Happy 1000th Post!

I realised last week that this post would be my 1000th. Given that most blogs rarely make it into double figures, I think 1,000 is a pretty impressive landmark. When I reflect on my writing, I'm usually overly critical, worrying that its in-the-moment nature tends to limit its shelf-life. So I thought that I'd take a look back at my favourite posts and select some quotes that still stand up. These are the things I've enjoyed writing the most, over the last five years. I hope you enjoy reading them.

On Casey Bachelor - Casey calls herself a model, but if you only appear in things like Nuts and Zoo, you’re not actually a model; you’re a stripper who can’t dance.

On Fashion Icons - To say that they spend their time designing outfits that beautify and celebrate the female form, the most successful fashion designers are a breathtakingly unattractive bunch. Karl Lagerfeld looks like Billy Idol's blind granddad, and Donatella Versace resembles a hard-up porn star carved out of a giant pork scratching.

On The Jump – Steve Redgrave’s slalom is very impressive, and he’s tighter on the poles than UKIP, but I’m distracted by the deafening clang of cowbells on his descent – like someone’s jammed a goat in a tumble dryer.

On The Taste - When the dialogue isn’t pure smut, it’s loaded with overblown self-importance: “You lost me at the puree” growls Bourdain disdainfully, like he’s serving divorce papers in a tempura batter.

On The Chicken Shop - With aspiration and opportunity at an all-time low, the chicken shop represents a nation in stagnation. Food selected purely for its low price, rather than taste or provenance. Social interactions that depend on name badges to create the illusion of intimacy. And a zesty lemon-scented wet wipe to clear away a lifetime of broken dreams. The sad reality of the chicken shop is that, despite Little Mix‘s empowering assertions, some wings were only made to fry.

On Movie Femme Fatales - “Have you ever fucked on cocaine, Nick? It’s intense.” Catherine Tramell isn’t the most subtle pick-up artist, but you have to admire her front. Then again, it’s hard to miss when she keeps uncrossing her legs like that.

On Blonde Electric - They’re the most irritating twosome since an Irish obstetrician said “Congratulations Mrs Grimes, it’s a pair of cunts.”

On The Voice - Ash Morgan makes a big deal about being from The Valleys, but I guess everywhere looks like a valley when you’re built like a hillock.

On The Apprentice - Doctor Leah is decidedly unimpressed with Zee’s hubris, and makes her counter-pitch: “I’m a good leader, great with finance. I don’t have a lot of local knowledge but I can convert the currency really easily.” After all, isn’t that what they really need: a pouty-lipped Foreign Exchange? The other team is being led by silver fox Myles Morduant, who sounds like one of Harry Potter’s unforgivable curses.

On Louis Spence - His special skill appears to be constantly turning around and splaying his fingers. He’s developed an annoying habit of answering his own questions, and uses far to many s-sounds for someone with such a freakishly short tongue. Most of the time he sounds like someone trying to throttle a rattlesnake.

On Lauren Harries - Clearly, enough time has passed for her to convince herself that she was a child prodigy, in spite of the archive video evidence that shows the young ‘expert’ declaring “Antiques should always look old.” Lauren has been living as a woman for 15 years, and dressing like a Rovers barmaid for ten of them.

On ITV shit-com Duty Free - The would-be couple’s illicit liaisons became increasingly improbable, not least because Van Gyseghem constantly wore an expression that suggested she’d located the source of an unpleasant smell in her Marbella hotel room. My money’s on Brut aftershave and a pair of sweat-damaged espadrilles.

On Joey Essex - The fact is, this show is all about one man – Joey Essex. Thicker than a bucket of hippo cum, Joey is all set to be the star of this series. With those ridiculous Daffy Duck teeth that are bright enough to attract moths, he’s the gift that keeps on giving.

Boris Johnson - A shapeless suet dumpling, dressed in a suit he found on a pile outside Oxfam, he’s successfully convinced a majority of voters that he’s the best person to run one of the most diverse and dynamic cities on Earth. It doesn’t seem to matter that he’s barely fit to lead a team on Call My Bluff.

On Sam Bailey’s X-Factor Win - And finally, it’s time for the least surprising victory since Kim Jong-un took part in the primary school egg and spoon race.

On Question Time - The one stand-out moment of John Lydon’s appearance, was him referring to the Barclays rate-fixing as “shenanigans” – as though cheating the country was akin to a pair of hapless removalists trying to get a piano up a flight of stairs.

On Steve Jobs’ Passing - Critics scoff, and tell us to get a life. But only because they haven’t drunk the Appletini flavoured Kool-Aid. And that’s the thing about Steve Jobs. He doesn’t just leave behind a legacy of intuitive, beautifully designed gadgetry. He leaves behind a movement of loyal followers who will mourn his passing as if he was a member of their extended family. Steve, you made a cult out of all of us. Damn you autocorrect…

On Iceland’s Sponsorship of I’m A Celebrity - I’m not entirely sure that a show about people cramming foul things into their mouths is the best advertising platform for a supermarket chain. Especially since Iceland’s exclusive £1 deep-pan doner kebab pizza would have me hungrily eyeing up a wallaby’s ball-sack.

