Leader of the Gang

Speculation is rife about casting for the role of the 11th Doctor Who. Tobias Gregson reports.

Only days ago, actor David Tennant revealed his intention to leave popular nonsense-based televisual camp-fest, Doctor Who. Since the announcement, school playgrounds, seedy comic-book stores and soul-destroying internet fan forums have been buzzing with ill-informed rumour and masturbatory fantasies concerning Tennant's successor for the role.

Adding fuel to the Gallifreyan flames, Steven Moffat, the show's preposterously-monikered new producer, had the following to say:

“He should be 40-plus and weird-looking — the kind of wacky grandfather kids know on sight to be secretly one of them.”

Moffat's pronouncement has narrowed fans' focus to a few well known faces in British show business. There is no consensus about who most fits this description, but the front runner on popular fan forum DoctorDoctor.com is that pop sensation Gary Glitter could get the job!

Gary Glitter (aka Paul Gadd) with friends

If the show's producers do decide to recruit Glitter, perfomer of 70s schoolyard anthem Leader of the Gang (I Am), to play Britain's favourite time-traveller, they will have to find him first. After returning home from Vietnam, where he spent 27 months in jail for sexually abusing two young girls, the convicted paedophile was apprehended by police and added to the sex offenders register. He is currently in hiding and his whereabouts are unknown.

If Glitter, 64, becomes the 11th actor to pilot the TARDIS, he will be the oldest to ever do so, beating William Hartnell by 8 years. He will also be the first convicted — rather than merely suspected — child molester to take the part of the famous Timelord.

Bins of the stars

Mornin' all and welcome to another edition of Bins of the stars, with me Dareth Binn-The Bin Man, searching through the crap of the rich and famous to find the secrets what they don't want you to know. Lets get started:

Found!
Bearded comedian and mentalist Bill Oddie is famous for his 70s TV show The Goodies and his 80s TV Show Bananaman, but did you know that he also has another hobby that he likes to keep secret?

After rummaging through the bins round the back of his London hobbit hole, I found proof that Oddie has another Oddie hobby that he has kept secret…until now! Turns out Mr. Oddie likes to travel round the country looking at birds!

You heard it here first! Don’t tell no one!

Found!
Balloonist Richard Branston likes to think he is a simple hot air balloon record-breaking kinda guy with his best friend Steve Fossett (who went suspiciously missing in the Nevada desert recently).

However after rummaging through the bins round the back of his Virgin Islands estate I found a thousand wads of half burnt ten pound notes and piles of gold coins and diamonds under some Spice Arena™ pizza boxes. Yes, you guessed it! He’s only a bloody multi-millionaire entrepreneur! Kept that one quiet didn’t he! Let’s hope the taxman doesn’t find out, eh Branston?

You heard it here first! Don’t tell no one!

Found!
Happily married TV couple Richard and Judy are one of TVs most happily married TV couples…or so they would like you to think! After rummaging through the bins round the back of their standard suburban house I found official documents that prove their marriage is a scam! My revelations could destroy the careers of the famous “husband and wife” team!

After going through piles of discarded junk mail envelopes and carefully reconstructed shredded bills I found the names Richard MADELEY and Judy FINNIGAN written on all of them. That’s right! They have completely different surnames! How could they be married?!? Do they think we’re all stupid twats?!? Get off the telly Madeley and Finnigan, I hate you.

You heard it here first! Don’t tell no one!

Found!
Whilst rummaging through the bins round the back of George Galloway’s Glasgow high rise council flat, I found evidence of fraud on a grand scale: Christmas cards going back to the early 1990s. Inside was written:

Dear George Galloway,

I hope the cheque for five hundred thousand oil dollars finds it way to you. Have a great Christmas.

Love,
Saddam, Uday and the rest of the crazy gang.

Also found were 11 million barrels of crude oil and cheques worth hundreds of thousands of pounds with “Mariam Appeal” crossed out and replaced with “Mr. George Galloway” in the beneficiary box.

