Taboo Sucks, To You...

I see that Chip Dale is back and has blogged for two days straight! Why did nobody tell me? And how long will those pineapple-scented thighs keep up in the current blogging climate?

Things have changed since he last graced us with his innocent optimism and questionable quips. Of course, it would be churlish to remind people of the poorly written posts that characterised much of his blog output, so, instead, I simply welcome him back like a long-lost relative from the side of the family that nobody cares to talk about because they live on Merseyside and drive taxi cabs for a living.

Despite my initial wariness of Chip – I’m still not convinced that it’s healthy to be so obsessed with thongs – I have been slowly developing a soft spot for the man who has overcome so many obvious physical difficulties to succeed in the emotionally demanding world of male stripping. Admittedly, I have a similar attitude towards Gordon Brown and politics, though there’s also a nail gun fetish somewhere in that mix. Chip, however, just brings out the best in me and I’m glad to have him around so long as we’re separated by a few hundred miles.

It’s one of the drawbacks of being famous that people often stop me in the street and demand to know what I think about stripping as a career. ‘I lack the flexibility,’ I reply, though in truth, I encourage all men to take off their clothes for money unless they suffer some obvious physical defect such as good looks or a perfect body. It’s why I could never make a career as ‘Big Dick Madeley’. The Great Sculptor damned me by using clay free of blemishes. There’s not a wart on my body; just shapely legs, firm buttocks, and a thin waste angling nicely into armpits to die for. And as Chip proves, to be a male stripper, you have to put all your obvious flaws on show. It’s what makes for a rowdy evening and Judy return home at four thirty in the morning threatening me with a thong slingshot.

The world of female strippers is, of course, something quite different. It’s all about darkened booths heavy with a sordid musk and fetid bodily odours reminiscent of Clapham Common on New Year’s Eve. By contrast, is there anything funnier than seeing a man strip for a living? I remember thinking it strange when there was an outcry about the stripping postmen on our final Channel 4 show. People complained that it was wrong if me to enjoy Judy’s obvious embarrassment and that she could laugh at another person’s anatomy.

In these days of ‘right thinking’, we’re not meant to express an opinion about (or find humour in) anything out of the ordinary – though as the great S.J. Perelman once said, ‘humour, in its simplest form, is the unexpected [...] the sudden disruption of thought, the conjoining of unlikely elements’. It’s why we can laugh at a funeral, in the middle of a battle, or during Bruce Forsyth’s act. Stripping provides instantaneous access (or exposure) to the unexpected and though Chip would probably disagree: his success probably has more to do with embarrassed laughter than it has anything to do with his sex appeal.

After all, some of the oldest jokes in our culture are directed to people with large noses or enormous bottoms. What is the Venus of Willendorf if it isn’t a series of Benny Hill reduced to fit your hand? Unlike our primitive ancestors, we’ve simply moved on to laugh at oddly placed tattoos and tricks involving novelty sailor hats.

I suppose all forms of stripping appeal to the prurient part of our nature, where the infantile taboos lurk. Yet men like Chip seems particularly good at demonstrating that taboo and humour are reverse sides of the same screwed-up coin. Just ask the greatest stand-up of all time, Sigmund Freud, who often shocked audiences with his jokes about Dora, a plate of spinach and the baboon called Ferdinand. Comedy trails after taboo and skirts around the acceptable.

Political correctness may currently define what is acceptable but its strictures will never abide. I have lost track of the number of times I’ve been told off for using the word ‘midget’ recently but my mind naturally reaches for it when looking for a shorthand way of expressing the unexpected. Midget. Earlobe. Lubricated. Onion. Stripper. Owl. I know that three of these words might offend people below four feet but I have never heard either Ant or Dec complain. And is there anything funnier than a midget stripper? A lubricated onion? A heavily earlobed Owl? Unless, of course, you’re the producers at Channel 4 who wouldn’t allow the talent to book the acts for the final show of a successful series.

So, welcome back Chip. It’s just a shame you’re so tall and not an owl.

The Madeley Manchester Midget Census

Today’s count: 3.

A new record.

