Okay, he swam the Channel (English, not Four) yonks ago, but to be fair we needed a hook. And to be fair, he was still lumpen before, during and after the whole wet water affair, so we’re guessing it’s in the genes.
Talking of genes/jeans/Aunty Jean, we were in Diesel the other day (London’s glittering Neal Street) and the queue was up ‘n’ around the stairs, a good 117 people-ish long. F-why? Surely, the question should be f-why were we in Diesel in the first place? Hmmmn? To be fair, it was really shaft-reducingly cold outside and we were still in our dirty stop-out clothes so needed to take shelter, but as soon as we heard that moronic gangsta music they insist on playing in those places – the ‘music’ which mostly consists of people shouting obscenities – we did a 180 and trotted out-ways. Ladies, if we wanted obscenities shouted at us, all we need do is walk down Camden High Street/in front of a white van.
Digress? Yes. So, this is David Walliams on holiday in London’s glittering Miami with a gennelman of the male pursuasion.
Oh, except that time we were chatting to David Walliams and he asked us, ‘Do you like the taste of spunk?’ Our response is of concern to everyone, but when we asked David the question right back, his response was, ‘Yes. But I prefer fanny juice.’
David, do you speak to your mother with that mouth?