Watching BBC4's documentary on Broadway in the 1920's, I was surprised to discover that not only did Al Jolson perform in blackface, allowing him the freedom to emote and give his all to the songs, but he also at one point in his career wrapped himself from head to foot in bandages in order to perform his tribute song to his 'Mummy'.

Al's strength of feeling for his ma was illustrated by the sentiment that he was willing to walk a million miles in the tight, chafing material just for a glimpse of a single one of the old woman's grateful facial acknowledgements.

There was not a dry eye in the house.

Jamie Oliver on 'Jamie's School Dinners' needs to wash his mouth out with fucking soap. 'Fucking' this and 'fucking' that. In front of dinner ladies old enough to be his mother. And with eleven year olds watching to get a glimpse of themselves on tv.

Foul mouthed fuck.

A chav, as far as I can see, is a young, white British person who wants to be a cool black American. There is nothing wrong with that, or the fact that young white people don't look cool no matter how hard they try.

According to chavscum.com, chavs are 'Britain's peasant underclass that are taking over our towns and cities', who look 'like a bunch of fucking pikeys'.

'Pikey', like 'paki' is a quaint term used by the Great British inclusive working class to illustrate a human being who is not 'like us'.

But these chavscum guys have good taste. They don't like hip hop or R&B or cheesy dance music like the chavs do. Not 'misogynistic' hip hop or the 'flippant misandry' (not in my dictionary) of R&B or the 'moronic trance and garage beats' of dance music. The chavscum guys take their music seriously. None of this commercial, listenable, enjoyable stuff. No mention of ho's, bitches and scrubs here. No relationship rubbish, no laughter, no tears, no GIRLS! Please, no GIRLS!

The terrifying thing is, I've probably enjoyed the same music and films as the chavscum guys. Some white electronic dance music you can't dance to, some serious indie shit (music and films) and God knows what else. So I'm a little bit Donny, a little bit Marie, a little bit chav and a little bit chavscummer. Without the bad taste, the racism or the misogyny of course. I am superman!

And Julie Burchill is superwoman. She knows it all she really does, and Sky One last night allowed her to tell us all about chavs and how she's proud to be one. She was shown walking around a cheap market, dressed as a woman in her 40's, not as a chav. No chunky jewellery, no chav clothes or chav mates but she was still a chav. A middle aged chav.

As far as I could gather, in her terms (and nobody elses), a chav is a white celebrity with a working class background who is comfortable in their own skin (i.e. sexily confident and shaggable, just like herself).

David Beckham is, Victoria Beckham isn't. Well if that's the case, how come they've just had their third child? Maybe he puts a paper bag over her head, eh Julie?

Just what is it about Victoria Beckham that gets up people's noses? She's talentless? So are 90% of pop stars. She's skinny? So are 90% of female pop stars. She hasn't got a 'natural' (i.e friendly) smile? I think that's it! She hasn't got a friendly smile and nobody in their right mind would want to be friends with a woman who doesn't smile like she means it. Really means it.

I don't trust her.

In the week in which it was announced that patients in a Liverpool hospital have been drinking the alcoholic handwash provided to combat the spread of so-called superbugs, Michael Howard's latest vote winner is a proposal to bring back matrons into our hospitals.

Eager and willing to get this country back on its feet, this week I have been away at Matron School. I do not cut a matronly figure, but this is no hindrance any more, the healthier-looking the matron the better. And of course in these equal opportunity times, many of us would-be matrons are in fact men.

And to all you sad Carry On fans out there who think a matron's duties are 99% breaking up shennanigans between randy male doctors and nubile young female nurses, you really are living in the past, aren't you?

Forward with Britain!

The Brits on tv last night was the usual celebration of corporate and individual wealth.

Hosted by multi-millionaire media businessman Chris Evans with a finale paying homage to multi-millionaire media businessman Sir Bob Geldof; homage to his contribution to music.

Now Sir Bob's outstanding contribution to the abolition of world hunger is well documented and a triumph for the human race, but just what has he done for music? A man who last week said he was frustrated with Africa (aren't we all?), that he now wants to concentrate on his music, now performs his two biggest hits from a quarter of a century ago, piss poor early Springsteen imitations, and releases all the Boomtown Rats albums for his adoring public of one cretin and his dog ('Give us your fucking money! You mutt!')

