I Am Not The Beatles

Click above for big pictures, click below to play me…

1988 is a pretty weird year for anybody to choose to release a song entitled Woman Of The 80’s, particularly when the lyrics of your resulting creation purport you to be one of the leading exponents thereof.

After all, it’s only going to be 18 months or so before both you and your target audience start to view the very concept of a Woman Of The 80’s as being more than just a little bit embarrassing and old fashioned - focussed, as you will be, on the much more exciting prospect of emerging into the next decade as a dynamic forward thinking and futuristic Woman Of The 90’s instead.

Indeed, it is nigh on impossible for Julia’s overtly overcasual approach to her release date to give any impression other than one which suggests she is not really taking this whole pop song malarkey very seriously at all.

So incredibly bad is this timing in fact, I would even go as far to say that if I was Julia I would be instigating the following actions pretty darn sharpish :

a) Renaming and re-recording this song as that cheeky aforementioned Woman Of The 90’s - and then
b) Releasing it on January 1st 1990 thus ensuring it to be whisked straight to number one as a genuinely lyrically groundbreaking track which young women can relate to - whilst simultaneously also giving it a good nine years before everyone starts giggling at it a bit.

Unfortunately for all involved however, on a close inspection of myself which I conducted whilst taking a relaxing bath recently, it has rather sadly transpired that I am not even remotely female let alone been given the name Julia… and equally gallingly, having just had a quick glance at my trusty RNLI calendar in the kitchen, I am also not currently living in the early 1990’s.

As a direct result of this disappointing lack of Julia-in-the-90’s-ness about my person, I must thus announce that neither a) or b) as listed above ever actually happened.

Which is a shame.

I Want To Be A Woman Of The 80’s !

Well, you can be - although it is not quite as straightforward as you would perhaps initially think, as you first need to prove that you are fit and strong… before then ensuring that there are absolutely no situations where you don’t belong.

No situations… whatsoever ?

Yes.

What about a situation where I stick my middle finger up Gordon Brown’s bottom and then immediately lick it ?

Well… that would have to be a situation within which you felt you most definitely belonged. There is nothing, it seems, which is off limits for a Woman Of The 80’s.

Errr… I am not sure I am entirely comfortable with this…

Ha Ha Ha ! Fooled you !

Sorry ?

Julia is in fact… being ironic!

Really ?!!

Yes!

You see, every single quality and personality trait she lists within this song are in fact what she believes women of the 80’s are forced to give the illusion of being in order to be considered fully functioning members of 80’s society. So, for example, when she says she doesn’t really ever really get that lonely on Sundays… she actually really does ever really get that lonely on Sundays - even if she still doesn’t ever really get around to calling you up.

This gospel choired double bluff is all rather fun for a while too, but the constant irony eventually gets far too confusing - as, if you get as far as the middle 8, Julia eventually claims that if you’re a woman of the 80’s you’ve got a set of rules to follow.

How many rules make up this ‘set’?

One.

That’s not really a ’set of rules’ is it ?

Not really, no. But semantics aside, first we get a statement of fact telling us that ‘If it’s not on, it’s not on..’ which is presumably referring to her partner’s condom, as the actual rule that then follows is :

‘Never ever ever ever swallow… your pride’.

It should be noted here that the important part of this rule is not any of the actual words that form it but the overdramatic pause where the three dots are between ’swallow’ and ‘your’, as it is here where Julia makes a Carry On styled winking joke for the older members of her audience - suggesting that the real hidden rule is in fact :

‘Never ever ever ever swallow’- with the subtext being that if you find yourself in a similar condomless environment with your mouth somewhere near an ejaculating penis and don’t do as she says, you may as well jump up and down naked in the middle of your local High Street screaming “I HAVE NO SELF ESTEEM.”

So, to clarify : in order for me to be considered a Woman Of The 80’s, if I decide to orally stimulate my partner to the point of orgasm… I shouldn’t swallow ?

It is, I am afraid, more complicated than that - as Julia, don’t forget, is being ironic.

Errr… So I Should Swallow ?

And it is more complicated than that too, as every other part of the song is about ironically giving the illusion of doing or being something - but actually secretly doing or being the opposite.

Now, I have no real opinion or interest on Julia’s sexual preference of such a spit or swallow conundrum - just as I am sure that you and her probably have absolutely no interest in how I would generally conduct myself when faced with such a there-appears-to-be-sperm-in-my-mouth-what-next? decision making process - but the suggestion here is that Julia believes to be a fully qualified Woman Of The 80’s you should give the impression of not swallowing… but then actually doing so.

