Movie Man ‘Outraged’ by ‘Gutted’ Remark

Local Kent man, Michael Spicer, was outraged yesterday when he opened his copy of the Folkestone Herald to discover that the word ‘gutted’ had been attributed to him in a newspaper article. ‘I was outraged,’ said the 31 year-old writer and actor. ‘I can’t even begin to describe how outraged I am but trust me, I’m outraged,’ he went on. ‘I have never used the word “gutted”. Well, except just then, obviously. I prefer “distraught” or “devastated”. Never “gutted”. Never,’ he elaborated unnecessarily.

The offending article, yesterday.

‘I spoke to the Folkestone Herald in good faith,’ Spicer continued, bafflingly, ‘and this is the reward I get? I’m an award winning actor – people just can’t attribute the word “gutted” to award winning actors willy-nilly…hey where are you going? Is the interview over?’ he concluded.

I Will Be On Radio 4

Yes, for those of you interested, I will be the guest on this Sunday’s edition of Desert Island Crisps (12.30pm, repeated at 9am on Friday). Fans of the programme will know that celebrities such as myself are invited to pick their eight favourite packets of crisps. The rules are that the island already has a family pack of Wotsits and the complete works of Walkers, so I chose the following:-

1. Cheese and Onion Hula Hoops

2. Salt and Vinegar Twists

3. Frazzles

4. Pickled Onion Monster Munch

5. Golden Wonder Chilli-Sharks

6. Captain Scratching’s Smoky Bastards

7. Giles Coren’s Witty Retorts

8. Mr. Rudeshape’s Sun Baked Bollock Bites

Any feedback to the show will be gratefully received. And for blog fans, if you listen carefully about ten minutes in, you’ll be able to hear Kirsty Young Frazzle-burping. Clip below.

Spam. (A Lot.)

I have just received a piece of junk mail announcing that Paris Hilton has recently acquired a third breast implant. How many breasts does she need? She’s got more money than sense, that one.

And here’s another thought about daily spam: If Danny Wallace spent a year saying ‘yes’ to everything for his best-selling book ‘Yes Man’, presumably he is now destitute what with transferring all his money to illegitimate Nigerian businessmen?

I Spotted You…

These are genuine ’spotted’ ads printed in a London newspaper, illustrating both the human need for love and the fact that there are people at home right now, picturing your oblivious face and grinning inscrutably.

You were wearing a green jacket and carrying a rolled-up copy of Grazia at around four o’clock on June 14th on the northbound platform of Old Street tube station. I tried pushing you onto the tracks claiming I could see the Apocalypse in your eyes. Would love to meet you for a drink one evening. I work in the Budgens.

You were the rather dashing and tall gentleman who asked me for directions to Costa Coffee on Fulham Broadway. I said I didn’t know. Well, I do now. It’s the second on your right, midway down, between the newsagents and TGI Fridays. Hope that helps.

You were the stunning brunette striding across Dean Street at 3.05pm on Saturday 10th March arguing on the phone with someone called ‘Kenneth’ about ‘that bitch Angela’. You then turned into Wardour Street and kicked a newspaper vendor in the sacks. Call me.

I was the guy in the Hammersmith Tesco who retrieved your dropped Oyster card from the pet food aisle on Monday. You said, ‘Thank you’, and I said, ‘Not at all – would you like to go for a drink?’ and you said, ‘No, I don’t want to go for a drink.’ Just wondering if you’d like to go for a drink.

You: Pink iPod, floral dress, dark complexion, waiting for bus on Mile End Road on the 26th of this month around eight o’clock. Me: Ginger Marti Pellow. Get in touch.