It really is time for a compulsory retirement age of 40 for pop musicians, and I'm being generous here. Just imagine, no more Sir Bob, Sir Cliff, Jools and Tom Jones, Queen with Paul 'Hernia Face' Rodgers....Heaven.

Of course, heaven contains the beautiful, sublime Scissor Sisters but also the ugly, plodding Keane. How the music industry intelligentsia voted for both these acts as producing the best International and British albums could possibly, just possibly be because they were the two top selling albums in the UK last year. Someone who likes Keane cannot appreciate good music. That person is a bland, witless, cloth-eared fool.

There was something wrong last year when Jamie Cullum won a MOBO (an ASBO would've been more apt), and there's something wrong this year when viewers of MTV Base choose Joss Stone as Best British Urban Act. The regressive, fog-horned voiced white teenage pensioner from priviledged stock is reinvented as a cool kid from the inner city? And Franz Ferdinand are chosen by Kerrang!TV viewers as best rock act? Kerrang! is ROCK! Franz Ferdinand are art pop. They don't mix! You've been had, Mr Brit!

As Peter Hain, the South African Secretary of State for Wales, on behalf of the Welsh people congratulates the English Prince of Wales on his forthcoming marriage, being half Cornish myself, I'd like to say a few words to the Prince on behalf of the people of his Duchy...

'Get off my land, you bugger!'

So Mike Read's Tsunami Song finally hits the charts.

'Cliff never grows old'.

I knew it.

60,000 copies of a song titled 'London Underground', taking the tune of The Jam's 'Going Underground', have been downloaded by people willing to buy filth in aid of Macmillan Cancer Relief.

It is the project of Adam Kay, 24, a junior doctor,and his friend Suman Biswas, a 26 year old anaesthetist, and part of a cd, 'Fitness to Practice', the proceeds of which go to the aforementioned charity.

'Today I gotta take my bike
Cos once again the tube's on strike
The greedy bastards want extra pay
For sitting on their arse all day
Even though they earn 30k'

So it's class warfare! The middle classes have had enough of these upstart thicko train drivers who do nothing but sit down all day when they should be up and down the carriages serving refreshments to the hard done by commuters who are transported to and from work in little better than cattle trucks. Christ, I bet those greedy lazy sods spend their time at work watching dvd's, they hardly need to keep their eyes on the tracks, everything being automatic nowadays after all. Noone shovelling coal like the good old working men of yore.

I'm reminded of a woman I sat next to on the train one morning a few months ago, moaning on her mobile phone in a loud voice about how she was kept waiting on a cold platform for 20 minutes just because some lazy train driver couldn't be bothered to get out of bed and her train was cancelled.

Or maybe, just maybe he or she was ill, you daft bint. You know, ill, unable to safely drive your train, unable to guarantee you'll still be alive by the time you should be in work, brain not functioning as it should, a bit slow, a bit like your normal state of mind.

Don't listen to the whingers. Most commuting is a piece of piss.

Pooh poohing New Labour's so called 'sly anti-semitism', engineered by those crazy guys who brought us the sidesplittingly hilarious FCUK campaign, (ugly tory mugs Howard and Letwin as a pair of pigs just insults pigs and Howard hypnotising us with a fob watch is Howard hypnotising us with a fob watch, not Fagin gloating over his spoils), I get to thinking about my dad's real anti-semitism. Yes, my sideburned 70's trade unionist firebrand dad often said 'Hitler was right about the Jews'.

In 1950, he had apparently cried when Al Jolson died. As he became more of a loony lefty between his teens and his 40's, how the fuck did he move from idolising a Jew to saying they all should be exterminated? (Unless of course he always thought Jolson was really African American).

In the week in which Bono sings an enormously emotional song to his dead father in front of a young pop audience who couldn't give a shit, I decide to call up the ghost of my old man and ask him a few questions on which he had an answer for when he was alive.

1. Religion?

Religion is just brainwashing.

Ok.

2. The Royal Family?

Parasites. Should be shot. The lot of them.

Ok, parasites. Maybe not shot, though. Just stripped of all their wealth and
made to work in call centres.

3. Same sex love?

I understand women...But men...It's just not natural.

I see where you're coming from, you dirty old man.

4. The Jews?

The Jews?

The Jews.

Hitler was right about the Jews.

You don't mean that.

Can I go now?

You don't mean it.