As far as I can tell this would presumably involve making a massive fuss in front of your partner when the aforementioned ejaculation initially enters your oral cavity - of the ‘Urgh! That’s disgusting! I can’t believe you just did that you utter pig!’ variety - rushing headlong towards the sink, secretly swallowing the aforementioned excretion on the way, then pretending to spit it out before finally rapidly brushing your teeth with the world’s strongest toothpaste whilst still complaining rather loudly about it all.

Which, no matter what your opinion on the subject, is a frankly bizarre way to behave.

Where Is Julia Now ?

She is still around, playing a few live shows this coming October in the USA :

http://www.juliafordham.com

http://www.myspace.com/juliafordham

Yes, it seems that at some point in the 1990’s Julia got a bit fed up with living in the UK so decided to move house… and bought a couple of very posh first class one way tickets to Los Angeles.

How Could Julia Afordham ?

Well, despite not being hugely successful in the country of her birth, Julia has actually sold a staggering 3 million records worldwide… so she probably isn’t short of a penny or two.

Looking at her website incidentally, it must be said that Julia is obviously a tremendously lovely and wonderfully well meaning individual - but she isn’t exactly… subtle.

She recently re-released a song of hers to raise money to help after the devastating tsunami that killed over 200,000 people in 2004 for example. The song title ? Happy Ever After, The Tsunami Remix.

Her website also describes the following incident concerning the Sichuan Earthquake of May this year :

“The other week I was driving along listening to a distressing story on NPR about a man in China who was trapped under a collapsed building from the earthquake. He was frantically calling his relatives on his cell phone - they were trying to dig him out and find help to reach him. I found myself consumed with concern at the thought of this scared man fighting for his life. I haven’t been able to get him out of my mind, and keep wondering what happened to him. Did he make it? I felt helpless, but then thought of something I might be able to do to help those suffering so terribly in China at this time. “

The name of the old love song of hers she re-released to help raise money - which in truth had nothing whatsoever to do with earthquakes ? China Blue.

The earthquake did take place in China after all, her reasoning seems to go, and after this anonymous individual was horribly slowly crushed to what we can only presume was a ridiculously painful and lonesome death by the entire weight of his collapsed house, he probably did feel a bit blue about the situation.

So stop your giggling.

Money Update

Cost : 8 pence. Want to give some money but can’t bring yourself to buy a song called China Blue ? http://halfthesky.org
Current value : 49 pence. I definitely don’t like it like this.
Current Profit : 209 pounds and 66 pence. Want to sing along with the lyrics - they make a nice use of CAPITAL LETTERS and brackets to make sure you don’t miss anything : ‘never ever ever ever SWALLOW (your pride)’. Hmmm… that’s not exactly subtle either, is it ? http://www.metrolyrics.com/woman-of-the-80s-lyrics-julia-fordham.html

Supporting Cast Update : Brown, Gordon

Click above for big pictures, click below to play me…

“Death is a vast mystery, but there are two things we can say about it: It is absolutely certain that we will die, and it is uncertain when or how we will die. The only surety we have, then, is this uncertainty about the hour of our death, which we seize on as the excuse to postpone facing death directly. We are like children who cover their eyes in a game of hide-and-seek and think that no one can see them.”

The Tibetan Book Of Living and Dying
Sogyal Rinpoche

Everywhere is death.

From the most fragrant of flowers to the most sensual of sunrises to the loved one you hold when you awake of a morning, everything is decapitated by death.

Given birth recently ?

Congratulations, you have just given birth to death.

The curse of decay arrogantly inflicted upon you with no discussion or consultation with yourself, has now successfully been thrusted upon another whose life may give the illusion of difference – but is really just one more in the multitude of slow marches to the agony of non-existence.

What made you think giving birth to certain death would make you feel any better about yourself?

Just look around you – puncture the façade of beauty that forever surrounds and focus on the sadness within… concentrate on the inner truth of everybody and everything’s imminent death.

Don’t try to avert your gaze, and definitely don’t close your eyes – for the dancing lights and blackness you’ll see is the inside of your eyelids slowly but surely decaying right in front of you and moving you solidly, firmly towards your own destruction.

