Movies. Plays. Tellies. You name it, Julie Walters has done it.
Must have made an absolute fortune. But she didn’t trumpet her pile.
Whereas Anne Robinson has been putting it about that, at the last count, she allegedly says she has 44 million stashed away in her knicker leg. I never did fall for her trademark sly wink. Give me Julie any day.
By the way, all men are cremated equal. Never a truer word, sayeth (who else?) Spike Milligan.
Och aye the no
Big deal. The BBC, all heart as ever, are promising us an all-Scotland channel, meaning totally teuchter.
They are supposedly intent on doing us a favour. More like an imposition, methinks. This bright idea first saw light of evening at the Book Fest. Lowlight of the Book Fest, I’d say.
You know the sort of third-rate bilge they foist on us at Hogmanay. Do we want this 24/7? Teuchter Telly, should we call it? Let’s hope this muck doesn’t materialise.
A Pal in need
It prolonged active life. And I fed it to my dogs. Pal was the doyen of dog foods. I kept a tin in reserve in case I ran short. Hae ma doots, though, that the Queen’s pooches always were on something else. No Pal for them. It’s steak, poached chicken and rabbit.
You have to be barking mad if you thought they are fed out of a can. What the royal archive didn’t reveal is what keeps the corgis on their toes . . .