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.