Monthly Archives: September 2011
Lord Sugar said Kylie can help him with the casting. Suddenly she’s everyone’s best friend.
Not mine though. Her demands include:
1. Kicking up a fuss about Pippi Longstocking being a redhead (v desirable IMHO). She feels it might compromise her image.
2. She wants a name change to PippA Longstocking, to be in keeping with the most famous ass of our time. Frankly, Kylie had her chance as Rear of the Year ten years ago, it’s time to move on.
3. Lastly, she’s insistent on David Tennant being a love interest in the show. I pointed out Pippi is a tomboyish girl. Didn’t go down well.
OMG!! Kate Middleton reduced to wearing something she wore only 3 years ago! The poor lamb. I rushed over one of my hats immediately.
Kylie still too big for her stockings. She says the show needs to end with her marrying David Tennant. For real. He’s looking anxious.
As a distraction I asked her if the Lexus advertising people insisted her dress be made of car upholstery for the ads. Got that shiny grey leather look.
David Tennant has pulled out of the production!
Kylie unrecogNISable when she came to rehearsals. Gin-soaked, hair trailing limply, very hoarse due to wailing. You’d never catch me behaving like that.
Only one way to deal with the ilotoleable pressure in life. Those @$€%<$! Treat me like that! I am vey vey drunk. I might fall off my…
Hangover..? Me? That’s for wimps. Bounded into the cast’s sleeping quarters to welcome the day. They’re still shouting. Off to get coffee.
Kylie’s worn David Tennant down. He’s playing an entirely spurious love interest in Pippi! with songs written by Andrew Lloyd Webber. Poor bastard.
Lloyd Webber’s throne has arrived into rehearsals. He’s not due till next week. I suspect it might be the worse for wear by then.
Turned on the telly and there was Lloyd Webber at Wimbledon! Siralun is not best pleased. He’s done something unspeakable to the throne.
Sugar has pushed me OVER THE EDGE. David Tennant feels the same about Kylie. We’ve gone on a pub crawl mini-break to Droitwich. Back Monday.
Pressure taking its toll on Kylie. She’s started speaking entirely in Stock, Aitken & Waterman songs. Sugar’s phoned Jason Donovan for advice
Former News of The World employees attending last performance of Macbeth tonight. Well, they could do with a laugh. Better keep an eye on the daggers.
Kylie appeared in rehearsal today wearing Rebekah Brooks’ wig. What? You mean it’s her real hair?! Shit!
Brad Pitt’s turned up again. I’ve told him I’m only interested in drunken wastrels who frottage in alleyways but he doesn’t get the message. Have sent him to Frotters Anonymous.
Might send George Clooney and Orlando Bloom along too. They’re so demanding & there’s only a finite amount of Mary.
Like those BBC types I’m also on strike. I have decided not to wear underwear as a mark of protest.
Frotters Anonymous spurned the Hollywood A-Listers. Brad, Orlando & George currently playing catch with Jordan’s discarded breast implant.
Brad Pitt invited me on a luxury yacht with the Falkirk multi-millionaires. Am tempted, even though Steeple Bumstead is glorious in the rain.
A decision’s been made. Have decked myself in a sailor suit (I tossed the sailor overboard). They won’t notice I’ve gone.
I said to Brad just now ‘What about Angelina?’ He said ‘If you take away the gorgeous face, the hot body, the fabulous career and Earth Motherness, what have you got?’ He has a point. Have rounded the McDonalds Peninsula to the Nediterranean, home of the Great Horn of Ned.
Good Lordy, we’ve acquired a pirate. Johnny Depp, that is. He’s brought some of his undead. Brad Pitt not best pleased. He’s so possessive.
Pirates. PIRATES!! Not really, just my summoning chant. Fed up of Hollywood A-Listers, I need a stubbly smelly old fart to remind me of home.
The pirates came. They are NOT AT ALL like in Pirates of the Caribbean. Just had their captain sobbing with pity as I told him my life story
I have taken the Pirate Captain to a cave for comforting. I may be some time
Been in this bloody cave far too long. The stalactites look like beer cans. Rock pools are full of absinthe.
Well it had to happen. Siralun has sent Nick & Margaret (hey I’m old school) to ask ‘politely’ if I’m coming back to Steeple Bumstead.
I’m playing Sardines with them. Gosh Nick has frisky hands! Now I know what happens under that table in the boardroom.
Margaret is jealous. Now you know the cause of the arch remark and sardonic eyebrows.
Rest of cast came popping out of Sugar‘s seaplane.
I’m judging a sandcastle competition. Predictably Piers Morgan & Rio Ferdinand are boasting about whose is the biggest.
We’ve built biggest sandcastle in the world. Well we had to, to accommodate the poor dears from Branson’s Necker Island. In it now. Drinking commenced.
Having imbued a curious mix of raki and absinthe am now seeing in double. There are four Jedwards. This is a nightmarish vision of the future.
