Bitch slap that Kelvin Mackenzie

We found out in the middle of the night that one of the performers from Naked Boys Singing died in his sleep on Monday night. They think it was an aneurism. It's almost impossible to comprehend, and Nathan has taken the news very badly. The cast of the show were his "boys", his family, and Matt's light shone incredibly brightly.

Maybe it's because of the requiem, or because we're just getting older, but death feels like its circling ever closer. One of our choir members played the Requiem masters to his partner yesterday, who collapsed in tears and said; "I don't want anyone to go, but they have to don't they?" A truer word was never spoken. 

I see that the Hillsborough tragedy report is now in, revealing gross negligence and a massive cover-up on the part of police, politicians, football stadium managers and the media. What a surprise. 

Apparently if the emergency services had got their acts together more swiftly, some 40 of the 90 who died in the crush, may well have survived. Frankly,  I'm not quite sure how a football match could even have been started whilst thousands of fans were still streaming into the stands. 

What I didn't realise was that the ghastly Sun newspaper, ran a front page exclusive four days after the tragedy, under a headline which simply said "the truth." This article tried to blame the Liverpool fans for what happened, claiming they were pickpocketing victims and urinating on policemen who were trying to help. 

Meanwhile, the authorities were running police checks and testing alcohol levels in blood of all those who were killed - including the children - so they could claim they were all drunken criminals. 

The man in charge of The Sun during this time was that odious, fat, grotesquely oily turd, Kelvin MacKenzie. Am I alone in thinking it's time for these power-hungry, right-wing, self-proclaimed saviours of the nations morality to face criminal charges? Throw the bastard in jail for inciting hatred. It's not enough to claim you were fed incorrect information. If you're a journalist, don't go to print until you're certain! I loathe him every time he appears on daytime television spouting his old-fashioned, fat-faced drivel, and would cheerfully bitch slap him with a pair of old lady knickers shouting "drink my rancid panty soup, you oleaginous twat!" 

There. I've said it now. I can go to Ibiza in peace. Did I mention I'm going to Ibiza? I'm going to Ibiza!