‘Look at me…’ croaks Gary Numan taking on the surprising guise and persona of a nice fluffy Alsatian puppy, ‘ I’m crying…‘

And so you should be Alsatian Gary – because essentially, you’re totally fucked.

And so, rather sadly, am I.

Is this a subtle way of suggesting this song may be more than just a tad depressing ?

Depressing ?

Whatever gave you that idea ?

Oh no, as long as you remember to take the sensible precaution of gauging both your eardrums out with a plastic fork before the drums whirr into life sounding eerily reminiscent of the distant clanking of a meat processing factory for Pedigree Chum, I am sure you’ll find it a very positive and uplifting experience.

‘How can they do this to me…’

Still, your ensuing depression is all for a good cause – as my 8 theoretical pence has just been given by Alsatian Gary to the RSPCA, which is a nice thing to do isn’t it ? What’s more, this 8 pence is probably just about enough to fill one seventh of a can of that aforementioned dog food.

And it is really probably worth trying to remember this heart warming act of charity when, as a direct result of you listening to this song all the way through to the end where Alsatian Gary eventually dies, you find yourself crouched and sobbing in the kitchen sawing through your own wrists with a bread knife.

‘How can they do this to me… again ?’

There is one other really fucking depressing song on I Am Not The Beatles which was also coincidentally recorded in the name of the RSPCA and, although no dogs graphically died during Barbara Dickson’s theme tune to the BBC programme Animal Squad, this still wasn’t enough to stop me wishing that a rottweiller was violently chewing my face off by the end of it.

http://www.iamnotthebeatles.com/?p=337

This does seem initially a bit weird though as these two songs, and Gary’s in particular, are certainly pretty bizarre attempts at charity records – I mean what’s wrong with the bloody RSPCA, can’t we expect a little bit of… hope ?

Why can’t we have a nice uplifting ditty, like Gary covering the completely brilliant Love Kitten by Noreen Corcoran for example…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V6qeLL1WWgk&feature=related

…with a nice accompanying video of cute kittens bouncing up and down on his ever leather clad knees ? Wouldn’t that be more likely to, well you know, sell more copies and therefore make more money – which is surely the entire point of the exercise ?

On further investigation however all becomes astonishingly clear, as Barbara and Gary’s records are actually inextricably intertwined… yes, if you watch the video for this song over at youtube, it is explained that I Still Remember was written as a direct result of watching the programme Barbara sang the theme tune too.

In other words, Gary Numan wrote a really depressing song… because he got utterly depressed after listening to Barbara’s - and I own bloody both of them.

‘Look at me, I’m dying…’ we thus get instead of lovely huggable kittens, ‘… all this must end some day…’ just as the song, rather ironically, suffers a major seizure and stops.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QlHBN3RHl4I

Is Gary Numan Really Singing From The Perspective Of A Cute Alsatian Puppy ?

Yes he really is – his website states the following :

‘This version features a different lyric to the version which appears on The Fury album, being written from the point of view of an abused dog.’

And it is this incredible poochfact, mixed with the image of Gary Numan chewing on a bone in the recording studio as he attempts to get into character, that has informed my decision to categorise this record as absolutely totally fucking brilliant.

If you can’t really understand my rationale here then let me helpfully restate the reason for you in capital letters :

THIS IS GARY NUMAN. PRETENDING TO BE A DOG.

Where Is Gary Now ?

He is at the following link which shows that, although Gary may no longer actually be a dog these days, he has certainly got a dog of a website :

http://www.numan.co.uk/index.html

“If this is your first visit to NuWorld we suggest you go to the Guide section first to see what the site has to offer” it initially helpfully states. So, off you pop to the guide, only for the resulting page to tell you that the page you have just come from is in fact ‘… the initial point of entry for new viewers and is best used as a starting point for all visits to this site…’ and you thus then get caught in your special own online remix of Nietzsche’s Eternal Return - which is always an ill advised thing to do at the best of times.

Anyway, if you get past that, you may be interested to note that Gary has just released a new live DVD called ‘Jagged Edge’.

‘The sheer strength of the album, the fantastic attitude of the fans and a truly remarkable performance by the band made it a night to remember.’

Says Gary.

About his own performance.

http://nushop.usp.net/info_page.cfm?FORMProductID=481

Oooh before the money update, and whilst we are on the subject of Gary Numan, tell me - do you have any ‘friends’ which happen to be electric ?

No I don’t.

