Saturday, 13 December 2025

Beelzebub operating the churro stall

It is now obligatory, on visiting a Christmas market, to pronounce it ‘hell’, ‘hellish’ and that Beelzebub himself was operating the churro stall. Here are some key differences worth noting:

A distinct lack of torture
Every vision of hell involves torture of the medieval kind. At a Christmas market the pain is limited to crowds, aching feet and paying 25 quid for a fucking candle. The distinction between this and having a hot poker thrust up your arse is pronounced. If you sincerely can’t tell, have a think about your grasp on reality and sexual options.

You can’t get out of going to hell with a lame excuse
Flu, a decorator coming round, needing to plump the cushions; there are plenty of believable excuses for not going to a Christmas market. You can’t fib your way out of hell. Medieval theologians would really have fucked up on the ‘terrifying threat’ aspect if you could just excuse yourself because you’re expecting an Ocado delivery.

90 minutes is not eternity
An hour and a half at a Christmas market – nobody has ever lasted longer – isn’t comparable with infinity. It may feel like that, as you trail behind your partner while she searches for a present for her sister and the same brownie stall seems to roll past again and again, but that’s an illusion caused by how boring and repetitive it is.

No ironic punishments for sins
Satan loves irony. He’s always making gluttons eat tables of delicious food until they burst, or fornicators bone each other raw. At a Christmas market the only irony is you wasting your hard-earned money on shit. It isn’t a cuttingly ironic to blow a day’s earnings on hand-knitted Austrian bedsocks. It’s just stupid.

Christmas markets have no confusing system of morality
Hell is where bad people go, but also good people who aren’t Christians, despite a supposedly loving God giving you no rational reason to believe in him. The confusion engendered by a Christmas market is on a much smaller scale, such as wondering how they can charge £12 for a portion of chips in instant gravy and call it ‘poutine’.

No demons
Christmas markets feature no demons whatsoever. Admittedly this is just as well, because grudgingly handing over £18 for two hot chocolates lightly graced by Baileys is bad enough. What cackling demons would charge to pour hot lead into your stomach through a long funnel doesn’t bear thinking about.

Hell has no unexpected wins
Hell is a daily grind of being torn limb from limb, stints in the lake of fire and flaming pitchfork violations. There really isn’t a hidden upside. However going to a Christmas market can prove worthwhile, like when your wife decides a wooden cuckoo clock is what she’s always craved and it’s £80 so that’s your shopping done. Nice one.

The Daily Mash

Of course.

Friday, 12 December 2025

Deep in my soul, I've got nothing to hide

It's almost that time - and after a busy week, I have never needed a weekend so much...

Time for a party, and who better to provide it than this Eurodance combo? Thank Disco It's Friday!

In case you're wondering, dear reader - here is the "original" source of that 90s mega-dance-hit, Miss Abdul's version (with our Patron Saint of Yemenites Ofra Haza):

Have a great weekend, dear reader!

Thursday, 11 December 2025

Carry On Up The Bunbury!

The social whirl continues...

Last night, Madam Arcati and I shimmied our way to the West End (again) - this time to the Noël Coward Theatre for the new, much-lauded Max Webster/National Theatre production of the Oscar Wilde masterpiece The Importance of Being Earnest!

This Wilde satire on society mores, manners and relationships, replete with many of the great man's finest, funniest and most-quoted lines has been subject to myriad interpretations in the 130 years since its debut, not least the memorable 1952 screen version with Dame Edith Evans as the play's pivotal character, the redoubtable Lady Bracknell. Indeed, the cream of British theatricals have queued up to play that particular imposing aristocratic dowager, including Dame Judi Dench, Dame Maggie Smith, Athene Seyler, Irene Handl, Dame Hilda Bracket (of Hinge & Bracket fame) and even David "Poirot" Suchet.

Knowing that for our production, none other than "national brainbox treasure" Sir Stephen Fry was donning the taffeta and wig to take on the role made it even more of a delicious prospect!

