The Baron

by

The Baron

Drifting in and out of wakefulness and sleep, I was channel-hopping the other night. Obviously having some sort of brain matter I skip between BBC2 and Channel4 lest my entire universe is punctured by witless bilge on ITV, but that evening something happened…

A familiar voice? That can’t be Mike Reid – cockney national treasure lost to the nation a few months ago – stood in front of a crowd of windswept people telling them how they’d won (and ultimately fucked) his heart can it? It is! (or was)

To separate this bloke from his character in Eastenders (and for older readers, he even said ‘runarairnd’ at one point) is as impossible as wanking off a gnat with a hammer. There was no Frank Butcher, just Mike Reid talking his little red cockney barnet off…

Here he was again, looking heavenwards with a grimace, shaking his head at his shoes, perpetually removing his glasses to pinch the top of his nose, his overt sincerity shaking with emotion. Deadly serious -save a twinkle in his beady eye.

Needless to say the crowd thought he was gorgeous. Which was nice.

What the fuck was I watching though? (this is a now a rhetorical question, don’t write in). I checked the Guide. ‘The Baron’ it said, but no more than that.

Using my deductive powers it seemed that ‘celebs’ were trying to get voted into some sort of position of power in a small Scottish Island community. As far as I could ascertain there were three. Frank (I mean Mike), a small blonde person who used to be a poptart and now just has a fat arse and, the real reason I stayed watching, Malcolm McClaren.

We see Malcolm ambling over rugged terrain, urinating into a rock pool, his usual terse self, moaning and sarcastic, mumbling about turning the local church into a den of inequity, proposing ‘sin for all’. He wants to bring back the darkside, he said so himself, out of his mealy mouth, spat forth from his thin lips.

Before his speech Malcolm ‘met the community’. A group of little girls in leotards rushed up to meet him, probably because of the cameras. Malcolm stopped in his tracks. ‘You look ridiculous’ he said, sagely. The plump little Scottish dancers gave some gob back, Malcolm liked this.

It was speech day. Mike had done his skit (‘I grew up in ‘Ackney, we was bombed by the Germans, I lived in 4 diff’rent ‘owses in as many days, but this place, you lot, this is ‘ome this, you see me, right, you see me and come an’ say ‘ello… etc…). The poplet’s attempt was one long, blonde giggle and now it was Malcolm’s turn.

All the villagers had turned out, hundreds of them, fat smiling community people, farmers, fishermen with their wives and children. If you were to diametrically oppose the Sex Pistols then these people were it. These were good people, a dying breed free from the corporations and smash-and-grab attitudes of the West. Salt of the earth workers, churchgoers…

In went Malc. ‘What this place needs is more drugs’. Instant booing. Suddenly I perked up almost not believing what I was seeing. Was it 1977?

‘We need more sin and drugs. I suggest a bank holiday for debauchery…’ More booing and now anger directed at Malc. The shot cut to Frank. ‘Oh gawd, you can’t say that, you pillock’ he said, before looking heavenwards with a grimace, shaking his head at his shoes and removing his glasses to pinch the top of his nose.

Maintaining a smile of sorts, the MC went in to intervene, ‘come on he said, that’s enough, there’s kids here’ and attempted to usher Malc away, but Malc wasn’t going anywhere. ‘I must have my say – it’s my right’ he protested. The MC was now physically trying to persuade Malc to get off, but again, he was rebuffed by more coercive ‘I have my rights’ flannel and the MC reluctantly let him continue. By now the crowd were getting really angry and chanting aggressively.

Seizing this opportunity for one last snatch at glory he yelled ‘don’t you people know that Jesus Christ was a sausage?!’. I nearly vomited with laughter, but I was alone.

The MC snapped into a fucking rage. He grabbed Malc who was fearfully protesting this physical contact and flung him from the stage. A scuffle broke out, some of Malc’s bouncers materialised from thin air as the crowd came in for some too, it was getting nasty. It was getting nasty in only the way religious people get when you make a joke at the expense of their particular figment of imaginings.

The show ended (though I think there is more to this series so do look out for it) with Malc, some bouncers and a cameraman piling into the back of a car with Malc shrieking ‘They’re going to lynch us, Jesus, they’re coming, get in!!’

Priceless television – who’d have thought ITV would come up with this?

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34 Responses to “The Baron”

  1. Swineshead Says:

    Blast. I missed it.

    *fires up UK Nova*

  2. piqued Says:

    I THINK EV RE 1 H8Z THE BARRON

  3. Swineshead Says:

    They’re certainly not making much of an effort to discuss it, are they?
    Maybe their service providers have collapsed what with Boris taking over the London internets and being a comedy buffoon.

  4. piqued Says:

    It could be old son

    If it wasn’t for Have I Got News For You he wouldn’t have even ran, apparently

  5. Napoleon Says:

    Hello there! Talking of internet service providers, mine went down on Thursday and wasn’t fixed until Saturday. It’s like having your wanking arm cut off. Anyway:

    1. I don’t care who won the London mayor competition. They’re all arses.
    2. I didn’t see this show, because my house exploded on Saturday night leaving me with no gas or electricity.
    3. No, there’s not a number 3.

