The only decent Tory is a lavatory

Gordon Brown looks to me like the kind of bloke whose stress is most manifest in issues of the bowel. He is like the personification of trapped wind. He is, in both literal and literary terms, the opposite of a dynamic character. He has the physical panache of a jacket potato. This is a man so dry and overdone he’s completely fucking finished.

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A shower on the Southbank

I don’t know who took this picture of our bodypaint orgy at last week’s Southbank Dorothy night but we’re very proud of it here at the Dickie Beautique. It’s going straight on the wall. At a jaunty angle.

That’s me swimming in the middle with the white face. I’m either in ecstasy or it was caught at the moment David Hoyle’s elbow cracked my balls.

And if you’ve never danced in the moving fountains in front of the Royal Festival Hall in your undies at midnight, I highly recommend it. Bit cold, mind you.

Nazi chic bruised by tabloid whipping

Everyone knows that the Nazis had the best uniforms. This basic unalterable fact forms the basis of a judgement I’ve formed on the Max Mosley controversy in that, whatever else you say about him, if his S&M party had an SS theme, the man’s apparently got taste.

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