Monday, October 02, 2006

Bum rap

When society seems to have so little time and patience for one’s less than esteemed self, I find it a constant mystery that tolerance for say, a George Michael is limitless. It doesn’t seem fair to me. Leading a virtually blemishless life, I find myself daily looked at with disapproval by people I would think twice about pissing on if they were on fire. This creates a strange paradigm of perceived worthiness, but that is modern life.

The other day I boarded the 236 bus, which admittedly is locally known as the ‘nutters’ express’, to find myself confronted with a stony-faced god-botherer shaking her head in disgust. Maybe my jeans were a tad low slung for a woman of my years yeah, but, did I ask for her opinion? There I was minding my own business, off to buy organic veg like a model citizen. Anyway, her payback was deft because, lo there came upon the 236 bus an avenging bus inspector who found a forged Freedom Pass upon my tormentor’s person. The devil wears Primark!

Anyway, George Michael. Yesterday the hursuit ex-hunk was found, for the third time this year, slumped behind the wheel of a vehicle in central London, in the small hours, in a state of advanced catatonia. The event has sparked rumours that he may be engaged in some weird suicide pact with equally self-restraint challenged good friend ‘Pel’ Mel Gibson. Now might be a good time for this pair to get a higher power on speed dial.

George hadn’t done much of anything since the early nineties when he stopped playing gigs. It was thought at the time that the reason for this was that he would set off for gigs and simply not arrive, especially if there was a heath between his lovely Highgate home and the venue. Promoters got tired of drafting in Alexei Sayle (pictured) to cover for him, although to be fair, he did a credible version of Club Tropicana, also playing the parts of Andrew Ridgeley and Pepsi and Shirley for no extra charge.

Finally getting around to organising his retirement party in February 2005, thirteen years after his last actual gig, George immediately set about planning his comeback. It is thought that the pressure of all this activity may have triggered this year’s almost pathological desire to be caught making an utter tit of himself.

The world tour kicked off last week in Barcelona. A ‘mature’ (as if!), George was widely reported to have shuffled self-consciously in the early stages, sparking speculation that ‘guilty feet have got no rhythm’, may indeed be autobiographical. Some sources say, however, that George was somewhat surprised to have walked out on stage in Barcelona as he had set the SatNav for Brighton, where he believed the tour was starting. Unfortunately for George, Haywards Heath lies between London and Brighton. It is also possible that George believed for the first half of the show that he was Alexei Sayle. Although excellent at impressions, dance is not Alexei’s forte.

Finally coming good, George announced to a relieved audience ‘It’s coming back, it's coming right back’. Insiders say that George’s finally locating ‘the zone’ was probably due to reaching the point in the repertoire where he sings Shoot the Dog, his anti-Bush rant. During the song, a huge balloon of Bush rose from centre stage. George leapt forward to unzip Bush’s trousers and out popped a British bulldog, draped in a Union Jack, wagging its tail. George is in much safer territory with unzipped trousers containing things that waggle so the show ran smoothly from that moment on.

Cut to 3am yesterday morning. George was found asleep at traffic lights, with the usual accoutrements of his wee hours forays – cannabis and shuttlecocks. At first it was thought that he had set the SatNav for Hollywood but a typing error landed him in Cricklewood. After a quick trip to hospital to establish that he was indeed George Michael, rather than Alexei Sayle returning home from filling in for a karaoke singer in Neasden, it was left up to George’s long-suffering partner Kenny Goss to clear up the mystery.

‘He's fine and I've got him a McDonald's’, explained Kenny. At Barnet hospital George had undergone a full psychiatric exam using the latest techniques to explore why spoilt stars with everything never seem content. These methods were pioneered on Stephen Fry. Psychologists were forced to hastily cancel the press conference they had arranged to tell the world that George Michael was in search of ‘happiness’. It transpires he was simply communicating to them that he was looking for a Happy Meal™. So, the rotund scallywag was sent home with a caution and rewarded with a Big Mac™.

Meanwhile, I must face down the scathing critics on the 236 bus myself. Contrary to popular belief, there are some things that Alexei Sayle just will not do.

1 comment:

kris said...

he's losing it- and it is kinda sad.