Grandpa Telegraph feels unloved. Last night he spilt hot milk down his front and ate a few too many Cashew nuts. Awaking this morning after a terrible night’s sleep he finds himself in quite a sad, bloated state. ‘Am I still pretty?’ he asks his mirror. ‘Do the girls continue to love my uptight ways?’ With a dejected grumble he shuffles back towards the comfort of his floral patterned quilt.
Well hang on a bloody minute Grandpa! It seems those busy little ants you call Journalists might just know a trick or two about the motivational compliment……
‘Still sexy at seventy’. Oh yes you are Grandpa; and they’ve got data to prove it. So you haven’t changed your style since the 50’s, so the logo font slightly resembles a Swastika and maybe you mumble your lines just a little bit. None of that matters for according to a researcher who has apparently collected far too much information, you lot are still at it two or three times a month. Don’t you feel better for hearing that? I know we all do.
‘Hurrah for the sexy, silver surfers!’ shouts Grandpa, throwing his quilt across the room and leeping to his feet.
In a desperate attempt to halt Briton’s impending withdrawal from Iraq, the US Air force has decided to drop a bomb directly onto one of our regiments in what the Times describes as ‘the worst friendly-fire incident in recent years’. Not possibly the expected plea for continued support but in a week where Gorgeous George decided to try and win back support for the war with references to Vietnam, I guess anything is possible.
Vietnam.
He compared it to Vietnam.
Continuing to ask the big questions, the Times does us all a favour, answering the one that’s been on our minds all week. ‘What’s wrong with coconuts?’
I don’t know Andrew Anthony, but why don’t you tell us.
‘For the first time, Britons’ personal debt exceeds Britain’s GDP’. I want to understand what the Independent are so worried about I really do. And to be honest, I almost get it. For want of a couple of experts to break it down just a little, but sadly they’re all busy presenting for the BBC. Global warming, I get that; I can share in your worry when you shoot me in the chest with that sort of front page. Or some nasty dictator who needs to be halted; we haven’t had one of them for a while have we.
The Guardian looks as pretty as ever.
The Daily Mail is worried about immigrants and the Sun has some breasts on page 3.
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