Hammer killer and high risk sex offender Levi Bellfield advises on your personal problems.


Dear Levi,

I'm a 21 year old care worker, Donna. A couple of months ago my mum Susan, 57, remarried a lovely man called Terry, who she met at her work. She's been very lonely ever since my dad passed away when I was very young, and I was delighted for her, as Terry's such a nice man.

However, here's the problem - at the wedding reception, I was introduced to Terry's son, James. He's a few years older than me and very good looking, and due to his estate agent job, definitely has the gift of the gab! As I'm sure you can imagine, the booze flowed into the night, and me and James got more than a little flirty; infact we ended up in bed together! It was the greatest night of passion of my young life, but in the morning we both felt ashamed and haven't spoken since. I can't get him out of my mind, but I also feel so guilty. Should I tell my mum?

Donna, Leeds

Dear Donna,

I done her round the head, the slag. She threw two hand up in air to protect herself; but I smash it away, and carry on about my business. That will teach her to smirk at me!


Dear Levi,

I'm a young, lusty lad of just 19 years old. I never had much luck with girls in my earlier teens, but have made it up in recent years as my good lucks have blossomed and I've come out of my shell.
But recently things got a little out of hand, as even my mum's mates have started flirting with me! Usually I don't worry about it - most are dried up old menopausal hags with complexions like spam meat - but my mum's friend Julie looks a bit like an older Melanie Griffith, if you really, really, really squint.

Recently at my mum's 50th we started flirting and one thing lead to another - to be specific, a DRINK lead to SEX.

Now I have to keep avoiding her, and I think my mum's starting to get a little suspicious. What do I do?

Paul, Kent

Dear Paul,

Little blonde bitch fought she were better than me, but I showed her. I showed her good and proper. That's the only language they understand.


By PR Executive Kirsten McTague

Kirsten, 34, is a PR Executive at a top agency in Notting Hill, West London. She lives in nearby Ladbroke Grove with her boyfriend, advertising executive Mark Crumpsall, 36.

Here she takes us through a day in her hectic life.


Monday is me-day. I get up really early and luxuriate in a long, hot bath, using seaweed scrub to make my skin feel radiant. Mark will often have to leave very early so we’ll try and grab some hot buttered English muffins and tea together if we can.

Then it’s time for work – I work close to home so I love to stroll along through Notting Hill and just take in the beautiful day. There are so many wonderful, exciting people – white, black, brown and yellow – it’s like a huge kaleidoscope. Sometimes I feel like Hugh Grant in Notting Hill – the film, not the place! (Well, both!)

When I get to work, I grab myself a scrumptious mocha latte (can’t think without caffeine!) and sit down with the papers – my faves are The Mail for the news, The Guardian for the features and The Sun for the gossip!

Then I’ll meet up with my team for a meeting at about ten a.m. We’re supposed to be discussing the week ahead, but usually we have to first get through the weekend behind us! (Come on girls, you know what I’m talking about!). My girls are great – there’s Shelley, 24, Clara, 26, Vanessa, 25, and Michael, 28 – I call him a girl as he’s a gay man! He doesn’t mind – he started it!

After we’ve got through all the gossip, we’ll get down to business and go through where we stand regarding various projects and who’s doing what in the week ahead. Now, down to work! Between quarter to eleven and one o clock I’ll sit at my desk, check my e-mails, take phone calls and read Eve.

At one I meet up with my best girly friend Maria who works nearby and we’ll just grab some sushi and a punnet of strawberries and go and chill in the park. Maria’s awful – she’s recently become single again and she’ll always be pointing out a hunk here, and a sexy bod there. Of course, I never look – well, not often! (Sorry, Mark hon!)

Then back to work for another four or so hours of e-mails, meetings and phone calls – life can be really tough at the top!

At six thirty I have my yoga class over in Holland Park, where I let the city pour away to be replaced by something more pure and wholesome. I don’t know quite what, but I always think it might be a little like humus.