10 Pages of Funny

So, I finally managed it. In the last couple of days, I’ve written the first ten pages of the sitcom. Whether it’s any good or not is not important. I’m just relieved that I’m finally out of the dry spell that’s bothered me for about a month. The new job completely broke the routine I’d kept to for the last couple of years and which had made me so prolific. The job has also made me much too reclusive when I get home. I’d stopped answering phone calls from Fry, who insists that I help him finish the libretto for his opera about the iPhone when he gets back from America. I’ve not seen Oddie for days; the scent of spring having sent him off looking for the first frog spawn of the season. Even Judy has deserted me for the fresh air of the garden. From my office, I look out on her now, her elbows deep in the loam. Will there ever be such a women to sit on a daytime couch and touch Richard E. Grant’s knee? I think not.

Now that my competition submission if written, I’m going to give it a final polish, add a few more jokes, and then send it off to the BBC. I doubt if they’ll like it. It’s probably far too Channel 4 for their tastes, what with all the midgets and macaroni cheese. Perhaps I should ask you to judge it for me before I waste postage sending it. Only, that would require my publishing it to this blog and I’m not so keen on giving it away for free. Why let the competition know what I’m up to and give them a chance to write something better, with more midgets and cheese?

Liberated from my mental struggles, I’m now in the mood for a walk. I always have my best ideas when I’m walking. I fancy nipping to the local Tesco and spending money on strange forms of bread which I’ll never eat. However, I mustn’t. This is a month for tightening the belt, readjusting the braces and even rearranging my sock drawer. I don’t even intend to buy a single book this month. Well, that’s a lie. I bought James Wood’s ‘How Fiction Works’, which I recommend without reservation if you’re into intelligent writing about books. I think it was buying this book that shook me back into activity. Thank you Mr. James Wood. (And I loved you in Salvador.)

However, I have one bit of bad news. My bad luck is clearly spreading. I can only give you ample warning that if you find that you have inadvertently given yourself a paper cut, you must sever your arm at the elbow to stop the bad luck spreading to the rest of your body. I send this advice out to Elberry, in particular, who I see has failed to get funding for a PhD.

I suggest to him that he write his thesis anyway. Those of us who lack the patronage of a publisher to fund our writing must struggle to do what’s important to us. I see that he makes the point that office work is tiring not because it’s difficult but because it’s easy. I understand this so well. I think it was Joseph Heller who wrote 'Catch 22' in his spare time, at night, after working all day (possibly in a proofreading post in Manchester). I’m trying my best to write after a day working on 'Eye of the Storm 2' but I would say that the majority of we mortals cannot succeed like that. The analogy we’re looking for is that of a car’s gearbox. Any driver will tell you that it’s impossible to move immediately from first to fifth gear. The two extremes are equivalent to the way the mind works when doing office work and doing original writing. You need to build up speed to do the latter. This can take hours, if not days or weeks. The other can be done as soon as your arse hits your office seat at 8 o’clock in the morning.

Unclean

Sniffling, coughing, sneezing and shaking: I’m down with a cold. It’s why I’ve been quiet for the last few days. Although it’s a sickness of relatively minor proportions, it has joined forces with my general ‘feeling bad for myself’ and forced me to my bed. The only good to come of it is that I’m reading Arthur Conan-Doyle’s ‘The Lost World’, with half a dozen other books lined up after it. I’m working on ‘Eye of the Storm 2’ on Tuesday and Wednesday but hope to have something more interesting to tell you then.

I should have known the week would end up like this. I spent two days up in Manchester, a fascinating city that's undergoing something of a renaissance but is currently full of people coughing and sneezing.