All of this is conclusive proof that Galloway is a crooked cunt of the highest degree.

Mr Galloway has always previously stated that he never celebrates Christmas as he considers it a “corrupt capitalist, imperialist charade designed tae take money oot of the working man’s pocket. Mee-ow.”

What’s he doing with Christmas cards then!?

The man is a complete hypocrite who needs a good, hard kick in the face if you ask me.

You heard it here first! Don’t tell no one!

And remember everybody, if you find anything interesting in a celeb’s bin, don’t go near it or I’ll kill your kids. I’ll kill your kids.

You heard it here first! Don’t tell no one!

Spotted: Diana, Princess of Wales

Spotter: Mike Soundman

When? Last week

Where? Melbourne, Australia.

Says our spotter:

I was a crew member on the reality show Australian Princess, where light-fingered butler Paul Burrell humiliates young Aussie women for the entertainment of the brain-dead viewing public. From the moment we started filming the new series, the programme was dogged by strange events.

On the first day, all the electrics on the shoot went wrong. It took us hours to get the lighting, sound and cameras working again. The next day, whilst Paul was reducing a girl from New South Wales to tears, several wine glasses seemed to fling themselves across the room where they smashed themselves against the floor. I had previously worked on Most Haunted with Yvette Fielding, so I instantly recognised this as classic poltergeist activity. I warned Paul that worse was surely to come, but he refused to acknowledge the existence of the spiritual realm and told me to “get on with my job”.

He should have heeded my warning, because the third day of filming was a day of terror for everyone concerned. Whilst Burrell was berating a young girl for adding milk to a teacup before the hot water, all the lights in the room went out once more. In the darkness, we could hear strange and terrible noises. When we finally got the lights back on, Kylie from Darwin let out a piercing scream. A message had been scrawled, apparently in blood, on one of the walls. It was just two words:

“Thieving bastard!”

Intrigued, I went for a closer look and I rubbed by finger against the message.

“This isn't blood!” I exclaimed, “It's lipstick!”

At that, Burrell's face flushed bright red and he stormed out of the shoot. We didn't see him again until the next day.

On the fourth day Burrell returned, acting as if nothing had happened. But this day would show him that ignoring supernatural phenomena would not make it go away. After lunch Paul declared that someone had stolen his car keys, as they were “not where he had left them”. He was accusing anyone who came near him of stealing them and he was in a foul mood. Towards the end of the day's shoot, as he was lording it over all the young Australian girls, deciding which girl would enjoy the dubious honour of progressing to the next round of the competition, matters came to a head. A full spectral manifestation occurred. A ghostly figure of a young woman floated through the wall.

It was Diana, Princess of Wales!

“Wooo, woooo! I am the ghost of Lady Diana, Princess of Wales and Queen of all your Hearts!” said the ghastly apparition of the leggy blonde, “Paul Burrell, you are not worthy of hosting a reality TV programme. You are nothing but a thieving Jeeves! As long as you live, you will be cursed: I shall cause you minor inconveniences for the rest of your life! I will ensure your car keys will never be where you left them. When you are sorting your laundry, I will be there to hide one of your socks. Before you take a shit, I shall use the last of the bogroll! Wooooo, woooooo!"

At this point Paul collapsed to his knees and begged the spirit for forgiveness.

“Forgive me Princess! I was weak,” exclaimed the chubby man servant, “When you died I feared that I would not be able to maintain the lifestyle to which I was now accustomed and so I took just a few keepsakes from your rooms and loaded them into the Luton van which I hired for this purpose. I feared that this would still not provide enough income to allow me to continue to purchase my Fortnum & Mason cornflakes and so I authored an endless stream of books and newspaper articles detailing the intimate details of your life. But, please relent from your haunting. I beg you not to drive me to my grave with petty annoyances!”

The spirit considered the fat butler's plea and then spoke once more.