On Tom Daley’s Splash - Tonight, Omid Djalili, Jade Ewen, Jake Canuso, Helen Lederer and Jenni Falconer “will be facing the most terrifying experience of their lives”. Fuck the ten metre board, it’s going to be more frightening trying to get an agent to take their calls tomorrow morning. In standard reality show fashion, we’ve even got a panel of judges, comprised of Team GB coach Andy Banks, Olympic diver Leon Taylor, and Jo Brand, who is to diving what Ann Widdecombe is to nipple clamps.

On Desperate Scousewives – Jodie is now interviewing for a salon job with Mark and Chris. Mark tells Jodie “We’re really looking at anal bleaching”, to which she responds with “That’s a bit Hollywood isn’t it. We’re only in Anfield.” She’s got a point, I can see plenty of orange twats, but not a single pasty arsehole.

On TV Schedules - Wednesday evenings don’t exactly constitute an embarrassment of riches, so I’m forced to choose between Two Jews On A Cruise, Claire Richards Slave To Food, or Sun, Sex and Suspicious Parents. Somewhere in West London, a cabal of commissioning editors are flicking through a dog-eared copy of Charlie Brooker’s TV Go Home and laughing their arses off.

On Donald Trump Jr’s Elephant Hunting - Whereas most people might view these gentle giants as one of nature’s most awe-inspiring marvels, these cunts only see a matching set of umbrella stands.

On The Link Between Dolly and Gaga – Lady Gaga managed to steal all the limelight by turning up in a giant yellow plastic egg, like the world’s most self-involved Kinder Surprise.

On Extreme Couponing - All the superlatives in the world can’t disguise the fact that this is a show about people with obsessive-compulsive disorder, panic-buying enough laundry detergent to last them well into the Rapture. You’ll hear them proudly stating that they spend up to “30 hours a week couponing”. Just picture how much richer they’d be if they’d actually spent that time working, rather than buying a metric tonne of handwash. It’s called a false economy.

On Ron Jeremy - The last three decades have seen him doing more ploughing than all the potato farmers in Norfolk. Some people’s beauty lies below the surface, Ron’s lies below the belt. He may have been at the back of the queue when God handed out beauty, but he pushed to the front like a German at Disneyland when it came to cock-size.

On Jodie Marsh - But the ultimate case of ‘pot calling kettle an orange whore’ came this week, when Jodie Marsh accused the carotene crew of The Only Way Is Essex of giving her fair county a bad name.

On Keeping Up With The Kardashians - Here we are at the start of Season Six, and this is my first real brush with the Kardashian Klan, even though I’ve already used the ‘K’ key so much that my laptop thinks I’m a white supremacist.

On Sugar Daddies - The air-quotes around ‘financial assistance’ are particularly telling since, by all accounts, any transactions taking place will be predominantly nightstand-based. Maybe I’m counting my tricks before they’ve matched, but it certainly seems as though the producers are looking to cast their newest stars from the world’s oldest profession.

On Michael O’Leary’s Cost Cutting - If you’ve ever watched one of the Airport movies, you’ll know that pilots have the second most dangerous job in the world, after Naomi Campbell’s PA. When they’re not having heart attacks or getting food poisoning mid-flight, they’re being hit in the face with a microlite. With no George Kennedy or Charlton Heston in the control tower, the stewardesses will need to swot up beforehand, so they’re ready in case of a crisis. Just don’t be surprised if the training for an emergency landing is covered in less time than it takes to microwave an all-day breakfast panini.

On Hilary Devey - This week’s would-be entrepreneurs are a fairly agreeable lot. We have Nick, Richard and Sebastian, who’ve invented an automated pint-pouring device to help bar staff multitask. Hilary helpfully points out that “I’ve been in and out of pubs all my life.” My parents had a name for women like her.

On TOWIE - In preparation for tonight’s episode, I checked out the official TOWIE Twitter feed, which asked “Who’s looking forward to this evening’s episode of TOWIE? It’s going to be explosive!” Perhaps Nanny Pat’s sausage plait needed a bit longer in the oven.

On Katie Price’s Search for a Supermodel - The narrator tells us that “from small beginnings, Katie Price has made it big,” thanks largely to a parade of surgeons who knew where to hide the air valves. She’s now one of the UK’s most talked about women, mostly amongst people who say: “What the fuck does she look like?”

On The Devil’s Dinner Party – Host Pip Torrens looks and acts like Lurch from the Addams Family, with a smidge of Evan Davies’ creepy ‘leather daddy’ vibe. As his guests make their awkward introductions, he looms into view to announce, “I make the Devil’s mischief. It’s time to play.” Strap on your ball-gags, tonight’s safety word is “crabcake”.