A load of conspiracy theorists just parachuted in. They were mumbling about grassy knolls, so I gave them some hash cake. They’re happy now.
Saw sign today asking for nominations for the Olympic torch bearer. I’m happy to be suggested. I’m nimble & have a handy hip flask if the flame goes out.
Sugar has worn me down and I am returning home.
Brad Pitt’s yacht nosed into the harbour at Greenwich. An inexplicably large crowd was there to greet him, as if he was famous or something.
Me and Brad Pitt, SAS and rest of Sugar crew all getting dogfaced in The Dastardly Dog & Dandy Duck in Deptford. Jedward were plaiting Jonathan Ross’ hair. Somewhat predictably they plaited themselves INTO his hair. Idiots. Don’t be fooled by the Jedward who appeared on Celebrity Big Brother, by the way. Those are in fact aliens. As are the real ones.
Tales from Steeple Bumstead 5 – The debacle of Jedward, the machinations of David Tennant and the hump of Cheryl
Sugar sent Arlene Philips to check out the ‘proper’ Macbeth at The Everyman. Not impressed. ‘There’s no glitter or sequins’ she said. ‘So dull.’
‘The glitziest Macbeth in history’. That’s how we’re billing our Magnum classic, I mean opus. Cherie Blair, as Macbeth, is wearing sequined fishnet tights, velvet breastplate & pom-pom helmet.
Unlucky indeed. Or not. Last night Jedward (idiots) were screeching to Arlene about how Cheryl, Posh & Kylie should re-form Hot Gossip. This morning we saw a note pinned on the rehearsal room door declaring they’ve gone off to be on ‘I’m an X-Factor Potato Face Celebrity Big Brother has Left The Jungle!’
Poor George Michael has taken Jedward’s departure hard, so to speak. He sat in a corner to sing their greatest hits. It kept him occupied for 14 seconds. His Old Man may suffer.
Alan S. stomped about all afternoon. ‘I’m doing a musical of Pippi Longstocking next. Especially for Kylie. There’s too much doom & bloody gloom in this Shakespeare.’
Saved! David Tennant & Catherine Tate, warming up for their other Shakespeare outing, will play Malcolm & Donalbain following Jedward’s exit. SAS barked: ‘I don’t want no Tardis shit here. You gotta remember I made Amstrad from sticky back plastic & string. I’m the boss.’
That evening David came sobbing to me: ‘Mary, the cast keep taunting me, saying “You’re not the doctor, ner ner ner ner neh”. I patted his arm comfortingly, but can’t see his problem. Being a doctor is ever such hard work, he’s much better off acting.
Tennant settled in now. I had to rouse him from the cauldron where he’d fallen into a drunken stupor last night. Dress rehearsal later. Checked my Twitter and noticed a personal injury claims company is following me. I know I muttered earlier Brad Pitt was hanging about but I didn’t expect such speedy action.
Dress rehearsal not very successful. We’re in that cafe they use for the losers on The Apprentice.
Opening night! Nerves all round. Piers Morgan and Rio Ferdinand bickered like mewlish kittens. Then Billy Connolly brought out his hip flask. Everyone better now.
At the Stage Door I was given a leaflet by a sandelled beardy man which said smoking and drinking were very bad for you. That’s it, I’m giving up reading.
Anyway, all troubles aside, the show was a rip-roaring success! And the witches were hilarious. Bravo!!! We are the toast, crumpet and brioche of the town. Riotous after show party. Piers looks lovely in a tutu.
I’ve stationed Kylie, George, Piers and Ferdy at after show party to flirt with press. All tastes covered.
The press have been rubbed, scrubbed and plied with booze and mini Amstrads. We can only await their verdict on Lord Siralun Sugar Daddy’s Macbeth.
I thought the Rapture died out years ago. Oh, hang on, I meant the raptor. Best carry on drinking.
The Guardian loves us, The Times doesn’t, The Sun loves us, The Mirror doesn’t. The Mail got lost on the way & The News of The World thought….. not enough tits in it. We’ve got Piers Morgan, what more do they want!
The Daily Mail were defamatory about Posh’s acting. Becks is going to ‘take them out.’ Otherwise we are a hit, according to Amstrad Weekly!
A lot of Marmite-loving Danes have arrived in the supermarket to stock up before going home. I lured them into the theatre with marmite on toast.
Cast of The Apprentice met the cast of Macbeth before the show tonight. Our lot are well ‘ard. The apprentices started whimpering about 150%.
The two worlds collided horribly on stage. Macbeth said he wanted to take Macduff & Malcolm into the board room with him.
David Tennant was exceedingly masterful. Mirroring the play, he’s ejected Cherie Blair & taken over Macbeth with full-bodied Scots accent.
George Michael & Kylie Minogue have been entertaining the audience in the interval with a magazine style segment called ‘Life on Fife.’
Cheryl Cole has had the right hump. I said ‘Express yourself in the show’. She destroyed a life size effigy of Simon Cowell in her Act IV dance.