He was utterly perfect, of course - bringing the right balance between embodying Lady Bracknell's strict and conventional upper-class Victorian respectability with the ease in which her opinions could be swayed at the merest sniff of financial and reputational gain out of any situation, all the while spouting memorably disdainful barbs at anyone in her way. Think "The Dowager Lady Grantham", and you're not far off.

The main protagonists in this entangled tale, however, are the effete and ever-so-trivial boy-about-town Algernon Moncrieff (a rather good Olly Alexander, of Years and Years and Eurovision pop fame) and his excitable friend who goes by the name of Ernest Worthing (Nathan Stewart-Jarrett, also excellent). Both men have many secrets, and both have created imaginary relatives - Algernon's is a perpetually-ailing friend called "Bunbury" - whom they use as an excuse to get away from their responsibilities and travel elsewhere on a whim (a habit that Algernon refers to as "Bunburying"). This is the stuff that all good farces are made of - and needless to say, as lie upon lie unravels it all gets hilariously frenetic...

It turns out that "Ernest" is actually John/Jack Worthing, a country squire with a respectable reputation and a wealthy heiress ward in his care to look out for. It's only in town, enjoying the high life, that he adopts the name "Ernest" - principally because his intended, Algernon's cousin (and Lady Bracknell's daughter) Gwendolen Fairfax (played with brilliantly mannered yet acidly barbed aplomb by Kitty Hawthorne) won't, it appears, consider marrying anyone of any other name.

Lady Bracknell, of course, has other ideas, and when she discovers that Ernest/John/Jack knows nothing of his parentage, having been found as a baby in a handbag in Victoria Station by a wealthy family - cue her much-quoted retort: "A HAND...BAG?!" - she forbids the engagement.

Meanwhile, in the country, that aforementioned ward Cecily Cardew (well-played as an impetuous and fiery spoiled teen by Jessica Whitehurst), has been led to believe that Jack's "troublesome brother Ernest" is the reason he has to leave for the city so often, and she has created a whole fictitious romance with this wayward spirit. Then Algernon gets it into his head that he will utilise another "visit to Bunbury" in order to pretend to be "brother Ernest", visit the Worthing abode in the country and woo Cecily.

Of course, Jack unexpectedly returns - in funereal mourning garb, having decided to "kill off" that very brother "from a chill; in Paris"; much to everyone's surprise, since he is apparently ensconced in the house. To top it all, Gwendolen arrives, and the girls play out a game of extremely polite bitchery over tea and cakes (one of the very best scenes in the play), albeit with a slightly sapphic twist.

What?! Homosexualist shenanigans? In an Oscar Wilde play? Heaven forfend! From the review by Andrzej Lukowski in TimeOut:

All four ‘lovers’ go about their relationships with the breezy silliness of a group of primary schoolers playing mummies and daddies. [Producer-director Max] Webster’s interpretation amps up Wilde’s wit by unburdening it of any need for us to believe in the romance. Indeed, the contrived plotting - Bunburying, the women only being into guys called Ernest, the whole handbag thing - makes more sense if viewed as role play by a group of people who are strangers to their own sexualities.

You don’t need to think too deeply about any of this, but my point is that Webster explicitly asks us to view Earnest as a queer text and refuses to take the romance, well, earnestly. Okay, it was always an allegory for closeted Victorian society and the social allure of heteronormativity. But this version is fun because it throws off any pretence otherwise.

Indeed it does that! From the opening - and somewhat bewildering - "introduction" to Algernon, dressed in a pink tulle frou-frou full-length evening gown, playing the piano and cavorting with amorphous and androgynous party-goers [presumably a "dream sequence"], through the Wildean repartee often played with a snigger and a wink and a nod to the audience ["Carry On up the Bunbury", perhaps?], to the utterly preposterous curtain-call [after the happy denouement of this tangled web resolves itself, with a complicated series of events involving aforementioned handbag, Cecily's chaperone/tutor Miss Prism (Shobna Gulati from Dinnerladies) and a clamber through a library of military records - and yes, they do "live happily ever after" (after a fashion)] that saw the entire cast reduced to wearing pantomime-esque sparkly flower costumes [what the fuck that was all about, I have no idea!], this was hardly the most - ahem - subtle interpretation of a dear old Oscar comedy we have ever seen.

