Skip to main content

A Closing Ceremony

The stadium lights shimmer against the ornate curved edges of a national treasure’s bosom. She stands proudly in front of the fake London Eye and rests lightly against her lectern.

Hugh Edwards steadies his eager Welshness and whispers with hushed authority into his commentator’s microphone: “Katie Price”.

“The author”, Trevor Nelson adds as if we need introduction.

“Bambie’s hair extensions were beginning to need attention…”

Price has started. Her authoritive reading casting an audience of 80,000 spellbound. She reads on for five minutes from Angel Uncovered – her third and my favourite of her novels. The camera pans slowly around the excited crowd, many of whom mouth along the familiar prose as Katie reads.

Controversially she chooses to next read an extract from her new novel Literally Naked Ambition. A decision that draws Hugh Edwards to admit he is a little surprised.

But whilst some of the crowd would have rather have heard more from the classic material, the goodwill won by the greatest athletes on this planet, papers over any tiny little cracks.











Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Olly Murs' Banality Nearly Killed us All!

For those who find the regular purchasing of Heat Magazine financially non-viable, the website 'Digital Spy' is there, free as an impact with a lampost to tickle your celebrity gossip feet. Who would of thought such an insignificant, trivia bloated, interweb cupboard would break the biggest story so far of the Anno Domini? ME! I predicted it in my unpublished book 2009 X-Factor Runner Up News Predictions (with a foreword from a now homeless Kate Thornton[she has a flat fee of a bacon baguette, a Cappuccino and a kind remark about her hair]). But I was wrong; the truth is they have done something much more exciting: For the first time ever, a news story has been written that is so inane and unimportant, it actually has less insight than no words at all. 'Uninformation' has been theoretical up to now. Einstein's calculations showed that it was a mathematical possibility but that an incident of it was incredibly unlikely to occur(roughly equivilent to the chances o

Coronation

 And so we come to the end of a day. A momentous day. Almost more than momentous. Almost a day that can't be described using the English language, or in fact any language that has words. Because words are out of their depth today. Words are embarrassing themselves. Words have massive holes in their pants. We should all stop talking, writing etc. The very act of communication has been shown up for the fraud that it is. Consciousness itself, guilty of being wholly unprepared by the solemnity, the pageantry, the commitment to service, we have been a witness to.  The sword held single-handedly by an empress MP Mordaunt, wrapped in a wizards cloak. The sword put down and picked-up again and then put down and then passed across and then paid for and then picked up again. I don't know where the sword's gone? We should find the sword.  No more "Queen's Consort". Now just "Queen", like the band. Prince Harry was there, placed carefully behind the hat of Princ

Breakfast

No sausages left. All gone. Taken while my eye was off the ball. Sausages consumed by structured souls  who attend breakfast buffets "on time". Those Prompt Sausage munchers know The early bird catches the piggy worm. Held teasingly in the beaks of accountants. Whilst I am left with bacon.