Sunday, 6 April 2014


When I first posted the below, shot-in-one-take, unprovoked spontaneous vomit of petty opinion as my Facebook Status on the 8th September 2013 I received 103 likes, 5 shares and, were I to run a tighter ship and notice such things, a couple of de-friendings

I had pretty much got it off my chest and had returned to a calmer place. Then today, a couple of hours ago Nicholas Lezard goes and posts this status.

"I had my fill of Bruce Forsyth in 1976. What about you?"

- and destroys my life,
my calm,
my sanity.

I decided that rather 'going there' all over again and re-living the horror of such noisy reflection I would instead re-post here as a  link to what I said regarding the matter.

So to Mr Lezard, for what it's worth and IMHO...


I am just taking this opportunity to say how much I loathe Bruce ('Brucie' - might as well call Stalin 'Joey'!) Forsyth. I have always loathed him ever since a child and being consistent in my opinion (as he has remained in his awful showbiz dreadfulness) have despised him ever since. As such, although I am sure I would enjoy seeing celebrities dance I cannot risk, (nor ever have done) seeing the ...programme for fear of the horrible host.
My whole life has been a case of wincing at the man and fostering a deep resentment of his professional and personal longevity and in a way usually only reserved for Nazi war criminals prevailing with similar smugness and in comfort in South America. Even Douglas Bader, Alexander Fleming and Isaac Newton did NOT demand a knighthood for their services to humanity. Brucie, however has a sense of enTITLEment (literally) . This man is so dreadful that once on a dog programme about his sweet and unassuming daughter and her pups (filmed at his vulgar palace which fittingly has, a grand façade and an in-out drive I would only use in a high gear, without stopping, to avoid a 3 point turn in the lane) he totally upstaged the interview and...TAP DANCED, fucking tap danced on an animal programme - and he was shit! The Daughter looked at her atavistic, needy-greedy showbiz Ptolemaic universe of a father with the weary resignation of a patient parent, not a child.
And why do I chose NOW to state this fact, to put my (play your) Cards (right) on the conveyor belt? Why after a lifetime do I announce in grand London Palladium intro style my antipathy and revulsion to this ,'give us a twirl Anthea', horrible-to-see-you; to-see-you -horrible, audience insulting, big chinned, prime-time, Light-Ent little man? Because my friends I need to say this before the Cunt dies and it becomes bad taste (there's irony for you given he has defined the expression in life). Like most frivolous people deemed 'national treasures' I say, okay teat them as thus, like The Crown Jewels and lock them up in the Tower Of London - albeit in a different part and re-fill the moat - just in case


  1. Well put Caro, if only we had a crystal ball. Then knob heads like Brucie could of been eliminated before, well before they were out of nappies I suspect.