Never mind him. He looked like a bit of rough to me, if you’ll pardon the expression. But to Zara Phillips he held a certain magnetism. A raw magnetism?
Anyway, hubby Mike Tindall has let her down by reportedly fondling a blonde while playing away.
The hell with all that. Of more concern in these parts is that by providing tat for the tabloids the Tindalls have brought shame and scandal to the Canongate and its parishioners, morally unimpeachable one and all. They’ve been tainted by these shenanigans, and I’m helping them brush it under the red carpet rolled out for the Tindalls at Holyrood.
Seems like only yesterday when we were hanging the flags out.
Pie and a pint, Mike? Your round next time you’re on our patch.
A kind of fascination about the facial expressions on the Russian guard of honour for David “Call Me Comrade” Cameron at the Kremlin Wall. Chins in the air, the Russki squaddies looked like they’d just done it in each others pants.
A bit niffy, lads? It’s the high octane voddy wot does it. Dead smart, mind you, and you could land a jump-jet on those angled peaked caps.
All too much
Last quango in Paris. In Rio, Monte Carlo, Acapulco, Madrid? You name it. The Coalition promised a bonfire of the quangos, to oust the private sector’s quangos with their top execs on £700,000-a-year salaries The Government has reneged on its promise. Done nothing. And it will do nothing. This in mind, try ringing Engelbert for a relevant set of substitute lyrics to his Quando hit.
The quango chancers have had their pay packets doubled. Are you happy to sit there and read this?