So what’s the spawn’s name now then?  Can you really call your child Clickbait?

Well, thank fuck he didn’t decide to give the character a Scottish accent. Yanks are incapable of doing more than Sean Connery or Brigadoon when it comes to my wee country’s accents. Christ, imagine the hilarity if one of them attempted a Welsh accent...

These mediocres aren’t ready for Rufus Sewell.

You do realise you’re doing the Russian troll-farm’s jobs for them, right? Ukraine is being invaded and the most you can come out with is a “like, oh my god, guyzzzz, stop, like lusting over the Ukrainian presidennnt because it’s like, so not cool!” No wonder you work as a “freelancer” (is that the trendy word…

The Dutch will want a word with you, Shure. (Granted, they may have to crouch to hear what you’re saying, what with them being ridiculously tall...) And don’t come for their muisjes...

Oh, Zoolander...we need a moment to mourn Z3...who fancies a drink?

Teh floof!  Now, direct him to the Hype House so he can take out that subspecies of shite!

You and I know that Harris never wrote a book titled that.  Don’t be smart, dear.  It doesn’t look good on you.

See, I’ve started watching Station Eleven and the differences between those two are genuinely stunning. Y had a problem in that the leads were, well, unlikeable as fuck, whereas Station Eleven has got some genuinely fantastic characters to watch. Hell, even child-Kirsten is compelling.

Yes, you would.  You don’t seem very aware of the socio-political climate that helped create bands like Blur, Pulp, Oasis or Elastica.  Like I said - Britpop was over when Tony Blair got into Downing Street.  

Oasis “didn’t wait”, Jesse. Britpop was over by the time Tony Blair got into Downing Street and everyone started to realise that Britpop all sounded the same, miserable and depressing shite churned out by thugs with an Argos electric guitar. Post-Britpop would claim the crown and, oh, what a gloriously giddy spectacle…

Double-yup. And let’s not forget the other thing that was happening in 1997 - the change from Britpop to Post-Britpop.  Utterly fascinating time, seriously fascinating.

This.  Oh so much this.  (And the school bullies comment, definitely.  The mid-90s suddenly saw a whole fleet of bullies at my school pick up guitars because of the Gallagher thugs).  How to put it to the Americans....Oasis was too much of a British cultural thing to translate properly and distil (as so many things…

Ah, Atkins...I think Foamy said it best (waaaaaaay back in 2004 too!)

Fun fact:  I’ll live a lot longer than those brats.  Peachy!

The “foie gras” scene made me cackle out loud.  Scared my cat as a result and god help me when he decides to enact revenge...

“Red Sauce”. “Family-style”. “Fettucine Alfredo”.

In the words of my Grandmother: their mothers should have offered to swallow that night.  Fuck off with your wee “protest”, you little pack of in-bred shitstains and eat a fucking salad and drink some water.  Pricks.

Good god, but that was an epic rant. I can just see you, standing there in front of a row of little wombscrapings, hurling that at them. The fat ginger one on the far-left? She’s already snottery-crying and demanding to speak to the manager mummy.

If you weren’t turned on by at least someone in that video? Your loins were made of puritanical marble. I must have gawped more times at the upside-down-dude more times than it was healthy. Good God. (Oh, the guy in the armchair. That there’s John Pearson. Good god yes please.