“Wooooo, woooooo! I have considered your contrite pleadings and I have decided that I will lift this curse. I suppose that your transgressions were trivial compared to some. After all, the Queen and Prince Philip were at the centre of a conspiracy to have me assassinated involving the CIA, MI6, the Illuminati and shape-shifting reptilians from the lower-6th dimension.”

With this, the spirit slowly faded back into the wall, leaving one final message as she departed.

“Wooooooo!” she said, “I'm off to piss in the old bag's teapot.” and then she disappeared forever.

The butler's car keys then reappeared on the table where he had left them.

With her enduring kindness, Diana showed that even in death, she is still truly the ectoplasmic Queen of our hearts.

Burrell: Contrite

Dear Gert

Celebrity stalking advice with Gert van der Graaf.

Dear Gert,

I'm relatively new to stalking. I've been obsessively tracking Kylie Minogue for just three years now, but I've already been sacked from my job and disowned by my friends and family. To follow Kylie around the world, I've spent all my savings and run up £15,000 of credit card debt. To make matters worse Kylie is playing hard to get and has just applied for a restraining order on me. I want to carry on with my hobby but it is becoming financially and legally difficult and I must admit I'm close to packing it in!

Yours at the end of his tether,
Bob Teddington, Teddington.

Dear Bob,

My motto is “Quitting is for quitters”! Stalking is not a hobby for the fickle. It requires a special person with the dedication to follow their dream through to the bitter end.

I have been unhealthily obsessed with ABBA star Agnetha Faeltskog since my childhood. I didn't listen to those naysayers who told me to stop my pursuit. I cut off all ties with family and friends who did not understand my hobby. As Ghandi said “First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they attack you, then you win”. My dediction finally paid off when Agnetha finally relented and I was involved in a relationship with her for two years between 1997 and 1999.

Your friend,
Gert.

Dear Gert,

I have been relentlessly stalking singer Jay Kay from Jamiroqui for five years now, but I am starting to have doubts that my feelings for him are mutual. He has taken out several restraining orders on me and has just filed for an injunction against the website I set up about him and his family. Last week I tried to talk to him whilst he was at the traffic lights in one of his collection of 37 sports cars and he pulled off at such a speed that he almost ran me over! I'm sure this was an accident or frustration at the way his BASTARD staff keep me from seeing him, but the seeds of doubt are in my mind. What should I do?

Yours worringly,
Kevin Jason Kay Smith, Essex.

Dear Kevin,

My advice is to read between the lines. Public signs of agression or anger by your object of affection are probably just an act for the world to see. Many times I used to be publically rebuked by Agneetha or her staff. But I knew this was just because the love of a celebrity for her stalker is, as Oscar Wilde said, “The love that dare not speak its name”. And like Oscar, we stalkers are still a persecuted minority.

I suggest looking for more subtle signs of Jay Kay's affection. Stand outside his house at night and watch the pattern of room lights as they are turned on and off. It could be he is communicating his affection for you via Morse code. Tape all his TV appearances and watch them back in slow motion. Look out for so-called “micro gestures”, which indicate his unrequited love for you. This is how I kept up my stalking through the hard times and it all paid off when I was involved in a serious relationship with Agneetha between 1997 and 1999. Remember: never give up!

Your friend,
Gert.

Bins of the stars

…with Dareth Binn—The Bin Man

Evenin' bin fans. Welcome to "Bins of the stars" with me, Dareth Binn, trawling the dustbins, recycling boxes and septic tanks of the rich and famous! If they throw it out, I'll find it. Just remember, “You heard it here first! Don't tell no one!”

Found!
Pete Doherty is famous for his crack cocaine and smack habit but did you know that he has another, less well known hobby? No, you didn’t. After rumaging through the bins round the back of his bedsit in Camden, London, I found pile upon pile of discarded cassette tapes—turns out Mr. Doherty fancies himself as a bit of a musician.

You heard it here first! Don’t tell no one!

