tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1930103.post2793718828042517400..comments2024-03-28T09:33:26.444+00:00Comments on No Rock And Roll Fun: Gordon in the morning: Now with Francis RossiSimon Hayes Budgenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07084524317888577404noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1930103.post-6997844409951774682008-12-19T14:37:00.000+00:002008-12-19T14:37:00.000+00:00I just had a glance at the article on the BMJ site...I just had a glance at the <A HREF="http://www.bmj.com/cgi/content/full/337/dec17_2/a2825?ijkey=01fdd798af0bb3137f919c5d264f340c7aedcddb" REL="nofollow">article on the BMJ site</A> and it just goes to show how vast the gap is between intelligent people who can understand a joke in the language of science and creatures who swing clubs around shouting "fukuhelfensafetee". It really doesn't take much to look at that article and realise that its lingua is placed firmly in its buccae. (sorry)<BR/><BR/>Then again I never understand most of these "fukuhelfensafetee" articles since anyone with any sense who's actually done a health and safety check will be able to tell you that given enough time you can pretty much cover everything. After all, it doesn't take much common sense to spot that we're still quite able to take part in jumping out of planes or driving fast vroomvrooms round in circles.<BR/><BR/>(oh and James' reply was brilliant!)Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1930103.post-37958962644899861892008-12-19T13:46:00.000+00:002008-12-19T13:46:00.000+00:00I feel a bit sorry for Gordon. It's obvious what h...I feel a bit sorry for Gordon. It's obvious what happened; He was at the Sun's Christmas Party yesterday, sitting at the Bizarre table, when he felt a tap on the shoulder. <BR/><BR/>Gasp! It was Clarkson.<BR/><BR/>"Me and the boys were wondering if you'd like to join us on the Exaggerated-Right-Wing-Outrage Columnists' table" he said, gesturing towards a smiling John Gaunt, Jane Moore et al. <BR/><BR/>"M-m-me? B-but you're the... the L-lord!" stammered Gordon.<BR/><BR/>"Yes, but we've all been admiring your work this year. Come on, you're too good to just be reprinting Kasabian press releases. Sit with us." Gordon is agog.<BR/><BR/>Three boozy hours later, Gordon is holding court at the columnists' table. He has everyone in stitches. He can't believe it! Then, someone has an idea. <BR/><BR/>"Gordon," says a face which Smart can barely make out through the alcoholic haze. "You could be one of us. You too could get thousands per week just to write a page attacking Britain-gone-mad."<BR/>"Yes! I could!" beams Smart. "But... How? I'm the Prime Minister of showbiz. Wouldn't it look odd if I suddenly started writing about loony councils and PC do-gooders?"<BR/>"Not a problem" chuckles the voice. "I've got just the story. It's got rock music AND bonkers Health and Safety rules in it. It practically writes itself! Here, I've got a print-off, take it, and show the world what you're made of..."<BR/><BR/>With the enthusiasm of Charlie Bucket finding the golden ticket, Gordon runs back to the office, his head filled with ambition, excitement and the distant sound of a guffawing Clarkson bellowing something about stitching a little twat up...Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com