When I get home, I just want to relax, so I change into my fave PJ’s and softest, comfiest top and go and lounge in the garden, ice cool Pimms in one hand, Marian Keyes novel in the other, my little toes running through the soft grass.

Mark usually has badminton on a Monday so it’s a great chance to just relax and indulge myself with a fresh chicken salad and a glass (or two!) of wine, and watch all my favourite soaps, and then if nothing grabs me, I’ll pop in an episode of Sex and the City on DVD and catch up with Carrie, Samantha and the gang.

And they say Monday is the worst day of the week? – It’s heavenly bliss!


"We didn't do it"


The mixed up polar bear that says any hole's a goal if you want his arctic roll!

"Hi everyone, I'm Bi Polar, and I just fancy pretty much everyone and anything. From big butch brown bears to girlie grizzlies, they can all stir deep feelings within me and melt more than just my ice cap, if you know what I mean!

Call me on 08000 8907603 if you wanna hear about some of my naughty nocturnal adventures - too naughty for young cubs' ears!"


She was an osteopath


"It's a real korma chameleon", he told us.


"I was too busy singing to put anybody down" he told us.


Racial wedding gaff provided many a laff!

Good pals Mark Ryan and Simon Fowler, both from Leicester, recently nearly fell out - with groom Mark seeing red - because mate Simon looked black. Here's what had happened - "When I asked Simon to be an usher at my wedding, I obviously meant it in the normal sense - to show people to their seats, help out a bit and so on", Mark told us, "but dippy Simon, who to be fair, has always been a massive R & B fan, got the wrong end of the stick and thought I meant the black fella from America."

"I did think it a slightly strange request, if I'm honest", Simon continued, "but I always say a mate's a mate, and whatever they want, you should try to do. So I got a big tub of boot polish and started going down the gym, to get that famous six pack stomach. The only six packs I normally go for are courtesy of messrs S. Artois and C. Black Label, if you know what I mean!"

When the big day arrived, Simon arrived at the church and suddenly both delighted and horrified different sections of the congregation with his thrilling rendition of the smooth soul man's "You Make Me Wanna", his shirt stripped to the waist and his face and body covered in a combination of boot polish, creosote and marmite. "I kept sweating so nothing would stick," Simon added.

At first Mark and fiancee Jenny were furious, but eventually they saw the funny side, got Simon in a normal suit and carried on.

"Thank God the best man didn't think he was supposed to be R.Kelly is all I can say", Mark said (?).


Fake out-take scandal rocks industry, kills Norden

The entertainment industry was rocked to its core last night, when an off-hand comment by Will Smith during a TV interview to promote his new movie, I Am Legend, revealed that the hilarious bloopers and outtakes at the end of each episode of his hit sitcom The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, were largely faked.

Interviewer Martha Voller, of Germany’s K-4 network asked Smith if there had been a lot of fun and games on the set of his latest movie. "Oh sure, it was a blast!" Smith replied, "We were always goofing off". "A bit like in the Fresh Prince?" Voller asked. "Yeah…kinda. Though half the time, we were just doing that stuff for the cameras. A lot of those bloopers weren’t real".

Almost immediately, you could feel the shockwaves rippling throughout the entertainment world, perhaps why only moments later Smith said "Oh no, not really! Of course I’m kidding y'all!", but nobody was fooled.

Further investigation by a blogger from Montreal, who has since been discredited by NBC, outed as gay, possibly a peadophile,and has now mysteriously disappeared, (if you really look around on the web you can still find some of his stuff) revealed that early on in the first series, an episode was being filmed, when Alfonso Ribeiro, the actor who played Carlton, ran through a door too quickly, slipped on a rug and hit his head on the kitchen table.

As he lay on the floor dazed, Smith quipped in his inimitable style "That’s got to hurt!", bringing the eager white crowd to its knees with laughter. The producer on set saw how well it had gone down, and insisted it be added to the end credit sequence to add an extra laugh to the fledgling show.

