The world is made more amusing my events that are conjoined but not connected. That is to say they happen one after another and have a link but there is no causal interaction. And so we come to my encounter yesterday with the loathsome slug that is Mr Russell Brand.
At Watford Gap, heading south on the M1 late yesterday afternoon, I felt like a coffee and needed fuel. As I waited for my Starbucks I glanced at the front pages of the Red Tops and saw that Mr Brand had enjoyed a heated exchange with chat-show host and annoying professional Irish camp leader Mr Graham Norton. I did not read on regarding both men as symbols of all that is worst about our celebrity obsessed age.
Q. Brand and Norton agree to a fight to the death, who wins? A. Everyone.
Next stop, fuel. Filling up the tank cost £106 which seems like a lot of money but trouping off to pay who was waiting there in the station but Russell Brand chatting amiably to a large muscle bound man in a pink shirt (minder?) while a fat man in a suit (driver) paid a bill. About the one thing that I do know about Brand other than that he is not a patch on the young George Cole in the St Tinian’s remakes is that he has had a brief marriage to the lovely Katy Perry. About 1% of my brain wanted to play stupid and congratulate him on being so lucky to have such a clever and entertaining young bride and to wish them both all the best. But 99% of my brain prevailed and I just paid (a process made harder by the check-out ladies giggling and simpering as they ogled the repellent Mr Brand).
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