  6. Swineshead Says:

    More importantly, have you received your copy of Scarface yet and do you like it?

  7. Napoleon Says:

    I still haven’t received my copy of Scarface, thanks to PayPal being buggers. I’ve yet to say hello to my little friend.

  8. Swineshead Says:

    Do you like ice cream?

  9. Napoleon Says:

    Yes, yes I do. I also like:

    Bacon
    Really cheap burger van burgers
    Madras curries
    Old women’s udders

  10. Swineshead Says:

    I like bacon, but not the new cheap stuff you get these days, where all water comes out and the rasher shrinks on contact with heat. When will they stop messing with our bacon?

    (I didn’t see The Baron)

  11. Napoleon Says:

    I didn’t see The Baron either. The only thing I’ve seen called ‘The Baron’ was an unpleasant 1980s German porno movie.

    They have messed with our bacon, you’re right. Unless you pay through the nose, you get a millimetere of thin bacon in your sandwich – this is a bad thing. Dare I say I see the grasping fingers of EEC interference here?

  12. Napoleon Says:

    I feel like making love whilst listening to Bad Company’s ‘Feel Like Making Love’. BUT SHE WON’T LET ME!

  13. Swineshead Says:

    I couldn’t say for sure, but I reckon it’s them organics people, putting organs into the pigs that aren’t required – two livers, triple spleens, that kind of thing.

    When will these do-gooders stop fucking with my pigs?

  14. piqued Says:

    I’m not surprised, having your swollen face bearing down on a person is worse than Hitler…

    On acid

  15. piqued Says:

    (my last comment was directed to NC, soz

    Soz everyone, soz NC

    Soz)

  16. Napoleon Says:

    My face isn’t swollen, my son. I’m lean and not mean. You should let go of your anger, Piqued. Embrace the Good Side, yeah? You dig?

    As for them messing with our pigs? It’s not cricket. I had some gammon the other day, and it was all water with a bit of gammon in it. Rubbish.

  17. Swineshead Says:

    I might be forced to raise my own piglet.

  18. Napoleon Says:

    That would be fun. There’s quite a lot of poo involved, mind. Do you mind having a house full of all pig dirts? My garden’s chock-full of all dog dirts, and that’s trying enough. One of the dogs is a Rottweiller, and they don’t ‘alf pump out big dirts.

  19. Swineshead Says:

    Well with a piglet I imagine the poos would be small – like a mouse’s poo. Piglets are only about 30mm by 70mm aren’t they?

    Tiny things.

  20. Swineshead Says:

    I’m doing a new post. Two in one day, you lucky bastards, how do you like that then?

    *no response from zero readership**

  21. John Q Wagonwheel Says:

    We’s got proper pigs down West Country way. Which means you’re clearly all idiots.

  22. Swineshead Says:

    You live in London don’t you, JQW?
    You’re a Londoner whether you like it or not.
    And you’re an idiot.
    And you’re a youngster, so have some bloody respect.

  23. Napoleon Says:

    Piglet’s poos are small, but then pig’s poos are great big walloping things full of hay. And they stink. You’d need to slaughter the piglet before it grows up and coats your house in all adult pig dirts.

  24. John Q Wagonwheel Says:

    I’m a student. I have no specific appartenance, so I can choose.
    The other two are disputable, but I’ve just done a 2 hour exam on French literature and it’s ridiculously sunny so I’m in a good mood.

  25. Napoleon Says:

    He’s wrong anyway. Norfolk’s the best pig country, and it’s got proper pigs.

  26. John Q Wagonwheel Says:

    Balls to that.

  27. piqued Says:

    Btw, has any fucker seen this programme?

  28. John Q Wagonwheel Says:

    No.

  29. Swineshead Says:

    Seems like nobody gone seen it Piquedy boy.
    Adam Buxton was talking about it on Adam & Joe on Saturday and I’m downloading it tonight from UK Nova. Apart from that, you’re on your own.

    SOZ

  30. Napoleon Says:

    NO!

  31. piqued Says:

    Oh.

    Then I’m sorry for wasting all your times

    Sorry guys

    Sorry

    Soz

    *shuffles off*

    I might not came back you know…

    *waits for response*

    Hello?

    *silence*

    *creeps off broken*

  32. Napoleon Says:

    And I have it on good authority that you’re losing your hair, Piqued. I shall investigate this when I come to London … if you’ll stay still long enough for me to get your underpants off.

  33. piqued Says:

    Say what you like about your old mucca P but hairloss ain’t one of them

    You’ll see

    (ooof, you naughty man)

  34. Napoleon Says:

    Fat, hairless, and old is what I heard. That doesn’t surprise me in a man what eats broccolli covered in shit. That’s right – shit.

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