"The next day", one source who was too frightened to reveal his identity told the blogger, "everyone was going nuts about how funny the blooper was. It totally outshone the show. I don’t think any of us realised what we’d created". However, it did not stop there. A media analyst noted that the blooper had kept people watching to the very end of the show, where normally they would start to flick channels the moment the credits began to roll. This meant that they were more likely to stay with NBC and watch both the advertising break and maybe even the next show.

Thus, the following day, an order came from high up in the corporation that they wanted bloopers to run through the end credits every week. "At first it wasn’t a problem", the mystery source (who may now be dead for all we know) revealed - "the guys were young and making mistakes a lot, and there always seemed to be enough to fill out the 30 seconds. But towards the end of season 2, things had already really changed. They were tight now, the show was slick – there weren’t that many mistakes being made. So people started to pounce on the smallest thing and try and really blow it up. One time James Avery (Philip Banks) coughed in the middle of a line. It really wasn’t that funny. But then Alfonso Ribeiro tried to turn it into some kind of human cough beatbox and then Will started rapping over it. They just about got away with it, but people on set were a little bemused by the whole thing".

But then apparently things just got worse. The source continued: "Soon enough everyone was doing it. If someone remotely fluffed a line, it would be seized upon and forced into something really big. Will would just go off on random tangents, stretching the blooper as far as it would go. I always thought he was hogging the stage, but now I think he was actually being noble - if he went on long enough, that blooper would last the whole credits". (So, next time you rush to judge a scene stealing ham actor, just remember - you don't know all the facts).

More from that source; "Alfonso would pretend to forget lines, James Avery would try and break the set, but the worst of all was poor old Joseph Marcell, the British guy who played Geoffrey. He was a properly trained Shakespearean actor, man! He wouldn’t pretend to fluff his lines for nobody. Then one day some executives paid a visit to him in his dressing room, looking like they meant business, if you know what I mean. Next thing you know, he was tripping over all the place, saying his lines backwards, one time he even started squawking like a chicken and laughing maniacally. It may have been funny for the audience, but I just saw a broken man".

Across the entertainment world as a whole, seismic shockwaves have been felt in the aftermath of Smith's accidental confession and the subsequent fall out. In Britain, "much-loved" entertainer Dennis Norden was said to have turned a ashy, grey colour when told of the news, and within 20 minutes he was found dead. "He just seemed to give up the will to live" said an onlooker. Elsewhere, Steve Penk was taken in for tests, and Terry Wogan ordered to rest up.

It's not clear whether Smith can come back from this scandal. The formerly squeaky clean high topped heart throb had always been seen as a great role model (although he was always outspoken in his criticism of "hardcore dance"), so he may be able to come back, as long as he is humble and contrite in the same vein as Mel Gibson after his anti-semitic ejaculations.

But the real question on everyone's lips in Tinseltown right now - who else has been "out-faking"?!!!!!!!

Only time will tell, but we at Dark Beige have a feeling this one could just be warming up...

9 / 11 - THE TRUTH!

By Paul Young

Hi, I’m Paul Young, the famous British singer. No, not the one who died of a heart attack. The other one. Remember? No? Well maybe I should just say that Wherever I lay my hat, that’s my home, but although I’m not in love, I’m never Sensa una donna! (the English translation is "Without a woman").

No? Still? Well then get with the times, old man!! These kids may be able to resist the lure of sex and drugs, but they can’t live without rock and roll!

Anyway, I’m not just a rock star; I also like to dabble a little in current affairs. I like to think I’ve made a difference before; removing a public pathway from the back of my garden, for example, and campaigning for a change to UK tax laws. But now I’ve stumbled on something massive. I mean fucking huge.

We all know about the tragic and terrible events of September 11, 2001. The world, and also America, was rocked to its very core on that day, when evil fanatics bought a series of tragic and intensely shocking incidents into play, intent only on death and destruction to its hated nemesis, the USA. This, they said, was the day the world stood still. And fell over.

Or rather, that’s what the powers that be would have you believe. But I have some shocking and terrible news; potentially more shocking than when I came on stage and raised the roof at the 1989 Nelson Mandela tribute concert with my own take on Crowded House’s power-pop classic "Don’t dream it’s over".

