I’d also like to apologise for the lack of updates to this site. As many of you will know, my team and I devote our free time to writing and updating uk-fusion, and as much as we love it, we have to do proper day jobs to pay the bills, as well as maintain a life outside this site. Sometimes exhaustion takes over. Nevertheless we are aware of the problem and are working out a way for the site to keep ticking so please don’t desert us.

One good place to start with kicking uk-fusion into fifth gear is on this page and hopefully I won’t have disappointed you this week. I’d like to begin by recalling my venture to a big, country home with a huge spa resort a few days ago. As a way to thank its employees for their hard work, the company I work for took everyone on a fun break to Pennyhill Park in Bagshot, Surrey. With the choice of a range of country pursuit games including ferret racing, welly wanging and blind-folded Land Rover driving or relaxing in the jacuzzi, sauna, steam room, outdoor tub, swimming pool…well, I wasn’t daft to spend an afternoon being a total water-babe. Hurrah, spas rock! I’ve never felt so refreshed in my life. Gosh, I want to go again! However, the irony of the stay-over was, I didn’t go to bed till 3.30 am after turfing out some guests from my room, and consequently I was dead to the world with barely four hours kip. Woe is me.

Well I haven’t had a bitch in ages and the timing is right for one considering what I witnessed at the weekend. While walking back to my car from the shops, I saw a young boy urinating against a wall next to a tube station – the public toilet was only about 50 yards away. I barked, “Oi, what are you doing? Can’t you use a toilet like normal people?!”, and apparently his mother gave me evils for telling her uncivilised offspring off! What a little shit. He showed no remorse for what he did, he didn’t even scowl back at me or swear. He just sauntered off like it was an every day thing he does – pissing up against a wall in public. And the git didn’t even wash his hands. The diseased bastard. Sorry but there is no excuse to answer the call of nature like that, spreading disease and creating an unbearable stench. I hope his little todger drops off and then he’ll have to squat to empty his bladder. (Apologies for the use of the word ‘todger’.)

Now I have a moan about a particular person who’s been gnawing at my conscience for months, thanks to Jo Whiley singing her praises. Jo, sweetheart, I love you as a radio presenter but sometimes, you really ought to pipe down about acts you think are the best thing since sliced bread. After all, you proudly supported The Darkness and where are they now? Well, frontman Justin Hawkins is in rehab so here’s hoping Lily Allen will be hospitalised to a psychiatric unit for torturing us mere mortals with her awful racket.

Lily, I realise, is old news but the pikey offspring of Keith Allen gets on my wick, incase you haven’t twigged. Check out her MySpace page – that picture is not the most flattering one of her – she looks like her bloody dad in drag. There is just something about her that isn’t right plus teaming up chunky, gold earrings with trainers and a dress is not only wrong, it’s screaming for attention. What a precorious little brat and that fucking song ‘Smile’ is crap. Diluted reggae pap, that’s what she is.  

Oh yes, I popped into my local salon to book my hair cut (in October, I’ll have you know…because my stylist only works two days a week including Saturdays) and they’ve got posters advertising the delightful Duncan James will be washing customers’ tresses for charity. I was trying to rack my brain who Duncan James could be and then it hit me – it’s that pillock from Blue! What the hell is he doing on my patch?! I’ve already had to put up with Antony Costa setting up camp outside the Italian coffee place every Saturday morning, and now I’ve got his thick-as-pig-shit former co-band member following him. Twits like Duncan are really bringing down the property value of the town/village I reside in. Once upon a time, this place was a proper village.

Any way, I hate Duncan. He’s a twunt. Thank God his stunt is taking place on 1 October but I don’t see him getting much work done if he’s going to spend all his time winking and flicking his tongue  at the reflection of himself in the mirror.  Times must be hard if he has to resort to public appearances in hair salons, mind. What am I saying?! I go to a bloody good salon, too good for the likes of him. Can you imagine what he’ll be like? “Awight, babe?? D’ya want conditioner with that?” Plum.

Time for me to vacate this spot and do something else more useful instead. Rudebox – shake it, dammit.  

Read previous editorials:

2006
2005
2004