I TOLD him not to do it. Not to go near it. But Engelbert wouldn’t listen and went ahead and made a muggins of himself and, worse still, of the UK.
Even worse, the Euro Song Contest cost the BBC – that’s you and me – £350,000.
Mr Humperdinck’s still moping. ‘‘Its been an extraordinary life,’’ he has said.
The only thing that would top it off, he’s been thinking, is a knighthood.
‘‘To receive the adoration that you get when you walk on stage, it’s just an amazing feeling... that’s what I want and I want to maintain it till God calls me.’’
Engel, I think that’s God on the phone and it’s for you.
Chips are down
Take this with a pinch of salt. Add a drizzle of vinegar to taste.
Our chippies increasingly are using Belgian potatoes, the rain preventing harvesting of our own from waterlogged fields.
The Belgian variety are described as ‘‘full bodied, full of flavour, balanced, bright and fresh”.
Just like an old flame I’d like to have known better in my youth.
Yes, I used to beat them off with a club. You believe?
... like me, you never tire of hearing Chic Murray’s posthumous patter: “My father was from Aberdeen and a more generous man you couldn’t wish to meet. I have a gold watch that belonged to him. He sold it to me on his deathbed. I wrote him a cheque for it, post-dated of course.”