But I do keep a few in my bedside drawer which are battery operated if it helps.

Money Update

Cost : 8 pence
Current Value : 3 pounds and 50 pennies – this is exactly the same amount as When In Rome’s ever malleable Sight Of Your Tears … whose review also mentioned industrial meat processing. Which is odd. http://www.iamnotthebeatles.com/?p=91
Current Profit : 209 pounds and 25 pence. Incidentally, that dog of the cover is called Lisa and belonged to Gary Numan’s mum and dad - although she is of course now dead… just like we will all be pretty darn soon. So, with this sobering fact in mind, you may find yourself wanting to read some more extracts from Sogyal Rinpoche’s really quite interesting Tibetan Book Of Living and Dying. It may not cheer you up much though :

http://www.rigpaus.org/WIR/TBLD/Understanding_death.html

Supporting Cast Update : Corcoran, Noreen; Nietzsche, Friedrich

Click above for big pictures, click below to play me…

Basements are, by their very nature, always situated downstairs - and Biba’s Basement is no different in this regard, located as it is bang slap between Biba’s legs.

Biba’s Pet Name For Her Vagina… Is Her Basement ?

Biba’s personal referencing system for her own genitalia is sadly unrecorded, but it seems Ken Foreman - the lead singer of Thrashing Doves - certainly likes to view it in that way. Unfortunately however with this song Ken also wishes to voice his displeasure concerning the general overall state of Biba’s Basement, as when he popped down there recently to check that it was all still watertight… he found something ticking.

Ticking ?

Yes - and he isn’t referring to the watch he accidentally left behind the curtains on his previous visit either, as he appears to be using the word ticking in what posh linguists would describe as the present participle ie Biba’s Basement… is covered in ticks.

Ugh.

Don’t panic though as Ken is clearly on the case and after a brief investigation is currently laying the blame for this ticking squarely, if not necessarily entirely fairly, on the fact that Biba’s Basement has a Persian rug outside it’s door.

Errr… Isn’t That A Perfectly Natural Look For A Vagina ?

In my strictly limited experience, yes – but it doesn’t appear to be to Kens taste at all.

Anyway, in a desperate attempt to gain control of the situation he has just tried smoking the ticks out of Biba’s rug, but that made no real difference to the overall basement. In fact, so bad is the infestation that he is currently rather candidly advising Biba she may well want to consider getting some sort of a replacement.

Rug ?

Basement.

Now, I want to state plainly here that I don’t think such a transplant is either particularly viable or especially necessary either but - whatever the rights and wrongs of the situation - it’s too late now… as if you take a look at the front cover Biba is already

a) under sedation

b) mid operation, and

c) having her right breast groped by the surgeon who apparently just can’t help himself.

The big perve.

Hmmm… I don’t trust this lead singer of Thrashing Doves at all – we met previously you see about a year ago, and in that instance he was found to be rather arrogantly withholding some vital truths of the situation within which he found himself, and as a result made me look rather stupid.

Well, that tendency to lie hasn’t really changed I’m afraid. Just listen to the end of the second verse for example, where he rather stupidly tries to convince us that Guy Fawkes was a close personal acquaintance of his - which would make Ken at least 402 years old, the silly bugger.

Perhaps He Meant To Say Guy Ritchie ?

Guy Ritchie ? Why on earth would the lead singer of Thrashing Doves possibly be a friend of Guy Ritchie ?

Well, towards the end of this song I note that Ken claims to have also recently visited the basement belonging to Guy’s soon to be ex-wife, Madonna – so it could be that Guy had coincidentally popped down to her basement to start collecting his stuff at the same time that Ken was there.

That would certainly make Madonna’s basement a tad overcrowded wouldn’t it ? Anyway, I think you’ve probably misheard a rather key lyric here, as Ken doesn’t refer to Maddies basement – but Maggie’s Basement.

As in Margaret Thatcher.

Fucking hell. Ken has been rooting around Margaret Thatcher’s basement as well ?

I am afraid that when it comes to basements… our Ken isn’t really that picky.

What’s more, in a coincidence which is all too rather revealing, once he got down there he found Margaret Thatcher’s basement to be bloody well ticking too… so, just like Biba, he has advised her to get a replacement.

The Sick. Fucking. Bastard.

