Apparently the judges of Britain's Got Talent were shocked when that Scottish bloke won. Really? I saw the clip and wondered how on earth anyone could tell. Quite frankly, David Hasselhof, Amanda Holden and Simon Cowell may have been shocked but looking at their faces they could just as easily have been happy, sad, agitated or grimacing. That's what happens after too much botox.
I didn't see the show but followed the story in the papers and there was always something slightly paedophile-like about giving a little boy a makeover so that he looks gay enough to be in a TV talent show, so perhaps it's a good job he didn't win.
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Peter Crouch has apparently refused to play for England under the current regime. Now if only we could persuade him to do the same for Spurs. And would any of us notice?
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There's good ways and bad ways of breaking bad news. As local reporters, the police would tell us the name and address of someone killed in, say, a road accident or a crime and we would have to go round to the family and ask them if they would like to pay tribute to their parent, child, friend, etc, in the local paper. Oh, and could we have a picture too please?
This was called the 'death knock' and we hated it but did it. And every now and again a reporter would knock on the door and say 'I'm sorry to hear about your father' only to find out that the woman answering the door hadn't heard about her father yet!
Or, we get the details wrong. A reporter friend of mine who now works in TV I believe, went round and knocked and a bloke came out and my pal said: "Sorry to hear about your brother Dave passing' and the man said: 'I'm sorry too, he's sitting in the living room drinking my beer.'
And then the police don't always get it right. I was told, once, about this veteran beat bobby, getting on a bit, who the force tried to keep out of the way of real criminals until he could retire.
He would pound the beat of a nice little middle class suburb in the evenings and one night he got a call from the station to go to an address - let's say 44 Acacia Avenue - and tell a woman called Margaret Scott that Billy Johnson, her uncle and only living relative, had died.
The copper had tried to write it down but his pen had run out to to remember he kept repeating to himself over and over again 'Margaret Scott, 44 Acacia Avenue, Margaret Scott, 44 Acacia Avenue.'
This he did right up to ringing the doorbell when he suddenly remembered he'd forgotten the name of the man who died. But it was too late. The outline of a figure approached and opened the door.
'Margaret Scott?' he said. 'Yes' she replied. 'Margaret Scott of 44 Acacia Avenue?' he went on, desperately trying to stall, 'Yes,' she said, 'what is it?'
The PC had no option so he blurted out: 'You'll never guess who's died?'
The woman paused, shocked, held her hand to her mouth and said 'Not uncle Billy?'
'That's the one!' shouted the copper, excitedly, until he realised, calmed down and said to the sobbing woman: 'I'm sorry for your loss Mrs Scott. Is there anything I can do to help.'
Night all....Solly
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