For some reason, possibly the same reason that I put myself through the televisual shredder that is The F Word, I tune into Nick Ferrari most mornings while ironing my shirt and doing everything I can to banish the day’s hangover. If you haven’t seen him trying to snatch a little bit of limelight on current affairs shows before or if you happen to live outside of London, he’s the fat twonk above.
Nick basically pushes his point of view so far to the right that he’s skirting on the edge of Daily Mail nazism every single fucking morning.
I play a game with myself every morning (not that kind of game, pervert) wherein I think about the events of the previous day and then, before tuning in to blubbery Ferrari, try to guess what he’ll be covering and what angle he’ll take on it. This morning I emerged victorious from my front door, having correctly guessed that, without condoning racist language, Nick would go some way to defending the late Bernard Manning based on the era he came from. It’s the easiest game in the world, now I think about it.
Ferrari’s regular guests include Mark Dolan of Balls of Steel fame. Jane Moore the Sun columnist also turns up to talk shit occasionally, as well as a handful of other Telegraph-type journos who are completely out of touch with reality and who seem content with the fact that your average phone-in listener is a racist, homophobic shyster in a white van. And me. With those kinds of pals on board, you can imagine it’s a laugh-a-minute.
Worth a listen if you fancy being sick on your bacon.