Gggrrrraaaagggghhh! Oh my god. If you were in Weston-SuperMarket-Nightmare or whatever it’s bloody called at the T4 On The Beach do last Sunday you’ll know two things.
One, it was hot. Hot like you wanted to peel off your fur and scream like a brutalized badger hot.
Secondly, lots of people didn’t have much on. Like, they had so little on I nearly got thrown out just for breathing. Well, more panting, pawing at myself, tugging my fur really fast and whimpering than actually breathing, but you get the idea.
I’d been up late the night before chewing a little Mandrake and making merry with some fruits of the forest punch, so my guts weren’t all they could be. In fact, they were all over the place, as those behind me in the Portaloo queue found out to their cost. And in 90 degree heat, it wasn’t pretty. Or fragrant. Or hygienic.
But I’ll tell you who is all three. Rachel Stevens ! Gggrrrraaaagggghhh! Bloody ggrrrraaaggghhhhh! She was all over me like a rash, and, believe me, in that heat, there were plenty of rashes for her to choose from.
Rachel may be pop’s leading twinkly-eyed poppet, but I’ll tell you what, when she got her hands on me she was like a wild-woman. Her eyes were rolling like lemons in a fruit machine and her hands! Tearing at me they were… Shocking. But she smelt good, oh my god, I thought, she’s had a bath recently. Like today. She must have had to do under her arms and everything. Gggrrraaaaggghhh! I bet she dropped the soap once or twice too. Imagine having to dig that out, gggrrrraaaagggghhh!, you’d be rooting around everywhere, grabbing at anything that moves.
Dwain Xain from Goldie Lookin Chain ruined it a bit for me by suggesting he seen La Stevens running, frightened, to the toilet earlier.
“She couldn’t get there in time,” the Welsh bastard said. “It was terrible, there was stuff coming down her leg and it wasn’t just wee, it was other stuff.” What does he mean, “other stuff”?
Later on I was draining the snake stood next to Tony Christie, who looked a little disappointed. “I’ve not smelt any funny substances yet,” he grimaced. “Then try this for size, Grandad!” I yelped as the the last gasp of Mandrake root powered out of my tortured bunghole. Tony looked like he was about to pass out, and tottered on whispering something about watching rappers knitting in their dressing rooms. Nutter.
Talking of nutters. That Daniel Bedingfield is more bloody mentaller than wot I am. He chucked me in the air, tried to look up my private bits - bad idea, pal – and told me that, “Pamela Anderson and I are just a rumour. We were only fooling around and there was no commitment involved.” He didn’t mention his sister. Gggrrrraaaggghh! But I did. I mentioned her over and over again when I was back underneath my tree stump that night.
That Bobby Valentino’s no bigger than I am. Look at him! Lovely bloke, though he had no idea what was going on.
"Gossip Monster needs to tell me what’s going on!” I’ll tell you what’s going off. Actually, no I won’t, it’ll make you feel sick.
Nick Kaiser Chief blabbed on about meeting Dot Cotton - I would, but then, I am a monster – while Lemar proved to be a monster in his own right when he told me he’d spent the whole day eyeing up “scantily clad ladies.” Ggrraaaggghhhh! Bloody gggrrrrraaagghhhh! You and me both pal. It’s when the face tells you one thing and the body tells you another you need to be careful. That’s what my lawyer says, anyway.
Bloody gggrrraaaggghhhh! Who? That Fizz from ‘Coronation Street’, that’s who. Great big wallop of curly red hair, chipmunk cheeks – good for holding a lot of seed – and a body you could go exploring for days, never coming across the same place twice.
"Sean and Fizz are gonna get married,” she lied. “Do you want to be a bridesmaid?” Do I? What with the little bobby sox and the veil and the lacy bits pulled all taut across my whatsits and that. Oh bloody gggrraaaagghhhh! Gggrraaagghh! Put me out someone, I’m burning up here!