I’ve looked into this ‘9/11’ and I can hardly believe that I’m the only one to see what’s really going on. Absolutely nothing happened on that day! They’ve been having us all on!

"But Paul", I hear you say, "what about the hijacked planes? The twin towers of hope, brought down by the planes of hate? What about New York City itself, that wily old fisherman that taught us all to love again with its marble-faced bravery and resilience?" All lies.

(I also hear you saying, "Paul, what about a little acapella version of Sensa una donna while you’re here?" Sorry guys, you’ll just have to buy my greatest hits!)

The sorry truth is that nothing of any relevance happened on 9 /11. The following day, there was an air crash in Queens, I grant you, but that wasn’t terrorism. No, the 9th November 2001 was just a day like any other for the world: the market fluctuated, some people died, some celebrity probably had a baby; that’s about it.

So what the hell’s going on, America? Do you think you can simply kick the face of truth with the jackboot of lies? Swig from the milk of freedom and then laughingly spit it out on the floor of tyranny?

Well, this rock and roll star for one will not accept it. And just wait until I tell Zucchero what you’ve been up to! That crazy Italian bastard will stick his guitar up your arse – without any oil.

Oh no, hold on a minute.


New Boy Band Here to Save the British Music Industry

Record label BMG seems to have found an answer to pop music's decline - a brand new boy band with world appeal; the great white hopes of British pop. The idea for the group came about through a brainstorming session, as a team of workers tried to work out what it was people from abroad liked about England and the English.

"We couldn’t believe it when we suddenly stumbled upon it"; said Pete Smith, head of development, "someone asked who the two most popular Englishmen in the world were, and when we looked at the answer – Hugh Grant and Prince Harry, we knew we’d found something".

From that small acorn has grown the oak that is Sloane – a brand new boy band hailing from southwest London, who are set to take the world by storm when they release their first single "She’s my Putney Girl" next month.

These four guys, aged between 18 and 23, have it all – the chinos, the business shirts worn casually with sleeves rolled up, the deck shoes, those slightly red cheeks that prove they’re posh.

So lets meet the guys!

Sporty Sloane: First up we have Tristan, the natural leader of the group. Tristan likes rugby and cricket and works in the city. He is good natured, trustworthy and reliable, and often wears a Barbour jacket.

Cute Sloane: Harry is the youngest member of the band, at just 18. The mischievous little scamp wants to work in property development – but needs to pass his A-levels first!

Cunt Sloane: Next up is Jamie, a cuddly bear. Jamie is a lawyer, lives in Fulham, and enjoys being an obnoxious cunt.

Quiet Sloane: Tarquin is the quiet one – he lets his oars do the talking down at Putney embankment! Tarquin is initially shy around women, until he’s had a few drinks - then he’ll try and give them a fireman’s lift.

Everyone expects Putney Girl, an up tempo vocal harmony tune, to be a big hit. Tears on my Chinos, a ballad that shows us their sensitive side, will follow that in August. This will help promote the album, Wax (Jacket) Lyrical, that analysts are already predicting will go platinum.

The reason so much is expected of Sloane is that all levels of society love them. Focus groups have shown that when faced with these four hunks of Sloaney love, burger-faced council estate harridans also go weak at the knees. "I’d fuck him," said Donna Cartwright, 13, between bites of her Gregg’s cheese and onion slice, when shown a picture of Tristan.


By Brother Cadfael

Yo, yo, yo. Listen up Brother Arelrad, young round-headed nigga. This is your first day so I’m gonna go easy on you. I got some wisdom to spit, and you better listen up if you think bcuz you got some crazy ass smock and a Gargamel haircut you can come into this abbey and know where it’s at.

I’m Brother Cadfael, the craziest Benedictine you ever saw. Ya’ll heard of me. I been solving crimes in this mean monastery for over fifteen years now, and if you wanna make it, you better watch and learn.