Found!
You might think that newsreader Huw Edwards is a honest, no skelingtons in his closest kind of guy. But you’d be wrong! After rummaging through the bins behind his central London mansion I found the following items: A leek, a red dragon, lava bread, a rugby ball and nice bit of lamb. That’s right! Turns out the fucker’s Welsh! What’s he doing on the BBC?!? Last time I checked it was the BRITISH Broadcasting Cooperation.

You heard it here first! Don’t tell no one!

Found!
Tit model and award winning novelist Katie “Jordan” Price likes to think of herself as role model for girls and a loving wife to her husband, all round nice guy Peter “Lotsa Abdominal Muscle” Andre. But she hides a secret that could destroy her marriage and her credibility amongst the literary establishment. After rummaging though the bins round the back of her Essex country house, I found some old pictures of her from the late 1990s—her famous massive tits are nowhere to be found! Turns out she had implants installed around the beginning of the millenium. Her massive tits aren’t real at all! I’m sure if Peter Andre found out he’d turf her out pronto and also be gutted and devestated.

You heard it here first! Don’t tell no one!

Found!
A big, black dildo; a copy of “Well Gay” magazine; a cassette tape of “The Pet Shop Boys” and pile upon pile of well thumbed copies of “Shut That Door” the Larry Grayson Story in the bins behind Tom Cruise’s Worcester flat.

That’s right! When it comes to proper seperation of rubbish, Tom doesn't know his arse from his elbow! You can’t put rubber in a blue recylcling bin you fucking muppet Cruise! I hope the council come down hard on him. He should be taken out and shot if you ask me!

You heard it here first! Don’t tell no one!

That’s all from me, Dareth Binn—The Bin Man. Remember, if you find anything interesting in any celeb’s bin, keep your fucking hands off you filthy cunt or I’ll fucking knife you.

You heard it here first! Don’t tell no one!

Interview: Cedric and Amelie from Big Brother

This week's Big Brother saw a sensational double eviction. Eyes on the Stars has secured this exclusive interview with the evicted housemates. Tobias Gregson talks to Amelie Dixon-Jones and Cedric Parkinson!

Eyes: How does it feel to be back in the real world after five long weeks in a house full of brainless, narcissistic vermin?

Amelie: Well, like, I really wanted to make it to the final week, but I think the viewers just found my accent and nasal voice a little too irritating?

Eyes: Well, yes, it is pretty irritating. It is not so much your accent but the fake Californian mannerisms you affect. For example, why do you make every sentence sound like a question?

Amelie: I don't know?

Eyes: So Cedric, what about you, good to be out of the house?

Cedric: Yeah, wicked, I was going mental in there, blood. I was missin' my woman and my bredrin'.

Eyes: So, any idea why the audience couldn't stand the sight and sound of you any longer?

Cedric: Is it coz I'm black?

Eyes: But you are not black. And you are not from South Central LA either. You are the obese son of a bus driver from Wiltshire. I thought people stopped acting like you after Ali G.

Cedric: Ali who?

Eyes: Are you joking? Ali G. He was a creation of comedian Sasha Baron-Cohen. The character was a parody of the those suburban English white boys, like yourself and the ridiculous Tim Westwood, who attempt to adopt the styles and attitudes of urban African Americans. You must have heard of Ali G, he was unavoidable for about two years.

Cedric: Nah man, never heard of him, but Westwood is the Big Dog, bro!

Eyes: You're an idiot. Back to Amelie. What are your plans post-Big Brother? How are you going to squander your 15 nano-seconds of not-quite fame?

Amelie: I'm going to record and release an album?

Eyes: Well are you or not?

Amelie: I am?

Eyes: I'm asking you!

Amelie: I can't help the way I talk you know? My sentences just always seem to end up as questions?

Eyes: Is that a question? Ha, ha, only kidding. That sounds really interesting. What musical experience do you have? I only ask because when we heard you singing in the shower, you sounded like an urban fox being castrated with an adjustable spanner. Personally speaking, I had to mute my television because your voice was preventing me from successfully knocking one out whilst I watched you wash your soapy breasts.

