Tiresome TV interviewer finally calls it a day. How will celebrities keep their bottoms clean now?
Boorish, talent-lite professional Yorkshire twat Michael Parkinson has decided that we’ve all suffered enough and that he should now take a year off to write his autobiography (“Tell us more about your Mary, Michael. Ooh, that’s interesting!”) A year, you say. What, to write… ‘Was born in Yorkshire, grew up, interviewed some people badly on TV, nicked the BBC’s show – including set and music and chair -and took it to ITV for more money, kept my BBC radio job where I banged on endlessly about Frank fucking Sinatra, died.’ Oh, are we jumping the gun?
‘After three enjoyable and productive years at ITV,’ says Mr. Parkinson (‘For you, maybe,’ says we) ‘and after 25 years of doing my talk show I have decided that this forthcoming show series will be my last.’
At which spontaneous celebrations broke out around the English-speaking world, a national holiday was announced, Frank Sinatra turned in his grave and Helen Mirren – who, right-minded woman that she is, thought him a sexist pig – smiled wryly.
Michael 'I'm from Yorkshire, I am' Parkinson quits! Hooray!,