There Are No Tits Here. Hazel Irvine’s Or Otherwise.

A few weeks ago I reported that this blog had been laid siege to by a deviant of the worst order. Some diabolical pest has typed in “Hazel Irvine tits” into a search engine, one would have to presume to ogle at images of the diminutive Scottish sportscaster’s breasts.

I am sad to relay that affairs have darkened since. The fiend has visited again, three times. Firstly he or she landed following the query “Hazel Irvine sex tits”. I may be naive but I don’t know what a “sex tit” is. I’m pretty sure it’s bad though. And again today, two more hits: “snooker Hazel Irvine sex tits” and “snooker Hazel Irvine sex titss” reveals some sickening fetish for Hazel Irvine in sexy bar game situations. As well as negligent spelling.

I urge this person to reveal themselves, figuratively speaking obviously, and perhaps some kind of support can be sought. There are people who can treat you, injections they can give you. I know a good surgeon if necessary.

Not Nice To See You

I sometimes tune into Strictly Come Dancing. Mainly because there are few more amusing sights on the television than an arrhythmical man enthusiastically dancing the salsa. At one stage during the footage of Chris Hollins’ rehearsals it actually looked like he was fucking the wall.

One point of note was when Bruce Forsyth heard one of the many voices in his head – this time from the producers – and interrupted proceedings with an unduly excitable announcement that BBC1 were due to broadcast the highlights of the Ukraine vs England game later that evening. Nice to see the highlights from Dnipropetrovsk, to see the highlights from Dnipropetrovsk nice!

Brucie had clearly baulked at the price of the online subscription to watch the match because he surely wouldn’t have been so keen to promote the whole sorry affair. I ended up watching People Do The Funniest Things on ITV which is the most damning indictment of the quality of the football that I can think of. Sadly it wasn’t starring Rio Ferdinand.