Cast have entered the complacent stage of the run. To liven things up, I replaced one of the stage daggers with a real one. Joking!
Gotta admire Sir A.S’s gumption. Not content with a hit (Macbeth) and a nightmarish version of the future (Apprentice), he’s now starting casting for Pippi Longstocking. Kylie Minogue will be the feisty sprite. The stockings won’t have to be that long obviously.
Tales from Steeple Bumstead 4 incorporating Royal Wedding Nuptials, The Westminster Abbey Wood Theft and Superinjunctions
First day of rehearsals for Lord Sugar’s Macbeth with me as your humble producer. After the readthrough Billy Connolly announced he would teach the whole cast Scottish. Jedward got lost after ‘Och ay the noo’. Idiots.
To redeem their standing they claimed they have a planet named after them, the so called Planet Jedward.
‘That must be next to Uranus’ piped up Sugar.
Ah, the old ones are the old ones.
We were all EXHAUSTED after rehearsal. However, a miraculous recovery ensued when Billy produced bagpipes and we made Piers Morgan dance for our entertainment.
At 2am L.Sugar gave us his first day’s notes. Gosh, he’s thorough! You don’t get to his level, building Amstrad from Twiglets, without gumption.
God, that George Michael does witter. All day, just twittering and wittering. Am glad we’ve given him the silent part of Old Man.
One week in. Seeing as the weather’s so nice, Nick Clegg suggested we all go gathering material for Birnam Wood. Cue skinny-dipping & maypole dancing. What Bacchinalean revels amid the bluebells. Tim Minchin with his posse of glamorous friends and Arthur Smith supping ginger ale, Piers Morgan as a waiter.
Went on all night. Siralun last seen skipping through the bluebell woods singing, ‘I’m a little teapot.’ Rehearsals postponed.
Posh and Becks started brawling in the bluebells. Eddie Izzard threw light ales all over them to calm them down and Posh licked it greedily. Starving, poor lass. Becks reminded her how many calories in the ales, then reorganised all the tins. She knocked them over. A thundering was heard in the undergrowth. Going to investigate I found Wayne Rooney sucking his thumb and asking if he could play.
Gawd’s sakes, I said, you can be a murderer as well. Bloody Murderers outnumber the rest of the cast!
Lord Sugar has put his foot down. No more japes, no more mooning at the locals, no more frolicking in the stream. Back to rehearsals. Russell Brand got a bit feisty with his hose in the rehearsal this afternoon. Managed to completely undress Kylie Minogue with a water jet.
Special guest Ruby Wax watched the Witches do a scene. She didn’t laugh once. Their heads are in the cauldron.
Lovely Mrs Stephen Fry is hosting a saucy party to celebrate the Royal Wedding Nuptials. All the ladies have to dress as Buckleberry Quim. Siralun.Inc is insisting the cast make bunting to wear tomorrow. Jedward don’t know which colours to use. Idiots.
What a lovely wedding! Curmudgeon of the day was Dave Cameron. As punishment we let Jedward (idiots) sing The National Anthem to him over and over and over and over. When his ears had stopped bleeding, Lord A.S. turned to me andsaid, with a wicked glint in his eye. ‘They won’t need those trees in Westminster Abbey now. Let’s ‘ave em away for Birnam Wood.’
Sugar Daddy & I skulked by the entrance to Westminster Abbey for Operation Middleton Wood to Dunsinane. We waited for dead of night, then I smashed a window (it was only 500 years old – who cares!) and we ‘ad the trees away. Of course we set off the alarms, so we soon had a massive police following. They don’t know the back streets of Steeple Bumstead like I do, so I shook them off and we arrived home, cool as the proverbial cucumbers. In fact we did have some cucumbers because I stopped off at Tesco on the way back to get some munchies.
Simon Cowell popped into rehearsal and watched the Murderers’ Scene. There wasn’t enough ‘action’ for him so he gave Kylie a dance solo. Cheryl Cole started sulking, having presumed she was Simon’s favourite.
To relieve the tension Siralun brought in Stephen Fry in glitzy trunks to do his Lord of The Dance. So Kylie started sulking. This was swiftly forgotten when comedy royalty, in the shape of John Cleese descended on a deus ex machina. He came to teach Jedward (eejuts) silly walks, but having watched them move, declared there was nothing he could teach them. Opinion is divided as to whether this was a compliment or an insult.
Cast are all a-flutter and a-twitter about this superinjunction business. They should all relax and keep calm, you only feel a little prick. Oh that’s injections, isn’t it? Well, talking of little pricks
Jeremy Clarkson drove his superinjunction at me once. The turbo charge wasn’t very impressive.
Lord Sugar-daddy is very grumpy. He turned to me and said, ‘When I started this production in 1967 I didn’t have this bunch of amateurs bungling my every move. I need an Apprentice to run errands. What are those potato faces Jedward (eejuts) doing? Tell them to get their arses in gear otherwise I’ll flatten their hair.’