THOSE WERE THE DAYS MY FRIENDS
IT’S that time of year when we survey the wreckage of the previous 12 months and look forward with fear and trepidation to the future.
Of course, the main event of 2011 was the rebirth of Sunday Sport, and emergence of its Midweek sister, after a collection of f***wits, focus group analysts and overpaid c*ntsultants tried their damndest to kill off your favourite paper.
Our revival is made all the sweeter because the paper that hates Sunday Sport more than any other, The Guardian, is itself heading for the rocks.
Shouldn’t gloat though. Not too much, anyway.
But I’ve had a trawl through the cuttings from 2011 and pulled out, if not the best bits, the least-bad bits. FOR the first time since America rescued a few German scientists and ignored their role in the Holocaust, the western world is going backwards in the old space race.
The retirement of the Space Shuttle, with no replacement in sight, was a sad day – which will seem sadder still when our planet is ringed by Chinese death ray satellites. THOUSANDS of pounds and man hours were wasted in the battle to make public the fact that a Welshman called Ryan Giggs had sex with a Welshwoman called Imogen Thomas.
When Giggs was eventually named in Parliament, it was hailed a triumph. Later in the year, an incorrect report in
newspaper led to the closing down and the government setting up an inquiry that could lead to the end of the free press.
What’s more, Hugh Grant and Steve Coogan somehow became “heroes”. Not a good year for the press on the whole. Glad I’m a low-level pornographer and not a proper journalist.
He uttered the phrase: “Squeal like a pig” during the infamous bumming scene.
Quite possibly the greatest chat-up line ever.