Pissed-off Toff denounces Britain’s ugliest female ‘comedian’.
I am alone in London this summer, which serves me right, granted the misguided life-choices I have made. Top of my to-do list is to write a full-length review of a book entitled The Real Global Warming Disaster, written by the late Christopher Booker. His thesis is that the whole ‘man-made-global-warming’ narrative is a classic scare story, a load of bollocks and bunkum … but which has nevertheless gone main-stream, so much so that it now threatens our entire way of existence.
Think of those madmen who, back in the year 999 AD were convinced that the world would end the following year; or of their soul-mates who were convinced, a little later, that the world would end in 1666 (the last three digits of this date being etched on the Devil’s visiting card); and think of the countless loons who came after them, with one insane credo after another, each one held with a conviction which turned out to be entirely misplaced.
There is not one jot of difference between them and the doomsters of today. Or if there is a difference, it is only one of idiom. The fools of bygone centuries used the language of religion, because that was what was current and credible at the time. Whereas the fools of today use the language of science, because that is what is now current and credible. But whatever language or idiom they used, they were all wrong, all deluded idiots. Same mindset; different language.
So … I am alone in London Town this summer (all invitations gratefully accepted from those with a decent grand piano in their stately home). And while I search for displacement activities in order to put off the job of writing up my seminal review of the Booker volume, here’s something to fill the gap.
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As my many readers know, the hideous ‘comedian’ Kathy Burke recently sent a message to the actress Helena Bonham Carter, the concluding part of which read “Shut up, you cunt.” What triggered the outburst of the former was the suggestion made by the latter that being beautiful isn’t always as easy as one might think. Cue Burke striding into the fray as standard-bearer for the aesthetically-challenged.
I suppose one can just about see why the Burke woman was annoyed. I mean, if one were given the choice between being rich and beautiful, or poor and ugly, there could be only one answer, surely.
Nevertheless, perhaps Bonham Carter did have a point of sorts. The other day, I found myself at a lunch party at a Renaissance villa in Tuscany at which I was the only chap present who was not an earl or a marquess. On my left at the table was a fashion icon who bears the same name as a well-known Hibernian beverage, and on my right was a woman who as a deb had been the most famous beauty of her year, but who was now a respectable matron. For no reason that I could fathom, she told me, at some length, how painful the loss of beauty is, especially for a woman.
So when Helena BC talks about the problems associated with beauty, she is not entirely wrong; tho’ I’m still not weeping buckets. And when, late on Wednesday night, I came across a documentary entitled All Woman and presented by the same Kathy Burke who had laid into her, I watched, paper and solid gold pen in hand.
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I’d never seen Burke before. Lank and lustreless hair frames an egg-shaped head. Her skin is blotchy and unhealthy, her teeth are bad, and she has an almost impossibly huge double chin. Appearance apart (if, that is, one can ignore the appearance for one moment), she is as foul-mouthed as any fishwife. In short, Kathy Burke comes to our screens fresh from the gutter … to present a programme about womanhood.
Shortly after I tune in (and I only do so about half-way through), we are treated to a lecture about how unfair the menopause is, and how unfair it is that men don’t go through it and can impregnate women well into a merry old age. Then Burke informs us that “there was always much more money put into men’s health than into women’s health” … but we are spared any hard evidence for this plainly preposterous claim. And then, of course, women have babies, and that’s painful. Whereas it’s all right for men, innit?
All of which is bad enough. But now we see Burke interviewing an attractive 24-year-old girl who has decided that she doesn’t want children and therefore wants to be surgically sterilised. And here’s Burke sympathising with her, agreeing with her, it would seem … and more or less abetting her in her terrible plan to have herself mutilated.
In my book, this alone puts Burke beyond any sort of Pale (and I use the term advisedly, because as Burke lets on, she isn’t common-as-muck Cockney; she is in fact common-as-muck Irish). The suspicion also forms in my mind that without admitting it to herself, the childless Burke is jealous of this woman and of her attractiveness and her fertility, and that deep down she wants to make her pay for the sin of being able to excite desire in men.
But of course Burke has her own right-on justification for encouraging this woman to destroy her own womanhood (although one suspects that no surgeon has been found who is willing to co-operate in this obscene enterprise). “People think that women’s role is to be a mother,” she pronounces, in the same tone of outrage that might be adopted for condemning the view that all Jews should be killed. Then it’s on to IVF, re which Burke’s commentary is predictably angry and anti-men. “It’s so much easier for blokes,” Burke informs us. “All they have to do is have a li’ul bit of masturbation. Let’s face it: that’s their hobby.” [Sic]
And all the time the relentless verbal vulgarity: ‘shag’ … ‘fucking’ this … ‘fucking’ that. Indeed, it occurs to me that Kathy Burke should be a little more wary of using the C-word, because a brief consultation of one of my dictionaries informs me that ‘burk’ or ‘berk’ – her own name – is 1930s rhyming slang for this very same charming epithet. Thus: Berkshire Hunt = you know what.
All of which leaves me with a visceral loathing of Kathy ‘Berk’, and causes me to reflect, once again, that they didn’t get it all wrong in the Middle Ages. Not by a long chalk. Back in those more enlightened times, Burke would have been burnt at the stake as a witch, while the local peasantry, temporarily liberated from their toil in the fields and drunk on ale generously supplied by the Baron Pissed de Toff, would have howled with delight as the flames consumed her spitting blubber and sent her on an agonising journey to hell … there to suffer for eternity.