It's always fascinating to go back and see how the city has changed and continues to change. Some of the new architecture is just stunning, though my day back up north was marred by a moment on my way home when we left the station and passed the university and the 'arnes Wallace Building'. Well, that's what the large sigh described it as. For the sake of a missing 'B', my visit to Manchester would have been full of good memories of some simply stunning design. Instead, I've been disappointed that people still don't cherish a man much after my own heart: a truly independent thinker whose garden shed gave birth to many of this country's most important weapons. I suppose it shocked me to see his name treated with so little respect. Wallace and I are men whose careers have followed very similar paths. Both considered a little eccentric, we have only been recognised as geniuses after years of hard work. Where he invented the bouncing bomb, I've got detailed designs for my so called 'jauntily skipping' bomb whose lethal cargo is delivered with a spring in the step. Barnes Wallace designed the Wellington bomber whereas my designs for the stealth bomber I like to call 'The Slipper' are locked away deep inside the Ministry of Defence. I came up with the idea when Judy kicked off her slippers after a particularly tiring day. We're talking about a weapons delivery system that puts it deadly cargo right beneath your nose before it goes off. Moreover, we've both been played by Michael Redgrave in film versions of our lives (respectively, in 'The Dambusters' [1955] and 'They Call Me Genius' [1982]).

Before I climb back into my sick bed, I just want to say a final thing about Vanessa Feltz. It's really quite regrettable that my previous post -- written at the height of mental exhaustion -- became an excuse for jokes about bald midgets. What were you thinking? Where the notion that two bald midgets resemble Vanessa Feltz's bosom comes from, I really don't know. In my experience, the two things have very little in common. For example, even the smallest and baldest of midgets has two nipples which is a 100% more than you'll find on your average breast. I suggest that you familiarise yourselves with either more breasts or more midgets.

The Effect of Gravity on Vanessa Feltz's Cleavage: A Case For Reconsidering Newtonian Mechanics

Today's toils have left me extremely weary tonight yet not so tired that I can't relay news of a fascinating scientific breakthrough. One of the many pleasures of writing a blog is to find like-minded souls out there who are willing to share interesting facts with me. Today it's the turn of 'Alan' who has directed my attention to something I've been tying to prove for many years: that Newton's laws of gravity are all wrong.

As Alan explains, this can finally be demonstrated by examining the motion of the tides:

"The sea is NOT pulled from the top but is pushed from the bottom. The pressure wave from the inner core propagates to the surface where the seabed rises by about a meter - this is what is seen by satellite. It is the motion of the moon which causes a huge amount of rotational energy to reach the Earth's crust which is the cause of the ocean tides we experience on a day-to-day basis."

Now, I find this news quite exciting. As Alan is good enough to point out: I'm quite well known for my "'maverick attitude' to modernism and science in general". Indeed, the main reason we've never had Professor Stephen Hawking on the show is that we disagree on string theory and the nature of black holes. Well, it's that and the fact we've never bothered to have a ramp installed in the Channel 4 studios.

However, irrespective of my disagreements with the man, I've often sent him brief notes about the profound insights I often have into the working of gravity. Mainly, I should add, they're about its effect on Vanessa Feltz's bosom. Many a night I've laid awake wondering if Newtonian physics can explain if her bosom swells from the top or is it merely a by-product of something that's happening down at her ankles? I've done my best to test my theories empirically by seeing how high her bosom rises if you stand on her toes. However, experimental data is limited since I've find it very difficult to get close enough to reach her toes. Which is why I once hired a midget to get under the enormous overhang. Unfortunately, the midget was too light and any effect of his standing on Vanessa's toes was negated by the strength of her red leather stilettos. Until the time comes when I can hire an obese midget (there aren't as many of them as you think and Oddie doesn't count), we'll never know the answer to this mystery...

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. Gravity.

If Alan is indeed right and the sea bed does rise then it might well be that tides have nothing to do with the pull of the moon on the ocean's water. It leads me to wonder if this explains why it's often harder to walk home at night than it is to walk to work in the morning. Could I be climbing an additional few feet as the effect of the moon is brought into play? Might all bosoms swell at night? Do I always walk uphill in moonlight? Would it work if I hired two midgets to each stand on Vanessa Feltz's feet?

All interesting questions, I'm sure you'll agree. However, I'm in need my sleep so I'll have to leave it to you to work out the maths. I can't trust my own calculations when I'm in this state and I'm not totally sure that I'm making complete sense tonight.

Friday's Search Terms

Some days are particularly fruitful in the world of the internet search engines. In the last twenty four hours, I’ve had visitors searching for the following terms, which I shall now attempt to address to the best of my considerable ability.

