Fag Hag Diary

Not O2 bound... 


Stop what you are doing my darlings. Apparently, the whole interweb has gone into international meltdown this morning (according to a man who once used a cyber cafe in Bridgend to send his uncle in Brisbane a pic of him winning a Rymans area manager award) because of one man…

No it’s not ‘cause of Chris Langham you naughties. It’s all down to the totally inoccenti, dates-women-his-own-age, loves-Nuts-magazine,-pints-and-people-over-the-age-of-consent, Michaela Jackson.

See, ever since Michaela waltzed into London looking like Pauline Prescott in a Debenhams evening blazer with gold button detail, and announced his tour dates, peeps have gone crazy wild trying to buy tickets. ‘They all sold in seconds,’ said a lady with a non-ironic pussy-bow blouse from TicketMaster. Probably.

So will I be joining the hordes of Michaela fans selling their fannies, willies and offspring to get tickets? Well, probably not, and here’s why. If I want to see a middle aged person in glittery top dancing to ‘The Way You Make Me Feel’, I’ll just head straight to the nearest bar mitzvah.

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