(More than) 5 Celebrities I would love to punch...

The other night we were having dinner en famille.   (See - my French ‘O’ level wasn’t wasted, then).  Keen on conversation that includes the whole family, as opposed to the usual erm, vibrant discussion between the Shah and his son on anything to do with sport or an in-depth dissection of the latest cricket scores, I asked the family if they had finally made any Resolutions for 2011.

The daughter wisely keeps off the subject of Vegetarianism as we have had quite enough of that malarkey already as witnessed here.

The Shah remains unnaturally silent.  Number One Son looks blank and says something along the lines of “ceebs.”  Rapidly dodging my fearsome interrogative skills, he turns the question back on me.

“Easy,” I reply – “the same as most people – eat less, drink less, weigh less.” 

There follows some heated debate about my (wholly puritanical, I assure you) drinking habits which I will not bore you with.  Eventually, the whole thing peters out and, as one man, the family refuse to be drawn on any kind of meaningful discussion.

Consequently, I decided to do it for them.  I was fairly certain that my list of "Resolutions Made on Your Behalf, love Mum x" would resonate (how I hate that word and that usage of it) with my readership.  However, having started and got as far as number six, I realised that they were all bloody boring and boiled down to pick up your towels, put stuff in the dishwasher, not on the worktop above it and remember to feed the cats/put the washing machine on/ iron a shirt once in a while instead of waiting for me to do it.

So, I turned my attention to celebrities.  Those people who, more than any teenager on the planet, generally need to amend their behaviour big time in any given year.  Then, having constructed the list below, I shelved it for fear of getting the a*se sued off me.  Some weeks later, the very lovely Wylye Girl constructed her list entitled “Which 5 celebrities would you punch?” and it seems that this is a meme that will run and run.

However, this is me, Mrs Gobby of Gobville (memo to self – you chose the wrong name for your blog – it should have been Gobby Queen) and I am utterly unable to leave it at 5 when there are so many I could NEVER tire of punching.  So far I’m up to around 20 and I’d better stop here or I really will get the a*se sued off me!

Liz Hurley – get thee to a nunnery.  Preferably an enclosed order.  With no Wi-fi.

Paul McCartney – you are old so stop making the peace sign incessantly.  Back in the 60’s it looked hip and cool.  Today it looks tragic. PS get a decent hairdresser too.  Yours is feckin’ colour-blind by the look of it.

Max Clifford – please retire.  This will save us from the wittering of the human sludge that makes up your clientèle.

Cheryl Cole and Simon Cowell.  Enough is enough.  Go away.  Sorry – Wor Cheryl, leev wor alone pet.

Anyone with the surname Beckham - ditto. 

His Holiness Pope Bono I.  What, are you blind or something?  Is that why you wear those spazzy yellow sunglasses come rain or shine?  Newsflash – they make you look like an insect. On second thoughts, keep them on – it’s preferable to the natural you.

The Royal Family  I was quite a Royalist at one time.  Now I’m just sick of them all – especially the ones who perform no discernibly useful function except to possibly hold seminars on “How to Fall Out of Nightclubs Whilst Simultaneously Soaking the Taxpayer for Protection Money.  I’m talking to you Beatrice  and Eugenie. 

And as for your father.....[grinds teeth]...not to mention your aunt who permanently looks like a cross between a Grand National Winner and a bulldog chewing a wasp....oh, and your mother...gaaah [falls to the floor, purple-faced and gasping with rage]

Elton John and David Furnish.  What the hell are you thinking?  Your chances of raising a well balanced human being are precisely nil.  Give the poor little mite up for adoption so it can live a normal life away from toxic amounts of money.

Paris Hilton – you define pointlessness.  You remind me of someone or something.  Can’t think what though.

Not Paris Hilton

Justin Bieber – go on, we all know you are 38 in reality.  Admit it.

Peaches Geldof – do you seriously believe that we seriously believe that you got books by Freud, Jung, Plato Sartre etc for Christmas?  We all know you got the Hello Annual so shut up.

Russell Brand – you are someone I could never tire of slapping. The only marginally funny thing you have ever done is to put a photo of your ghastly wife on Twitter looking like a hag. 

Colleen Rooney – How much did you get for your soul?  What is the going rate for souls these days?

James Blunt.  Man or rhyming slang?

Madonna.  You look in need of a good steak and a couple of pints of full fat milk.  Sinewy is not sexy.  And quit with the sanctimony – no-one believes you.  Oh, and Kabbalah is Cobbalahs.

Alan Carr – The bastard love child of Janet Street Porter and Joe Pasquale.  Enough said.

Lawks - I feel so much better after that!  Go on – share!  Which celebs would you like to view down the business end of a blunt instrument?

The Name Game

I had intended to write a piece decrying Jamie Oliver for calling his unfortunate son Buddy Bear Maurice.  But I actually quite like Jamie Oliver – he seems to be a what-you-see-is-what-you-get type of guy, few airs and graces and is clearly passionate about what he does.  And he produces nice books and recipes that work.

So I thought I would let him off – which was big of me, I’m sure you will agree.  Besides, if I’m going to write a(nother) really narky piece, I’d rather concentrate on the real irritants of the world – Bob Geldof or  Bono or George Michael, for example but Bob’s choice of names for his daughters is just silly, I have no idea what Bono’s kids are called, assuming he even has some and George Michael, well, ahem, he is unlikely ever to have any.

And anyway, if you just Google “stupid celebrity baby names” the search engine, in its majesty, presents you with 166,000 results which is slightly worrying.   And when you start to browse through some of those names, you come up with “Pilot Inspektor” (son of Jason Lee and Beth Riesgraf, whoever they may be), and “Reign Beau” (daughter of Ving Rhames –er, who?), not to mention “Speck Wildhorse” and “Moxie Crimefighter” – yes, both real and belonging to the son of John Mellencamp (80’s singer) and the daughter of Penn Gillette (the talking one out of Penn & Teller) respectively.  What the hell is wrong with these people?  What’s wrong with a good old fashioned Mary or James?

It gets better worse.  Imagine having to live with the moniker “Jermajesty”.  You would if your dad was Jermaine Jackson.  Or try “Audio Science” or “Diva Muffin” (which sounds vaguely obscene).  Some bloke called Robert Rodriguez was either fixated with the letter R or simply devoid of all imagination when he chose Rocket, Racer, Rebel, Rogue and Rhiannon for his kids’ names.  So what next?  If his wife has a tough pregnancy he could go for “Reflux” or maybe “Regurge”.

And then there is the celeb who went for O’shun for her presumably longed-for baby.  If she ever gets pregnant by accident, she could always try O’shitt for its sibling.

But perhaps the names “Whizdom” and “Bow-Ty” take the bis-kit?  Or maybe the prize should go to a guy called Rob Morrow who eschewed all fancy nomenclature and simply called his kid “Tu”.  I'm guessing he's American because why else would you name your child after a line of clothing in a supermarket?  It's the equivalent of having twins and naming them Florence & Fred 


 Let’s hope the poor mite never auditions for a part in Annie...

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