It is, I must admit, a bit of a coincidence that of the two basements most recently visited by Ken both were found to be ticking. As such it is becoming increasingly obvious to me that Ken is the sick man infected with the genital ticks - and he is consciously, purposefully and maliciously spreading them around any old basement he can get his hands on before then using his camp powers of persuasion to force himself onto his victims and carry out some totally unnecessary vaginal replacement surgery.

Then, if that wasn’t enough, he also cops a quick feel of their breasts and takes a photograph as some sort of a ’souvenir’.

This man needs help.

Fast.

Would Margaret Thatcher Ever Get Her Revenge On Thrashing Doves For This Sleight On Her Vaginal Health ?

Yes – she would mercilessly and unrelentingly bring down their entire fucking career at the exact moment their next single was released.

We have, as I say, met Thrashing Doves here before with their previous effort Matchstick Flotilla. So, if you don’t know the full story of how Margaret Thatcher Got Her Own Back – or even if you just want to read a famous tale you already know of but this time with the phrase ‘they were totally fucked’ as part of the narrative – then click here:

http://www.iamnotthebeatles.com/?p=89

Incidentally, the link above also details what all the members are up to these days – although we did miss out one by mistake :

http://www.iamnotthebeatles.com/?page_id=318

Just How Camp Is Ken’s Performance?

Very.

In fact,I have just held my ever trusty campometer (otherwise known as my left ear) up to the speaker and it currently claims that this vocal for Biba’s Basement is a rather astounding 147 times more camp than the 4 minute mincefest that is Matchstick Flotilla - as this time Ken seems doubly incapable of refraining himself from ooohing and aaahing all over the place making this song sound not unlike Alan Carr : The Musical.

The best bit though is the intro :

“One, two… one two three PHWOARRRR…” it all begins as if Ken is touching himself whilst looking at a photograph of the slightly tearful remaining members of Take That just after Robbie Williams had left – with both his Phwoarrrr and his passion obviously reserved for Mark Owen.

Is Ken As Camp As His Singing Would Suggest ?

You can find out for yourself if you like, by watching the video :

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rUUoLFnBagk

Sorry, I Can’t Be Bothered To Do That… Can’t You Just Tell Me ?

Ok - the answer is ‘No… But.’

With the ‘but’ bit being the fact that every single ounce of camp floating around in the known universe appears to have been distilled into Ken’s right leg which is the campest right leg I have ever set my eyes on… but the rest of him, oddly, remains totally unaffected.

Which is all a bit unsettling to be honest.

Money Update

Cost : 8 pence. Want to find out more about Thrashing Doves ? http://www.thrashingdoves.co.uk/html/press_archive.html

Current Value : 2 pounds and 34 pence… which is 1 pound and 4 pence less than their previous effort. Incidentally, if you are the owner of a basement which is unfortunately ticking you may want to get one of these : http://www.lymediseaseaction.org.uk/information/tick_removal.htm

Current Profit : 205 pounds and 83 pence. The box… is ticked.

Supporting Cast Update : Winton, Dale; Carr, Allan; Owen, Mark; William, Robbie

Click above for big pictures, click below to play me…

Phobias are strange things.

I, for example, am quite scared of flying and - even when friends of mine patiently explain to me that if I took my own health and safety even remotely seriously I’d be far better off being terrified of my own car - the phobia I have still continues based upon what I am convinced are two unassailable facts :

a) It has been known for me to find myself as a passenger in a plane. And,

b) It has been known for planes to find themselves dropping out of the sky and pulverising all the passengers, who have just spent the previous five minutes screaming in sheer fucking terror with the sure knowledge that they are - without a doubt - about to die, into a rather unpleasant passenger pulp.

It is important to note here that no matter how seemingly remote this personal plane pulverising process may theoretically be, the fact remains that it is still some sort of a possibility… and thus my phobia continues. After all, if the aforementioned events get all Venned Up together then all that needs to occur is for circlefact A to intersect with circlefact B in any shape or form whatsoever… and I would be utterly buggered.

No matter how much I try otherwise however, I am finding it curiously hard to get all worked up about the painful possibility of somebody setting fire to my testicles. It is a possibility it could occur I suppose, but a situation within which I would find myself with my testicles dangling out, ready and available for such a treatment and with a willing testicle torcher loitering around in the near vicinity seems like such a laughably remote convergence of conditions to surely render any worry worthless.

Roger Waters has no such qualms.

He frightens himself with the thought of his little ones burning with alarming regularity - usually when looking at his own children.

