|LETTERS FROM LONDON
|REASONS TO BE CHEERFUL
6 September 2013
|Mature Morons Make Media
‘It was the wind’. No it was Wawrinka what done it. It was the number nine seed
Swiss Stanislas Wawrinka who beat the hideously scarily ugly grimacing
‘Anyone but’ Andy Murray in 2 hours and 15 minutes.
AM failed to earn a single break point in a 6-4 6-3 6-2 match. The very same
Murray who boasted he could basically beat Serena without breaking a sweat.
Hmmm. Maybe not, Andy.
AM demonstrated his usual maturity. He raged, he smashed his racket into the
court; he was given a code violation for racket abuse. Not for spectator abuse
The press credited him with his new ‘encouraging maturity’ when he admitted
Wawrinka played well. Really? Not possibly protecting the brand after his
embarrassing tirades? Others said he was ‘unhappy’ on the court as the reason
for his major defeat. AM gave himself credit for his year of tennis brilliance.
More proof of his new maturity....
The ever charmless Vladimir Putin despot/dictator demonstrated his maturity
and testosterone when he arrived late and last to the waiting world leaders at the
G20 photo gathering. Obama had pulled that power stunt the day before.
Combined ages 10?
VP had Dmitry Peskov, the Russian president's official spokesman enlighten
Russian journalists who may have been wondering that Britain was "just a small
island no one pays attention to". Britain’s only claim to fame was the number of
Russian oligarchs who have bought up most of Kensington and Chelsea rather
than risk life-term prison sentences doled out by Putin’s vindictive caprice.
Starting with a brilliant British Olympics/Paralympics as well as historically world
altering inventions, the centre for culture (fashion, art, architecture, theatre,
literature, music, film), technology, science, medicine, finance and fun. Poor
pathetic Putin. Pity he is so puerile. Or as Tory backbencher, Henry Smith,
tweeted: ‘Putin really is a tosser’. Interesting who will be willing to translate
Me Fancying Me Fancying Him
Meanwhile Pippa (read: pathetic, attention-seeking, solipsistic) is ‘writing’
again. I use that term with caution as her writing immediately induces hands-
covering-face embarrassment. Total lack of celebrity-self-assessment can often
result in ineptitude or worse. See: Vanity Fair, Waitrose Kitchen magazine,
GQ, failed book deal.
Now Pippa wants us all to know her in ‘Confessions of Sporty Schoolgirl’ (ew):
"When I close my eyes and think about school sports, I envisage myself on the
hockey pitch, stick in hand, a luminous [sic] gumshield [sic] locked on to my
chops [sic] (chops? chops? Oh god) and a bandana across my forehead…
Boys are watching. I can also hear the booming voice of Mr Markham, our
fierce but undeniably fanciable coach, urging us all on.”She adds later: “Did I
mention the boys watching?” Now you have.
Oh dear, oh dear. This crushingly humiliating attempt at proper ‘journalism’ was
actually an article for a supplement on independent schools for The Spectator.
Oh dear, oh dear. Shouldn’t someone tell her? Soon.
She doesn’t stop there; she wants us to close our eyes and imagine her
running in a cross-country race wearing "tiny athletic shorts" (oh make her
stop) and "caked in mud from head to toe". She admits to having used her
"derriere for defence" because "my 'chest' hadn't developed back then" on the
netball court. I can’t go on. Waaayyy too much information.
But perhaps not as it is so self-revealing...revealing her sensitivity to Mr
Markham’s new position as headmaster at another private school about to
Now married (to his physics graduate sweetheart now a high-flying executive)
with two children, Mr Markham read history at Oxford and represented Wales at
hockey at the 1998 Commonwealth Games. His response: "I am unable to
comment on former pupils." Ah. Poor unacknowledged Pippa.