"Who is Mrs Jeremy Clarkson?"

Mrs Jeremy Clarkson is the wife of Jeremy Clarkson, TV host, the nation’s favourite baiter of badgers, and professional strongman. Her name is Frances and she holds the female land speed record which she set at 655mph in Jeremy’s rocket car.

"Do women fancy trannies?"

Tough question. I would say that it depends on the tranny. Generally woman prefer MP3 players as the sound quality on even the most modern transistor radio isn’t as good as you can get from a basic MP3 player. Whereas MP3 players now come with touch screen controls, trannies are generally stuck with knobs which can be fiddly and hard to use when your fingers are cold.

"Tell me about midgets in orange jackets"

Good question. Simply put: it is the law. Since 2004, all European midgets have been forced to wear luminous orange jackets to make them visible in crowds. This rule was brought into effect after a spate of high profile accidents involving taller people tripping over midgets in public places.

"Stephen Fry taxi blog"

Stephen does write a blog from his taxi. The address of the ‘Stephen Fry Taxi Blog’ is known to only a few close friends and I couldn’t possibly publish it here. It is, I can assure you, one of the best blogs out there and even wittier than his public blog. No, honestly, I wish you could read it. It is genius. Pure genius.

"Richard Madeley penis model"

So what if I did? I was young and needed the money. The pictures were all tastefully shot in black and white and though I was nude there was nothing wrong with that. It was the 1970s. We were all nude back then. Except for Harold Wilson, who you wouldn’t want to see nude. Even with his pipe. You would want to see me nude, though. Prints are available at a reasonable price. Email me if you’re interested.

"Technically a midget in UK"

To be a midget in the UK you have to be less that four feet nine inches tall. The most surprising aspect of this fact isn’t that Ronnie Corbett is classed as a midget but that Noel Edmonds is too. It’s something of an in-joke within the media, just don’t mention it to Noel’s face… the next time you’re down there.

"Midget riding a donkey pic"

Officially this is Google’s most popular search term. There are many images of midgets riding donkeys, but the most famous resource is probably www.midgetsridingadonkey.com.

"Does Chuck Norris wear dentures?"

Yes. As I've explained on many previous occasions, he has two pairs. One for everyday use and another for films when he wants to sneer. His sneering dentures are slightly larger and ride higher on the gum.

"How did Eric Church meet his wife"

What an interesting question! I’m glad somebody has finally asked me that. Many of you won’t know who Eric Church is, which is odd given that he’s the UK’s top fiddle-playing gynaecologist. He’s played the fiddle between the thighs of some of the country’s most famous women and the odd man too. He met his wife, Sandra, at a banjo and fiddle convention in Stockport. Sandra is an expert banjo player as well as being an ear, nose and throat expert with a Middlesex Hospital Trust.

"Richard Madeley bog"

This happened only three minutes ago and I had to include it since it’s such an odd thing to ask me about. There only interesting fact I can tell you about this is that there are no locks in the Madeley home. Digestion is a normal function of the human body so why should we be ashamed and hide it away? I’ve lost count of the number of times that Judy has walked in on me mid-movement. In fact, some of the best conversations we’ve ever had took place while I was elbow to kneecap. I recommend it to all married couples. Unmarried too. If it doesn’t break you, it will bring you closer together.

[Update: Judy has just pointed out that 'bog' might be a mistyped 'blog' and I needn't have gone into all this detail. However, I think it's interesting and helpful advice, so I'll let it stay.]

"Does Chuck Norris have any hobbies?"

I can barely keep up this afternoon with all the queries coming into the blog. Now a visitor from Dallas asks if Chuck Norris has any hobbies. I’ve had to ring Stephen for an answer to this one and he’s quite certain that Chuck does have hobbies. Apparently, Chuck’s hobbies are breeding horses, sculpting decorative mullions, oriental cooking, and Subbuteo. I'm glad we could help.

Official Statement by Richard Madeley

The news that we’re giving up our afternoon slot on Channel 4 should come as no surprise to the three of you who’ve been reading this blog regularly. This is the official statement I’ll be shortly releasing to the media.

