Written by Erskin Quint
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Tuesday, 28 December 2010

image for UK Winter Misery Set To Continue
An Old Semi-Rigid Dirigible Falls To Earth: Bruce Forsyth Yesterday

The hardest winter in living memory seems set to return with a vengeance to the UK before long, writes Belinda Barrelscraper, Storm on the Cultural Horizon Correspondent.

The UK is currently enjoying a brief respite from a record-breaking winter of discontent, unlike the blizzard-bound North-Eastern US. Britain's temperatures have risen above freezing this week for the first time for ages, and people have breathed a sigh of relief.

However, briefly-basking Brits are now being warned to brace themselves and batten down the hatches for a fresh wave of mid-winter misery.

For looming on the horizon is a massive cultural storm-cloud that is likely to batter hapless Britain into submission. And the storm-cloud is an airborn entity forming in the dreadful image of James Corden. The flabby flim flam merchant and Chubby chancer Corden has recently been visible only in a Gavin and Stacey repeat, and at the BBC Sports Personality of the Year show, where he had himself pumped full of hot air and tethered to the LG Arena, to float above the ceremony like a semi-human Zeppelin with a huge banner tied to his neck proclaiming

I am James Corden and I am a Famous Mediocrity Blah Blah Whimper Prattle Arse-Lick Suck

Unlike the infamous Hindenburg, which was destroyed in a terrible self-consuming conflagration in 1937, James Corden failed to crash, burst and be consumed by his own gases in a testament to the danger and hubristic folly of ludicrously-inflated airships. Indeed, his absence - itself only relative to a previously ubiquitous omnipresent everybleedinwhereness - is sadly set to cease any second now, according to a source close to Mediocrity Dirigibles.

I spoke to my source - who is close to the team keeping James Corden's behemoth-bulked balloon of banality inflated and flying high - yesterday outside the Hyperbole House HQ of Inflated Airborn Egos, one of the many firms helping to overcrowd the contemporary celebrity airways.

My source - who was only able to speak briefly, as he was suffering from wind and a distended bladder - aired his views to me as follows, as we watched the shuddering vastnesses of Vernon Kay and Matt Cardle lurch heavenward, buoyed by the wind of idiocy in their ascent through the troposphere of triteness, up via the mesosphere of mediocrity, in an icarus-apeing bid for the exosphere of excremental ego-excess.

"James Corden's official classification is that of a non-rigid airborn celebrity arsehole. He is known in the technical terminology as a BLIMP - a bullshitting loudmouthed idiotic mediocre prat. Less substantial in construction than semi-rigid or fully-rigid examples, BLIMPS can nevertheless rise very high very fast, so long as they can avoid puncture and the catastrophic deinflations that follow it.

"The thing with BLIMPS is to get them as high as we can as quickly as we are able", my source told me, between belching and inhaling helium, as we gazed upward at the bizarre, angular hideousness of Gok Wan that described a mincing motion on its predatory path between the perforated homosphere and the ionosphere of infantile emotional idiocies. "Gok is feeding again. He's like a kind of cross between a Chinese dragon kite and a killer whale you know", he whispered, mysteriously, as we watched the terrible probings of this queerest of carnivores.

"With James Corden, though he has been in the hangar for maintenance - because these BLIMPS are pretty fragile, if they get caught up in anything resembling ground-level reality - we are now just about all set for a massive relaunch. We have high hopes for one of what we call our 'BLIMPIEST BLOATED BALLOONING BARREL-BELLIED BLIMPS'."

For it seems that Corden will blight the blue skies of Blighty yet again this winter. He is soon to pollute the country's cinema screens, with his walk-on role as Vacuous, a Lilliputian Basketball-Throwing Non-Entity in the latest Jack Black vehicle, Gulliver's Travels, a dumbed-down destruction of Jonathan Swift's savagely-satirical 1726 novel about human folly.

As my source close to a world of wind claimed to me, as we parted: "Who's Jonathan Swift? I mean, really? Here's the acid test. You go online and google Gulliver's Travels. James Corden's movie is the top result right now. That says it all." Leaving Hyperbole House, I could only agree with that last statement.

And there are more dark clouds a-heading Britain's way. For it has also been revealed that James Corden has signed a deal to produce an autobiography. It's understood that Bigger and More In Yer Face Than The Hindenburg will be published by Travesty Inflations, the company responsible for literary giants like J K Rowling, Alan Titchmarsh and Jordan.

A source close to James Corden told me the day before yesterday that Corden is excited at the prospect of adding the literary world to the list of cultural kingdoms he will be able to blight and despoil.

"James just said 'Ah, fuck it. It's a load of money for fuck all. Why not? Who the fuck is Jonathan Swift anyway? I bet I get more readers, no problem. Easy.' We had a laugh at Gulliver's Travels. It really is a load of toss. No wonder Jack Black ignored most of it.

"And loads has happened in James' life nobody knows about. Before he became famous, he lived in New York. He was living in New York first, and the fame came later. He might be 32 but he has lots of stories to tell. He comes from a real humble, working class upbringing and he's come a very long way from that.

"Then there's his friendship with Jack Black, who once spilled coffee on James and told him to get out of the way on the Gulliver's Travels set, and he almost got David Beckham's autograph once too. There's loads nobody knows about. He's got a lot to say about all the things he has to say that nobody knows about. He's got a lot to say. He's 32. Nobody knows about a lot of the things he has a lot to say about that nobody knows a lot of about."

So already the cultural skies begin to cloud and to darken, and the discerning citizens of the UK begin to ask, as they gaze up in disbelief amid the gathering storms of the most severe cultural winter since the Dark Ages:

"Is there to be no relief from this misery?"

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The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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