Gossip - lots of vile gossip

popbitch has a number of interesting stories this week.

The first concerns Jennifer Aniston and Mary Kate Olsen (whoever she is), who took a break at a luxury hotel in Belguim (classy) -

"They arrived pretty much incognito and acted like regular guests (although the hotel manager said that they were very sensitive to smell and requested a lot of scented candles and extra fabric softener on the bed linen). On their second day there they asked for a corner of the garden to be set as a meditation area.

But that night some of the hotel's neighbours had a party. Jen and MK complained, as the music was stopping them meditating, and the local police closed down the party."

Good for them I say.

Next popbitch raises important questions about the state of public morality in Britain.

" * Want to smoke a fag in your own van on the way to the shops?
Gordon Williams got a 30 quid fine.

* Want to be spanked by prostitutes until your arse bleeds?
Max Mosley got 60 grand in damages as his privacy was invaded by the News of the World."

My mind meanders back to the quote form the judge which said that he didn't think it a valuable use of court time to be dealing with claims from people spanking each other.

Of course the moral of the story is that Gordon Williams would not be 'wasting' court time, as he recieved a fixed penalty - i.e. he was guilty until proven innocent - and should he make an appeal he would appear before a magistrate, whose legal function is to find people guilty - oh and he is not a multi-millionaire, so he shouldn't expect a) justice or b) a fair hearing in New Labour Britain.

Oh and talking of wasting police time

"FOF is in the police on Rothesay, Isle of Bute. Richard Attenborough has a house on the island. When new officers come to work on the island, the station pretends that the alarm for his house has rung, so get the housekeeper to let them in to "Check it out, just in case". So that they get to gawp in wonder at the massive dinosaur from Jurassic Park nailed to the wall and the mosquito in amber from the same film."

Nailed to the wall?

Is that anyway to treat a co-star Sir Dickie?

Oh and bad news for Al Queda, and all of those hell bent on establishing a Khalifate - people may forgive mass murder, loony ideas and general gangsterism, but I can't see them putting up with this:

"Saudi Arabia's religious police have announced a ban on selling pet cats and dogs or exercising them in public in Riyadh, because of men using them to talk to women."

Those with companion animals are a pretty fierce lot, and no law is going to stop them from enaging in their passion and enjoying their 'rights'. I suspect when this gets more widely known their will be letters to Amnesty and the like, demanding that people ahve the human right to walk their attack pet wherever they damn well choose - though I shouldn't hold your breath for them to stand up for ther human right to flirt - or indeed any other human right for that matter.

Next up we have a typo - as popbitch relates the story of Brendon Erdhardt, whereas everyone else seems to think the chap was called Erhardt (I wonder if he is any realtion - no surely a coincidence and she would never have done such a thing) (not that I am one to criticise spolling) - but I will let popbitch explain:

"Brendon Erdhardt, of Northern Territories, Australia was caught by police speeding at 150km/h, while filming himself masturbating at the wheel. 5kg of drugs was in his boot and two cannabis plants were on the back seat. He's been given bail se he can get married before jail."

Clearly his ruse to get the police over to Dickie's house, while he embarked on a one man hedonistic crime spree, didn't work.

And in a sense you do have to admire Brendan - I thought it was only the female of the sex that excelled at multitasking - and you also have to admire the headline on the local paper (brought to you curtesy of The Other Cheek).

One does wonder what would have happened in Britain, if say Max Mosely (or someone of similar ilk, cash and access to the High Court) were to caught in similar circumstances. I suspect that the judge would declare that it was covered by the right to a family life or something equally incongrous with the intention of the charter of human rights.

Though actually my favourite story from popbitch, and why I began this excercise in plaguerism (or however you spoll it) - copying - there that's better, is this tale of Marc Almond.

"Back in the 80s it was quite normal for gay singers to hang around the London Apprentice on Old Street, and they rarely got any bother from the other gayers in the bar. On one occasion I was cruising round the sleazy part of the bar when I came upon a bare-chested Marc Almond, looking very sexy. I followed him to a dark corner. I noticed that he had a yellow hanky hanging out of his right hand jeans pocket, so I took it that he was into watersports.

Marc turned round to face me. I took out my dick and started to piss on him. Somewhat outraged, he asked what the fuck I thought I was doing. I told him I thought he was into watersports because of the yellow hanky in his right pocket.

'It's a t-shirt,' he answered.

Oops, sorry Marc."

Before we get into innuendo about cottaging in lavatories.

I do find myself feeling rather sorry for the bar staff - imagine having to wipe up pools of piss simply because someone made a mistake in the hankie code.

But more to the point - would it not have been a good idea to ask if indeed it was a signal from the hankie code book of ettiquette and not simply a piece of material that happened to be hanging out of his back pocket?

Though I shall leave my thoughts on what colour the T-shirt was before a series of embarrassing errors to another time.

And I will also not mention the story of Marc Almond being rushed to hospital and what was pumped from his stomach - which was told to me aged about 11 - when Soft Cell were at their height (weren't they great? - I'll have you on a lead in my white roller.... ah happy days) - where was I? - oh yes about 11, by this woman who was even at the pre-pubescent stage a rabid homophobe and related the tale as a salutary warning of the dangers they lay in wait for the thirsty - I say thirtsy becaiuse according to her the ammount was three pints, which I still find hard to believe, as it equates to about 300 or 400 men.... but as I said I won't mention it - not least because it is not true and she was an Adam Ant fan, and only told me the story in in a kind of Top Trumps way - if you catch my drift.

Oh and lego album covers was quite fun.

peace:)