You’ve never seen a bigger, more revolting shower of sycophants than the quintet pictured at the Winner’s Dinners awards, caught at an upmarket London hotel with the man himself essentially out front.
Times when Winner writes and looks insufferably wet, such as this.
The sycophants were Parkinson (an oldie himself, I don’t buy what he keeps selling to pensioners in the papers), Frostie, Lloyd-Webber, Roger “where’s-my-specs” Moore, and Tim off-the-boil Rice. Pass the sick bags but, to be fair, it was past their bedtimes.
Edinburgh businessman Willie McEwan’s among the Edinburgh parishioners off to Rome for a get-together with the Pope next week and I’ve asked him to ask His Holiness to pray that the next Hibernian manager is the right one. The chosen one.
It shall be done vows Willie, a devout member of the Pope’s/Hibernian flock.
Stacking them up.
The headline-hungry Hibs keeper Graham Stack spent the night in the nick in London after he allegedly hospitalised a 20-year-old over a difference of opinion in a glitzy club shortly after the consequential debacle with Dunfermline.
A hard man. And we’ve had more than a handful at Easter Road. Spare you the details.
C’mon, Graham. Show us yer tattoos. Again. They’re worth the admission money alone.
Off his Ed
Achtung, achtung! Ed Balls, the pop-eyed Shadow Chancellor, gave a dodgy salute in the Commons, so close to the Nazi version that Call Me Dave couldn’t resist a caustic comment.
Himmler did something similar but his party had no Balls at all.
Afterwords . .
Hard to resist that fetching, altogether dazzling smile Rangers owner Craig Whyte is beaming.
Reminding me of a vintage film, Alfie, where Julia Foster asks Michael Caine: “is them yer own teef?”