Posts Tagged ‘celebrities

06
Feb
09

The Sound of Music – the Nuclear War special edition with lyrics

The first time I watched the Sound of Music, I was seven and genuinely perplexed as to why such a smashing young nun would fetch up with an octogenarian with a whistle fetish.

As I grew older, I realised why. He had a bloody great big house.

Last night, having been strong-armed to watch the Sing-a-Long version of The Sound of Music at the theatre with my daughter, I found the tables had turned. I was  actually LUSTING after Captain Georg Von Trapp and his long, hard whistle. My hills were alive. I wanted him to ford my stream, climb my mountain and add certain of my body parts to his list of favourite things.

Ill blow your whistle, Captain, oh yeah. Ill blow it real nice

I'll blow your whistle, Captain, oh yeah. I'll blow it real nice

Even though – and perhaps because –  his name is pronounced Gay-Org (gay.org for those readers under the age of 25) I had suddenly discovered Captain Von Trapp’s allure. Definitive proof that the portrait ageing on my behalf in the attic affects only my body and not my mind – I may look like a 22-year-old glamour model, but inside I have the mind of a wizened 37-year-old. It’s like that Benjamin Button film in reverse. I think – I haven’t seen it.

While innocently looking for  red hot pictures from the Von Trapp’s honeymoon online, I happened upon the BBC’s plans to maintain public morale in the event of a nuclear disaster which involve none other than Gay-Org himself. Academic Dr Ian Bradley revealed the in-bunker entertainment for the dignitaries, celebrities and brown-nosers stashed underground while the rest of us are burning to death in the streets: “Shortly after the siren sounds, we can expect to see and hear Julie Andrews,” he said. Along with the three other riders of the Apocalpyse, presumably.

On the plus side, commoners like you and I (this is a vast generalisation, apologies to dignitaries, celebrities and brown nosers reading) will not have a place in one of the 20 bunkers around the UK that will be screening The Sound of Music on a continual loop for 100 days. On the minus side, that’s because we’ll probably be dead.

For those of us left above ground, the most sensible thing to do will be to reach for the Government’s Preparing for Emergencies booklet, which advises us not to panic. Not panicking is especially easy if you have been reduced to dust by an atomic firestorm.

If you’ve made it through the initial blast, and are simply waiting to vomit up your liver when gamma rays permeate through the double glazing,  you can always summon up a little of the BBC’s plan to inject the feelgood factor back into your life by singing the songs from The Sound of Music yourself.

I can see it now, the family huddled around grandma, who is still burning brightly, and trying to remember the lyrics to Favourite Things:

“Toxic rain on babies and weeping sores on kittens, bright orange fireballs and radiation-proof mittens, deformities caused by rogue DNA strings…these are a few pesky nuclear war things.

“Incinerated ponies and crisp quick-fried poodles, sirens and screaming and living off Pot Noodles, wild geese that fly with scorch-marks on their wings…these are a few pesky nuclear war things.

“When the bomb hits, when black rain falls, when I’m feeling sad, I simply remember Gordon Brown’s underground, and then I don’t feel so bad…”

Really, though, check out the Von Trapp fox, ladies. All aboard the time machine, I’m heading for the hills.

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05
Jan
09

Five new reality shows – including Celebrity Dances with Wolves on Ice and Maverick Cop Idol

Frustrated at the fact I have to wait a full six days until the next celebrity-infused reality show begins (Dancing on Ice, ITV, Sunday, 7pm), I have pitched the following ideas to ITV, Channel Four and Channel Five. I still feel disappointed and let down by the BBC after the Blue Peter kitten-naming scandal and therefore am denying the corporation the opportunity to jump aboard this lucrative bandwagon – if that doesn’t hit them where it hurts, I’m not sure what will.

It goes without saying that all of the below ideas MUST be accompanied by the Sugababes’ ‘Here Come the Girls’ AT ALL POINTS when female contestants are introduced. You know, like in every other reality show in the UK at the moment.

ITV1, 8pm: I’m a Celebrity….Pointlessly Teach Me to Do Something Else.

A group of celebrities become even more famous for learning to do the kind of mundane hollow-skulled crap everyone else has been doing for years. Not only are their lives better than yours, now they’re able to do your job better than you and while looking far more attractive than you do. A helpline number flashes up at the end of each edition in case you need to be talked out of a self-harming session in the bathroom with a Doctor Who ruler when you realise how pointless your life is.

ITV2, 6.30pm: Maverick Cop Idol.

Members of the public join a police line-up to become the star of a gritty new Carlton Food Network drama about a pub chef who becomes a maverick cop after something traumatic happens to him involving a spatula and some oyster mushrooms. Candidates should (a) be brilliant but flawed geniuses (b) have a drink problem (c) live alone somewhere quirky, like a windmill or a sewage tank and (d) have a secret sorrow, preferably a dead wife or child.

Channel 4, 8pm: You’re a Fat Pig – Let’s All Sneer at You.
Lots of fat people are herded into a windowless room full of cakes and sausage rolls and then forced to roll in them while thin people watch them through a two-way mirror, pointing and laughing at them.

ITV3, 6.45pm: Celebrity Dances With Wolves On Ice.
Presenters Phillip Schofield and Holly Willoughby pit man against beast in this light-hearted skate-to-the-death. Celebrities will don ice skates and suits made of bacon and take their turns to face a pack of wolves on the rink. The live grand final sees the two remaining celebrities, or two celebrities’ remains, compete for the first slot on the nearest surgeon’s operating table.

Channel Five, 9pm: Celebrity Conjoined Twins.
Six stars agree to be spliced into a member of the public who will hilariously turn out to be the chalk to their cheese; Gillian McKeith will be sewn into the body of a morbidly obese teenager, Su Pollard will be grafted on to an agoraphobic chronic depressive and Keith Harris will be attached to Orville if the budget gets tight. Stars will be forced to share their lives, homes and major organs with a stranger for six weeks, after which time the public will text in to decide which sibling should die under the knife to save their twin.

I will let you know the outcome. I have high hopes this time round, although personally, I’d have commissioned my last idea: Celebrity Traffic Island.




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