Column: Prudence Trog, 36

January 2

OMG, the year hasn’t started well for Russell Brand! He’s been photographed walking solemnly around the West Country on his own, and inevitably he’s just announced his marriage is over to Katy Perry. You can do better, Russell! Come rest your hairy head on my bosom and lick the wet tears off my hard nipples. He must have it really bad, because what sort of sex addict who’s broken off with his gorgeous wife is going to pick Cornwall to get back on the horse? Those LA girls might be made of plastic and stuffed full of botox, but at least when they’re running their fingers through your hair you won’t be worrying how many digits are on each hand.

Failing that, get your arse over to Zooey Deschanel’s house, Russell! She’s practically the same woman!

January 3

Everyone is back to work today, but being at a company like Negative Press doesn’t feel like work. “Choose a job you love and you will never have to work again,” said Confucius. Well, he would say that, being paid to sit on his arse spouting shite all day.

January 15

OH. MY. CHRIST! Did you see the final Sherlock tonight? It was fucking phenomenal! He dies at the end right, and like Martin Freeman, I was weeping buckets. But just when you think he’s no more — after jumping from a high building, and you see the blood spurting out of him and everything — he mysteriously appears a few scenes later behind a tree in a graveyard. He’s definitely alive, thank Jehovah! It makes you wonder how he did it. The man’s a genius and no mistaking.

January 18

I bet all those people slagging off Alex James right now for bigging up McDonald’s and KFC will probably eat in a McDonald’s or a KFC this week, or they’ll at least have a shit in the toilet and snort some drugs when they wander in there busting for a piss on Oxford Street. I like the fact he’s just like the rest of us, and not some exalted rock star out of reach hiding on a big farm in the Cotswolds. The idea that you could walk into a Gregg’s bakery anywhere in the UK and Alex James might be in the queue in front of you getting himself a cheese lattice and a sausage roll for his baby fills me with joy. I’ve been to Gregg’s three times this week, but still no sign, sadly. People are quick to forget what Blur did for this country. It was all Ned’s Atomic Dustbin, Kingmaker and The Wonder Stuff before they came along. If Albarn and Coxon are the Lennon and McCartney of their generation, then James is the nineties’ answer to Harrison. He’s just into pan frying and not yogic flying, and I’ll be honest with you, it’s something I can relate to more. Alex James, you can come and eat my burger with relish any day of the week!

January 22

Oh my Christ, Megaupload has been shut down! And they’ve arrested the boss, Kim Dotcom. Have you seen him? Jesus Christ, he looks like he’d eat Black Francis for breakfast, and probably has. Has anyone seen Black Francis lately? Call the Cannibal Squad! He looks like he’s had a Megaupload of fucking pies and Häagen-Dazs every morning and then the same for lunch, the massive fucker.

January 23

Happy Chinese New Year everyone! All the economists and politicians are forecasting that China will become the world’s biggest superpower one day, but I’m not so sure. If there are two billion people in the country and not one of them is fucking bright enough to point out that dragons don’t exist, I don’t hold much hope for them in all honesty.

January 27

The Lana Del Rey album has finally been released, glory be to God for dappled things. I can’t believe the hype around this girl! She’s so hot right now that she could melt any minute, and that’s something the record company will be having sleepless nights about.

February 1

Go Queenie! Fred The Shred has been stripped of his knighthood, and quite right too, the dirty double-dealing bastard. When he walks into a newsagent now they’ll just call him Mr Fred Goodwin instead of Sir Fred, which is something I hear he demanded. “Have your milk and your bread and your Creme Egg and fuck off, plain old Fred!” That’s what I’d say. “And don’t come back!” I wouldn’t stop there. I’d take all the money out of his bank account and spend it on kidney dialysis machines. I’d lock him away in prison for life, have him castrated so he can’t breed again, just in case he escapes, and I know this might sound a bit extreme, but I’d also have his children branded. On the forehead. With an RBS logo. And anyone else in his family would be sent back to Scotland in disgrace. That’d teach the bastard, and it’d act as a deterrent to anyone else who fancied gambling with the taxpayers’ money. When a man like Fred Goodwin is allowed to be called sir, it makes honours for people like Lorraine Kelly meaningless.

February 2

I hear Frances Bean got a restraining order out on Courtney Love because her dog ate some of her mother’s sleeping pills and died. Dogs aren’t stupid, and I reckon that dog saw Courtney zonking out on them and put two and two together, committing suicide to get away from those mental bitches. “I’ve never been good with numbers,” said Courtney, “but when I was on crack I could do math really, really well.” It’s called maths, Courtney! Deary me, what a family! But as my mother always said, “You don’t get rats from mice.”

February 3

Chris Huhne has resigned! Chris whom?

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