a campfire in Kenya. Of course it was something he had a hit with 10 years ago as he hasn't done anything since then. As if the people of Africa haven't suffered enough.
Red Nose Day? It's just an excuse for Andrew Marr to wear stockings and fat women and spotty kids who work in Sainsbury's to pretend they've got a sense of humour.
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I hope England continue in the cricket World Cup. Not out of partisan support but because win, lose or even that remarkable tie, there is no other team in the competition that are simply as much fun to watch.
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Did you know that the bank which spent the most money on advertising in 2010 was the Halifax? That's right, the ones whose adverts show staff working in an imaginary radio station. And that BT doubled its TV ad spend so that we could watch even more repeat showings of that wimpy bloke who used to be in My Family in some kind of second rate Gold Blend rip off.
So much money, so little class.
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Listen, you're not Irish, so take that stupid bloody Guinness hat off and stop pretending. Top of the evening to you...O'Solly.