Belfast Telegraph

Sunday 20 April 2014

Smug Toksvig can take herself and her smut back to Denmark

I love the Danes. If they want to ban Marmite, that's fine by me. Yes, of course, it's tasty - in small doses. But isn't there something inherently wrong about something of which a little goes a long way?

If it's so great, why would you have to spread thinly? What other foodstuff takes as its USP the fact that lots of people hate it? Face it: if Marmite was a person, it would be a pervert.

Now they've banned Marmite, can we ban Sandi Toksvig? The only Danish export I can't stand seems to worm her way deeper into the fabric of British life every day. Her stupid, harrumphing, daft-old-colonel voice pollutes the airways, a vile reminder of class privilege that no actual Briton would dare pull these days.

Her lame gags litter BBC radio like particularly sticky and tiresome chewing gum on a pavement - turn on Radio 4 for five minutes and you're guaranteed to step in one.

To add to the wretch's crimes, who would have thought, when we were tots in suburbia perving over stills of Andy Warhol films, that anyone could ever make being gay look like wearing Crimplene?

Toksvig does - she's that deadly dull. On the other hand, thank goodness she is. Gayness is a wonderful thing, but of all the people the good Lord made gay, I thank Him for making Toksvig and Stephen Fry gay more than anybody else. Imagine if those two had got together and reproduced. The smugness and self-obsession of any brats they banged out would surely send the I-Love-Me meter into meltdown.

It makes total sense that Toksvig would have to be the one to surprise and delight us with the 'joke' on Radio 4's News Quiz: "It's the Tories who have put the N into 'cuts'.''

It used to be the really funny comedians who cussed a lot; now it's the duds who couldn't get a laugh in a hyena sanctuary. And I know this the hard way, as I find myself swearing up a storm when I'm not being as witty as I want to be. (Hard to imagine, I know...)

Unlike other cuss words, the C-word says far more about the person saying it than the one it's directed at. I've always had about as much respect for women who use it as an insult (as opposed to an anatomical description) as I would for a black person who used the N-word.

In both cases, though there may be the usual bogus banging on about 'reclaiming' the word, it's just another slimy way of sucking up to Whitey.

When men use it, it can mean several things. It often means they're thick. It often means they're sailing on the HMS Ain't Getting None. It often means they're stuck in the adolescent phase of trying to whiten Mother's hair. (These last two often go together.)

Flanders and Swann summed it up well, way back: Ma's out, Pa's out, Let's talk rude/Pee Po Belly Bum Drawers/Dance round the garden in the nude/Pee Po Belly Bum Drawers/Let's write rude words all down our street/Stick out our tongues at the people we meet/Let's have an intellectual treat/Pee Po Belly Bum Drawers.

There's been a lot of hoo-ha about stopping the sexifying of children this week. But if I had daughters, I'd be far more concerned about them growing up in a country where rapists can expect a pat on the head and an iPad from good old Ken Clarke.

Or where hundreds of thousands of pounds of public money is handed to Islamist woman-haters by a Labour government under the utterly cretinous belief that bribery is somehow going to get these gynophobic fascists to play nice.

And where alleged feminists/ lesbians/comediennes believe that the word describing female genitalia is the worst/ funniest/most outrageous thing you can call someone, instead of the self-loathing suck-uppery it so flagrantly is. Compared to this smorgasbord of swill, a T-shirt bearing the legend So Many Boys, So Little Time seems both positively progressive and a memory of a more civilised world.

Latest News

Latest Sport

Latest Showbiz