Round here we got a saying: The streets is my only vestry. Out here you can get burned, man, you can go to a dark place where there ain’t no turning back. You show a weakness to these Franciscan fucks and they’ll feed on it, and feed on it, and feed on it, until there ain’t nothing left of you but a bald pate and a charcoaled Bible. Never show weakness!

Today's your training day. Gonna show you around, give you a feel for the business. I have thirty-eight cases pending trial. I have sixty-three active investigations. There's another two hundred and fifty cases on the log I can't clear. I got the fuckin’ powers that be on my back, disliking my methods but respecting my results.

I'm supervising five monks. That's five different personalities, five different sets of problems. You, Brother Arelrad, if you got the guts to succeed, will be number six. I don't got time to baby-sit or hold hands. You have one day to show me who you are and what you can or cannot handle.

You can't hack cracking the mead addicts and good book hustlers, feel free to work a pussy desk job fining vow-of-silence breakers. Hear me, Brother Arelrad?

You better. Ain’t no punk faggot gonna make it to Abbott!

Word is bond.


Spottings from celebrityvilleshire...

Big Brother 7’s Pete Bennett stroking a ten year old boy’s face at Digbeth Coach station, Birmingham…A tanned and relaxed looking Sadie Frost, spitting food into her handbag at Zilli’s Fish restaurant, Soho… Celebrity Fat Club trainer Harvey loudly heckling an overweight man for purchasing a cheese and onion pasty in Gregg’s, Clapham Junction…Stephen Fry sweating profusely while fingering baby clothes in Mothercare, Whiteleys …X Factor winner Leon Jackson drunkenly asking "who wants tae fellate this?" in the Tron Bar, Glasgow…Andi Peters giggling hysterically while being chased around by Michael Underwood in Shepherd’s Bush, west London…a surprisingly handsome Jesus Christ, dying for our sins, the cross…Amanda Holden looking relaxed and healthy, squatting for a shit in WHSmith, Paddington…a tired but happy looking Napoleon Bonaparte, the past…Dom Joly scratching his balls and smelling his fingers with a satisfied look in Maida Vale, west London …a very sexy Max Beesley scratching a poodle’s head, saying "now we play by my rules" in Wetherspoons, Angel…Ladette DJ Zoe Ball snogging her own hand in the north Lanes, Brighton…Comedian Leigh Francis showing off his Capital One credit card to the ugly make-up girl in Harvey Nichols, Leeds…a grumpy and hungover looking Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble, knocking back pints at Bedrock's latest nightspot, The Cave...A disorientated Rod Stewart offering Penny Lancaster in return for a racehorse to a Sheikh in JimmyZ, Monte Carlo…A tanned David Arquette poking fun at disabled children in Santa Monica, California… Terry Nutkins calming down a pack of unruly otters in Regent’s Park, London…


By The Wonder Years’ Kevin Arnold


Hi, it’s Kevin Arnold here. Yeah, the Kevin Arnold. Oh, I’m alright, got a wife and kids, hold down a pretty good job, and still keep getting residuals from letting my life be dramatised for TV. The money has been great, but sometimes I can’t help thinking that that whole show was a blessing and a curse.

Here’s the problem: I can’t stop having overly meaningful epiphanies wherever I go. And I’m sure making that show was to blame.

The way it all happened was simple: I had some pretty great teenage years growing up in suburban New York back at the turn of the seventies. Years later, I used to shoot the shit with my buddy Alan Peterson, and I ‘d often tell him about those crazy times. Alan was a writer, or rather he wanted to be, but nothing he had tried to sell got picked up.

Then one day we were at his apartment, really drunk, and I was telling him about a time my mom didn’t wash my gym vest and that that’s when I knew; I knew that my mother was a real woman with thoughts and feelings of her own, and that sometimes in life we’ve all got to do our own laundry – in our heart. In all honesty, I was very, very drunk, and when reminded that I’d said this the next day, I didn’t have a clue what I was talking about (I still don’t).

But the thing is, Alan suddenly went totally nuts. He said that that was it – what TV was crying out for was a show where a guy looks back at his teenage years – and narrates in hindsight all those defining moments we go through. He was really whipped up into a frenzy about the whole thing. And the more he spoke about it, the more excited I got too.