Amelie: Well I have no formal experience? But I feel the exposure I've had on Big Brother is the perfect platform for me to launch my career?

Eyes: Well you certainly have had a lot of exposure, that's true. But I don't understand why you don't just go into softcore porn straight away. I mean it's inevitable that you will do so after your album fails, so why not do it while you're still fresh in the public's minds? You will sell a lot more DVDs that way.

Amelie: Erm, yeah, maybe?

Eyes: So what about you Cedric. Any plans for a shortlived series on Channel 5 or Sky 1?

Cedric: Nah man, I'm gonna give back to the community innit? I'm gonna be a mentor for deprived kids in Peckham. They be needing role models to look up to.

Eyes: Jesus, they'll rip you to shreds. When do you start?

Cedric: Tomorrow.

Eyes: Excellent.

Well, Cedric and Amelie, thank you for talking to Eyes on the Stars! The door is over there…

…release the hounds.

Dark Knight Premier

An exclusive from Eyes on the Stars reporter Shipman West!

Last night saw the European premier of the new Bat Man and Robin film The Dark Knight. I was there in London's Leicester Square to see the actors and get all the hot gossip for Eyes on the Stars.

I arrived early (around 6AM), but there wasn't much going on yet. I asked one man if he knew where the best place to stand was, but he didn't understand English and he smelt a bit of wee. Luckily I'd anticipated a long wait and so I'd brought my trusty fold-up camping chair, some cheddar and Monster Munch sandwiches and three bottles of blue flavour Powerade.

I sat on my chair for a while and ate half a sandwich, but aside from an altercation between the smelly foreign man and a road sweeper, the next three hours were uneventful. I decided to kill some time in my old London standby: The Science Museum!

I can't recommend the Science Museum enough. In some ways this is the best place to visit if you want to know about the celebrities of the past: Charles Babbage, Edward Jenner, Michael Faraday. If they'd had Heat magazine or celebrity blogsites like this one in the Olden Days, they would certainly have featured pictures of John Logie Baird falling out of Soho pubs at 3AM, just like Amy Winehouse! Unfortunately, as often happens to me in museums, I lost track of time and when I finally looked up from the display about the Difference Engine, it was 8PM and I'd drunk all three bottles of Powerade! I hurried back to the London Tube to get back to the Premier!

Blue flavoured Powerade

By the time I finally got back, there was a huge crowd and I was stuck at the back! I told people who I was and that I was actually there first at 6AM and that I worked for the UK's number one celebrity blogsite, but they still wouldn't let me through to the barrier. Luckily the three bottles of Powerade had turned my tongue completely blue, so instead of asking people politely to move I just stuck my cobalt tongue out at them like a mental. In no time at all I was at the barrier albeit being watched closely by the fascist security goons (why does Bat Man need security?!).

And just in time too, as the limousines were starting to pull up and the stars were arriving by the dozen! First to arrive was Kelly Osbourne, daughter of Ozzy Osbourne who is married to Sharon Osbourne. I asked Kelly where Ozzy was, but she was too far away and couldn't hear me. When I shouted louder she unfortunately noticed my blue tongue and walked in the opposite direction. The security were eyeing me suspiciously and looking twitchy at this point, so I kept quiet for a while. The next person to arrive I'm afraid I didn't recognise: a handsome man with cropped hair, maybe part of the crew? The crowd seemed to recognise him though as they were going wild! They must be real film buffs.

Who's that stranger?

I must admit I was getting a bit frustrated now. I had been in London for over 15 hours and there was still no sign of Adam West, Burt Ward or Caesar Romeo! I'm afraid I let out a swear at this point: "Where is the bloody Joker!?" I said. The man next to me heard this and (looking at my tongue) said "Haven't you heard? He's dead you idiot."

"Oh, thanks for ruining the ending for me," I said, "I suppose you're the kind of person who went around telling everyone that Bruce Willis was dead in the Sixth Sense as well!"