However, it was a bloody great evening's entertainment - and we thoroughly enjoyed it!


[click any photo to embiggen]

The Importance of Being Earnest is running at the Noël Coward Theatre until 10th January 2026.

Don't miss it!

Wednesday, 10 December 2025

Of jewel poo,Nell's porn,Mickey in a ditch,Animaniacs,Euro-chaos,Ernie's bath-time and Totty of the Day


The very lovely Lando Norris, our new Formula 1 racing champion, aged just 26. I'd give him a hand with his joystick!

It'a another snippets post, dear reader:

And the weather? Not bad, for a change...

Tuesday, 9 December 2025

Of Schloss and soap

We've had the Madam's sister Carol staying for a couple of nights, and last night he'd booked us all a table at a German restaurant. It's a Monday night, we thought, it'll be quiet and genteel...

Ha! Albert's Schloss, on Shaftesbury Avenue in the heart of the West End's Theatreland, turned out to be quite the party venue, indeed - a singer (doing "cabaret" versions of modern pop and rock numbers), a DJ, and even people dancing on tables! On a Monday.

London is most definitely "the city that never sleeps"... We had a ball!

Of course, as a consequence, getting up for work this morning was - ahem - fuzzy, to say the least. But I coped.


Meanwhile...

Happy 65th birthday, Coronation Street!


[click any pic to embiggen]

Britain's best-loved soap, and the world's longest-running, it's had more than its fair share of memorable strong female characters since its creation by a gay man Tony Warren. Some connection there, I wonder...?

Here's a roll-call of the best-of-the-best:


Ena Sharples, Minnie Caldwell, Martha Longhurst


Elsie Tanner


Bet Lynch


Annie Walker


Betty Turpin


Hilda Ogden


Rita Tanner (née Littlewood, previously Sullivan, and Fairclough) and Mavis Riley


Deirdre Barlow (with Mike Baldwin and Ken Barlow)


Raquel Wolstenhulme (with Curly Watts)


Vera Duckworth (with Jack)


Liz McDonald

...and here's the first ever episode, from way back in 1960...

The most haunting and instantly-recognisable TV theme tune ever.

Monday, 8 December 2025

Puts a tingle in your fingers and a tingle in your feet


Sigh. Back to the old routine...

After a weekend of Cecil Beaton followed by storms, and with the Madam's sister Carol being here until tomorrow, I really am not in the mood for work today. At all!

However, life goes on. It pays the bills. And it is the centenary today of one of the greatest "triple threats" ever ["triple threat" = a performer who can act, dance, and sing], Mr Sammy Davis Junior!

On this Tacky Music Monday, I think, by way of a tribute, I need this! It's my favourite of all his roles...

Have a good week, dear reader.

Sunday, 7 December 2025

Cavorting? In this weather?

Having had a very disturbed sleep - the vile granddad next door started shouting in Bulgarian into his phone at around 6am, and did not stop to take breath for the next five hours - when I'd finally had enough and eventually surfaced, I found it was pissing down again (and had been for hours), making even going outside for a fag a complete bind. Suffice to say, it didn't put me in the best of moods...

Never mind, eh, let's have another wallow in the glamorous lives of beautiful people cavorting in exotic, sunnier climes, shall we - courtesy of the ever-faboo Soft Tempo Lounge:

Ah, that's better.

[Music: 00:00 Rolf Rosemeier And His Orchestra - No Escape (Theme From Subterfuge); 02:00 Gorni Kramer - Donna]