Anyway, to cut it short, me and Alan collaborated on the script together – me remembering, him writing, and soon we had something we knew was hot. All the stuff of life was there – those intense teenage friendships, first love, family rivalries, jealousy, pain and forgiveness. NBC loved it – but they didn’t feel that the dramatic tempo was sustained throughout. Sure, I loved Winnie from the moment I laid eyes on her – but I didn’t kiss her for another two years! Sure, dad got sacked, but he got back on his feet pretty fast. When it came down to it, I experienced epiphanies once in a while, not every damn day!

Not good enough. NBC wanted Kevin to constantly be living, loving and learning, and so, me and Alan went back through the script, adding meaning and newly found wisdom wherever we could. When I was 15, I have a vague recollection of going to see my grandmother in Virginia for a weekend, where nothing happened, and Wayne being sick in the car. In the script, my grandmother and I played together in a field at midnight, then Wayne symbolically vomited away his youth out of the car window.

And that’s when I realised – I couldn’t do anything at all, without saying "And that’s when I realised". See?

Now it’s happening all the time. I go to the store to buy milk, and find myself realising that sometimes we all have to sip the milk of kindness from the carton of hope. I go for a jog and I realise that I’m running away from the mistakes of the past. I miss my train to work and that’s when I realise that sometimes we’re so busy worrying that we’ve missed the thing we wanted to catch that we don’t realise we’ve caught the thing we wanted to miss (regret).

It’s becoming a real pain in the ass. I just don’t know what to do about it. Damn those Wonder Years!

And that’s when I realised: I wasn’t mad about the constant stream of meaningless epiphanies, I was mad because I’d never given my father a hug.

Sometimes we’re all just raindrops in the night – but that night I didn’t get wet at all.

Oh God, someone please help me.

WHAT YOU JUST SAY? - Crazy quotes from planet celeb!

"Can I have a coffee, black with two sugars"

Whatever you say, Rupert Everett!!

"I have to go now"

Don’t let us stop you, Rihanna!!!!!!

"The answer’s Lima. Definitely."

But what’s the question, Jake Gyllenhall?!!!

"My wife has just died"

Boo hoo, Abs from Five!!!!!!!!!!!

"The only true wisdom comes in knowing that you know nothing"

And that sums you up, Socrates!!!!!!!!!

"I’m hungry"

Well that’s given us all food for thought, Jade Goody!!!!!!!!

" I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me"

Get over yourself, Jesus Christ!!!!!

"Freeze! Do not move!"

Freezing is so last season, Mr Policeman!!!!!!

"Put your hands above your head. Now!"

Like, whatever you say, Officer!!!!!!!!

"This is your final warning"

Aaah!! Help!!!!?


By Jean Claude Van Damme

I heard what you were saying Seagal, and I don’t like it one little bit. You seem to be throwing your weight around, and nobody does that round here except me! I’m the king of straight-to-video/cable/airline action movies, not you! I’m gonna have to roundhouse your face if you don’t shut up!

Let me just remind you that I am a KICKBOXER who is an experienced STREET FIGHTER. Fuck with me and it’s your DEATH WARRANT! Just being near me is a MAXIMUM RISK, I’ll KNOCK OFF your head, leading to SUDDEN DEATH.

You’ve got NOWHERE TO RUN if you don’t leave now, so go, get AWOL!

I’m a UNIVERSAL SOLDIER of a TIMECOP. Oh shit, that doesn’t work quite so well. you want to see my ass?


You really think you can mess with me? I’m Steven fuckin’ Seagal, you little punk! Show me some respect before I slap you like a bitch! You might think that you’re HARD TO KILL, but when I’m OUT FOR JUSTICE, you’ll be MARKED FOR DEATH.

You might think that you and your faggot buddies can make me UNDER SIEGE, but you’ll soon find out that you’re UNDER SIEGE 2 (See what I did there? Physical perfection and intelligence!)