He didn't know what to say to that one! The next person to arrive was another nobody: a tall lady with dark hair. The crowd roared again.

Unknown brunette lady

By now I realised the crowd would cheer anyone who paraded down the red carpet! And, maybe it was the Powerade affecting my judgement, but I thought if I'm not going to see Adam West, I may as well have some excitement. As the tall brunette lady was walking by, I started to climb over the barrier.

Unfortunately readers I'm afraid don't remember anything past this point. I must have been cheered by the crowd so much that I passed out with excitement because the next thing I knew I was waking up in an empty Leicester Square! I looked at my watch and it was 4AM tomorrow (today) and the smelly foreign man was standing over me and pointing.

"Blue tongue, blue toungue." he was saying.

"I didn't think you spoke English?" I said.

Spotted: Cannon and the Ball

Spotter: Mildred Arkright.

When? Just now whilst I was trying to have my tea.

Where: On my doorstep.

Says our spotter:

I was trying to watch Coronation Street. Jack Duckworth had put some money on a horse but had lost his betting slip, but really his son had stolen it and Tyrone, who is Jack's lodger but more like an adopted son really, was trying to expose the theft. Anyway, I just sat down and there was a knock at the door. I paused the Sky plus...by the way have you used Sky plus?... isn't it amazing what they can do with technology thse days? DVD players, Sky plus, 3-speed rampant rabbits with anal stimulator, amazing. Anyway, where was I? Yes, the door. So, I answered the door and who do you think was there? It was Cannon and the Ball! They used to be on the telly a while ago, you know, when telly was really, really terrible? Do you remember? When Russ Abbott had a prime time Saturday evening show, without there being any irony about this fact, and Les Dennis was on BBC 1 without it involving a nervous breakdown or Ricky Gervais. Anyway, so the Ball says to me "We're in the area selling double glazing and wondered if you'd like a free quotation and by the way have you heard the good news about Jesus?" and then Cannon starts berating the Ball, saying "You need to stick to the script Robert! We'll never close a deal if you keep going off-message!" and he starts getting really angry and saying how the Ball is always ruining everything and how they never would have got "sent down" if the Ball hadn't done "that stupid f*cking braces thing in front of the judge!" At this point Balls starts weeping and saying "You can't have a cannon without a ball!" Cannon just marches off at this point, leaving the Ball in tears on my doorstep. As Cannon walks out my gate he stops and yells over his shoulder "Eddie Large has a B & B in Blackpool, Bobby! Where's Syd Little?". Then he looks around conspicuously and makes a gesture with his hands as if to say "Nowhere".

I bought a pair of French doors and three UPVC triple-glazed windows off the Ball and, after an initial delay for fitting, I'm quite happy with them.

Cannon and the Ball: Unusual selling technique

Spotted: Peter Crouch

Spotter: Barry Grebe

When? Last Saturday

Where? Martin Mere Wetlands Centre, Lancashire.

Says our spotter:

Peter is a keen twitcher who likes nothing more of a weekend than to get out into the countryside to spot some wild fowl. Unfortunately Peter's lanky frame is disconcerting to the wildlife, which makes him unpopular with the other ornithologists. This is not helped by the fact that his girlfriend or 'WAG', Abbey Clancy, will not allow him to spend any of his pocket money on a bird book and so Peter is forever folding and unfolding the free Guardian 'Birds of Britain' wallchart that he keeps stuffed inside his Liverpool and/or Portsmouth shirt.

He has now been banned from the most popular bird watching stations (or 'hides'), as the only way he could use them was to leave his legs sticking out of the door and to stick an arm out of each window. His head would be curled up against his chest inside the hide. This made bird watching difficult for him and was very off-putting for the other twitchers.

Crouch: Foul

Spotted: Christian Bale

Spotter: Janet Hogarth.

When? 9:50PM, yesterday night.

Where? Filling a trolley with Bulmers cider (3 for 2) in the Bexleyheath branch of Netto.

Bale: 3 for 2