The way I see it

Sunday is to become my day to sit back, relax and have no-holds-barred rant about the world.

My weekend therapy will be as follows: kettle on - coffee (strong), door closed with everyone behind it, M and Ms stacked up - sorry, check, I’m off sugar - scrub that.

Metaphoric bottle of the week’s irritations at the ready and I’m set to pull out the cork and let them spill out of in all their vitriolic glory.

From train delays to tabard-clad chuggers accosting me in the street holding clip boards and insisting they don’t want my money - yeah right.

Benefit scroungers (you just wait) to asylum seekers moaning they can’t get the swimming pool in their council house to the right temperature.

The day of rest is now dedicated to exorcising the things that quite frankly drive me mad.

For example this week we learnt the dedicated staff on London’s Docklands Light Railway (DLR) are to receive a 25-per cent increase in overtime as an incentive to work over the Olympics.

That’s as good a subject as any to get started methinks.

Nice to be given the choice I say, never mind a big fat bonus for doing your job - which is what exactly? The trains are driverless.


Operator Serco claims the package comes by way of recompense for staff having to work in different locations, longer hours, with restricted annual leave during the games much to the delight of RMT secretary Bob Crow: “This is a truly groundbreaking deal”.

All those extra annoyances, tsk tsk, I don’t know.

A piece of news; the rest of us do that on a daily basis, it’s called work.

I have just one request of the DLR, and while I’m at it, for the rest of the London transport system, can we just get it to work please?

I know, it’s a lot to ask, but all you have to do is figure out how to get trains to move people from one place to another with some semblance of reliability.

Didn’t quite manage it this week, or last, or the week before that, so can we try harder? Especially as London is about to be held up as a showcase to the rest of the world - oh that is going to be fun.


Anyway onwards and upwards and onto my next object of dissatisfaction.

Friday’s big news was Loose Woman Denise Welch winning Celebrity Big Brother.

I used to like old Denzie the Squelch, until she decided to take her breasts out in my living room.


Ok, not exactly but it felt like it as she was showing off her assets on Big Brother the other week.

Apparently she has a “compulsive flashing disorder” and now plans to get a boob job - right you are petal, can’t wait.

Actually I do still have a soft spot for Denise. I read her autobiography Pulling Myself Together (Although I do feel the title is now a bit redundant).

She talks about battling depression and substance abuse, but has managed not to let it destroy her so I admire her making it to where she has.

But frolicking naked in a bath with Frankie Co..coc....coc? what was it? Strange I can only remember the first syllable of your surname. Surely you can do better than that.

A body wrap in cow dung perhaps, or a dip in the sea near a sewage outlet - just a suggestion.

I cannot feel anything positive to say about someone with so little regard for women that he brags about having their names tattooed on his backside after sleeping with them - you must be pretty proud girls.

And what was more distressing was watching scores of giggly teenagers spend four weeks during the autumn cooing and fawning over this “cheeky chappie” on X Factor.

Forgive me if I don’t get it, but if I was a woman I would rather have my name tattooed across my unanaesthatised eyeballs than on his rear.

This may be the reason for my stern view on Denise’s antics.

I do like the woman, I met her at an after-show party last year and she was lovely, even posed for a picture unlike Miranda Richardson who turned her nose up and refused “I don’t do pictures”. Pardon me your highness.

I think Denise may have made a pact with the Devil in her latest quest for recognition, although I hope not.

Anyway, good luck Denzie, I hope your career doesn’t go the same way as so many before you.

Denise Welch says she is no loose woman


That's the way I see it.

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