Why Would Anybody Want To Set Fire To Roger Waters’ Testicles ?

They don’t - but then nobody particularly wants to murder me by turning the plane I happen to be on into a huge flaming odious fireball of death either, and that doesn’t stop my phobia.

Interestingly in Roger’s case his phobia has been informed by past events, as what seems to have occurred at some unspecified point during his fatherhood is that he once looked in on his sleeping children in the middle of the night having presumably just gone for a pee – but crucially forgot that he was currently naked.

Thus, when leaning over into their cots to check if they were OK, he accidentally briefly dangled his two precious little ones directly onto his children’s Donald Duck nightlight.

Which must have hurt.

Errr… What Has All This Got To Do With The Tide Turning ?

Well, the likelihood of such a terrifying testicular event ever occurring again is virtually zero, so the tide turning is quite obviously a metaphor for Roger slowly overcoming his resulting ball burning phobia – it wasn’t easy though, as it got so bad at one point that he couldn’t even put his head around the door without the glow of Donald Duck giving him the jitters.

Mind you, I don’t really blame him for becoming a bit fearful about it all - as he apparently burnt himself so badly at the time that he had to dial 999 for an ambulance to attend in order for him to become the recipient of some urgently needed personal emergency medical attention.

You Mean, He Needed Some Live Aid ?

Yes.

The Tide Is Turning ? After Live Aid ?

Amazing isn’t it ?

What A Dreadfully Moody And Serious Song.

It is a dreadfully moody and serious song.

However, unlike the action of getting your bollocks burnt into near extinction, it doesn’t really bring a tear to the eye.

What Are Roger’s Best Bits ?

If Roger over-enunciating the word ‘crap’ as if he’s bizarrely regressed to be a 16 year old boy who has just sworn at a teacher raises a slight titter within you, then the male voice choir which join him for absolutely no apparent reason around the 4 minute mark may well floor you entirely.

Incidentally, if you do get as far as the choir please beware : you still have another 1 and half minutes to go.

Where’s Roger Now ?

He’s here, and his real name… is George :

http://www.roger-waters.com/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roger_Waters

http://www.myspace.com/georgerogerwaters

Why Does George Say ‘The Tide Is Turning, Sylvester’ At The End ?

This song is from a not remotely ridiculous sounding concept album called Radio KAOS. You can read all about it below - if nothing else it explains that bloody choir :

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Radio_K.A.O.S.

Anyway, the album version of this song apparently has a ‘hidden verse’ at the end of it performed entirely in morse code - which, of course, isn’t a remotely pretentious thing to do in the slightest. When transcribed, it reads thus :

“Now the past is over but you are not alone
Together we’ll fight Sylvester Stallone
We will not be dragged down in his South China Sea
of macho bullshit and mediocrity”

Yes, George is talking to Sylvester Stallone essentially requesting him to stop making such shit movies - and this really quite incredible fact means this record is strangely connected to Jean Beauvoir‘ s study in talcum powder and Bill Medley’s ever vibrating shit removal machine… which is something I am sure George would be thrilled by.

http://www.songfacts.com/detail.php?id=7881

Did The Tide Really Turn After Live Aid ?

It is a slightly contentious issue :

“Much of the money raised by Live Aid went to NGOs in Ethiopia, some of which were under the influence or control of the Derg military junta. Some journalists have suggested that the Derg was able to use Live Aid and Oxfam money to fund its enforced resettlement and “villagification” programmes, under which at least 3 million people are said to have been displaced and between 50,000 and 100,000 killed.”

Still - at least Queen did well out of it, eh ?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Live_Aid

http://liveaid.free.fr/

Money Update

Cost : 8 pence
Current value : Straight in at number 11 valuewise… 4 pounds and 95 pence. I am not really convinced it deserves it though… Gosh : this record actually reached the dizzy heights of number 54 - which would of course be tremendously exciting if it wasn’t a mere six places above where Gay Gordon and The Mince Pies got to as well.
Current Profit : 203 pounds and 57 pence. TWO HUNDRED POUNDS ! Who’d have thought it, eh ? On the same day that a very nice person from Boys Wonder popped in to say hello as well (see comment from Jones on the right if you’re interested). Fabulous. Oh, by the way, somebody has actually managed to make this record sound even more overblown. Impossible ? Not if you put Barack Obama speaking over the beginning of it : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7s9ubMQX7WE

Supporting Cast Update : Duck, Donald.