In the last few months, the direction in which both Judy and I had hoped to take our show has become increasingly at odds with Channel 4’s attempts to make us more culturally diverse. We attended a meeting last week at Channel 4 headquarters at which we were asked if we would speak Polish for 10% of the show. Judy refused. Then they asked me if I could ‘smile more’ the female viewers and ‘leave an extra shirt button undone’ for the 57% of our audience who are male and gay. I also refused. The breaking point came with their attempts to force us to have a regular feature dealing with mental heath issues for nanuses. Channel 4 wanted to call it ‘Little People’s Mind Dell’. I wanted to call it ‘Mental Midget’s Corner’. We were at loggerheads and I’m afraid at that point it was obvious that we would have to leave Channel 4.

What does this mean for Richard&Judy? Judy will be releasing her own statement shortly, though she has been saying for some time that she wants to spend more time in the garden. I support her in her decision, so long as she doesn’t expect me to weed the shrubbery. I intend to carry on with my own projects. I have some excellent opportunities coming up on the satellite channels and I’m particularly looking forward to narrating a ‘A Brief History of Bicycle Pumps’ for the Discovery Channel in December. I will then be travelling to Humberside to look at the creative uses they’re found for scrap pig iron. ‘Richard Madeley in Humberside Looking At The Creative Uses For Scrap Pig Iron’ will be shown on UK Gold in the New Year. I’ve also had offers to host shows for UKTV, The Biography Channel, and Bits and Babes UK.

I ask that nobody shed a tear for Richard&Judy. This is the beginning of a new adventure. We hope to see you all soon, and, speaking for myself, hope you will all come over to Channel 643 next Tuesday evening, where I’ll be demonstrating Ronco’s new 'Fuzztastic Hair Curlers' on Shop Vector+.

Judy's Onions

I found a large sack on onions on the kitchen table this morning. It seems that Judy has been chatting with out local farmer and has decided that there’s going to be a regular ‘Judy Makes’ segment on the show. She’s been trying to perfect her mother’s recipe for onion soup and intends to make it on the first show of the new series.

‘That’s a brilliant idea,’ I told her as I poured myself a coffee. ‘Excellent work. Don’t know why we hire so many researchers when we’ve already got brilliance on the Madeley premises.’

She blushed. ‘It’s just something I’ve been thinking of doing for a while.’

I waited to allow my congratulations to sink in. She suddenly paled.

‘Oh no,’ she said.

I held up my hands. ‘You know the deal, Judy. If you get your own segment to do what you want, then I get a segment to do what I want. It’s written in both contracts, TV and marriage.’

She began to tremble as she man to fondle a large onion. ‘So what will you do?’

I pushed my hands into my pockets and walked to the kitchen window. The garden looked wonderful, touched by winter frost and the sunshine and all…

‘I’ve been thinking a lot about little people,’ I said.

‘Little people?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘You know... Like midgets.’

She dropped an onion and, together, we watched it roll across the kitchen floor.

‘Midgets,’ I said again and walked from the room.

Half an hour later, I had a phone call from the producer on holiday in South Africa.

‘What’s this I hear about midgets?’ she asked. ‘You do know that it’s not the politically correct term.’

‘Have you heard about Judy’s plans for her onions?’ I calmly replied.

‘Her onions are gone,’ said the producer. ‘I’ll tell her than Channel 4 have a no onion policy before seven o’clock at night. The onions are history.’

‘Well so are my midgets.’

She rang off.

After I’d finished reading the paper, I wandered back into the kitchen where I found Judy crying.

‘Don’t be like that,’ I said. ‘You know this is a team. We can’t go off doing things on our own. People need to think we’re joined at the hip.’

‘I’m not crying at that,’ she said. ‘I’ve rubbed onion into my eyes.’

I wrapped my arm around her and gave her a good squeeze. ‘Now do you see why I had to act.’

‘I suppose,’ she smiled.

‘And that’s why I always have the better ideas,’ I added to make sure I'd made my point.

‘What do you mean?’ she sniffled.

‘Well,’ I said, giving her a hug, ‘when have you ever been made to cry because you’ve stripped a midget?’