You’ll be ON DEADLY GROUND if you make the misguided EXECUTIVE DECISION to mess with me. You don’t have a GLIMMER of hope, MAN (see what I did again?). Come to think of it, you kinda look like a fag so maybe my beauty is causing you FIRE DOWN BELOW, if you get what I’m saying. Either way, I’m THE PATRIOT and you’re just THE FOREIGNER, so if you don’t back off, you’ll get EXIT WOUNDS in your dodgy TICKER, leaving you HALF PAST DEAD.

When I go OUT FOR A KILL, not even the YAKUZA can stop me! I am ABOVE THE LAW! (Also known as NICO in Europe).


"Phwoar! Babe Level results are getting better every rear!

Pretty blonde Jodie, 18, and brunette Jessica, 17, shared a passionate embrace as they celebrated landing straight A’s at Worplesden Manor High School, Surrey".


One man's shame

Michael Borell is a perfectly normal, middle aged, middle class man. He lives in a small but satisfactory detached house in Worcester Park, Surrey, a house he bought in 1983. He trusts the simple British elegance of a Rover, updating to the latest mid-price model every three or four years. After a long, hard day, there's nothing he likes more than relaxing with a meal of traditional English cuisine and a glass of nice red wine and watching some quality, intelligent entertainment for adults.

But Michael hides a shameful secret, one that has perturbed him for the last ten years. As refined, middle class and middle aged as he is, Michael just doesn't find Frasier that funny.

"It started back in 1994, when they started showing the first series on a Friday night" he told us. "There'd been a big buzz about it, and it was being advertised everywhere. Naturally, I couldn't wait to watch it. I'd always been a huge fan of Cheers, what a gang of misfits! That fat one who never went home, and the woman - GROWL! She could have served me a long, cold one anytime, if you follow my drift. That being said, I'd never been too bothered about Frasier, he always seemed on the edge of everything. Nevertheless, when the show started, I was as keen as the next man to laugh along to his continuing adventures."

Michael was immediately disappointed, however. He simply could not follow many of the jokes, and found himself wondering what it was all about. "It was just too clever by half. Now, I've got Bill Bryson on my bedside table, believe you me. I enjoyed Jonathan Creek, I'm no intellectual slouch. But there was so much dialogue, I lost the thread. And at no point did anyone's trousers fall down in front of visiting clergymen. I thought it was a bit of a con."

Being a man of the world, Michael naturally assumed that his personal opinion would be in line with the status quo, and looked forward to some homespun critiques with friends and colleagues over the following week. He was deeply shocked, however, to discover that it had been almost universally liked, and found himself in the awkward position of being forced to pretend that he liked it too. Michael has carried that burden to the present day.

"I just assumed it would have finished after a couple of years, I never dreamt I'd still have to go through this torment. I've tried my best over the years to get into it, but with little success. That brother, he's a bit like John Inman, which is great, but he never talks about fisting or anything like that, so it's not that funny."

Michael has now finally found a way to alleviate his pain. "I watch They Think it's All Over instead. "


Hackney, East London – 27-year-old web designer Jamie Bennett–Hurst was suddenly struck by pure panic as he walked to get a soya milk latte and packet of cool retro jellybeans from his local shop.

Jamie suddenly realised that while he knew his 1993 Radio 1 Roadshow T-shirt was a cool and ironic purchase from a fashion website, costing him over £30, to the casual observer he might just look like a day release mental patient who hangs around bus shelters smiling hopefully at kind-looking young men.

Jamie saw that there was a danger that his accompanying outfit and accessories were not uber-hip enough to fully convince someone who did not know him and his dryly post-modern wardrobe, that he wasn’t just a mentalist.

A distressed Jamie told us "I was wearing some Nike tracky bottoms that I got from J-D. They’re a little bling-bling but that’s how I like to rock it sometimes. On my feet I had some wacked-out old Converse that look really beat up, on that whole Steve McQueen tip. On an ordinary day, combined with some different items, both could have made up one half of a seriously cool, don’t-give-a-fuck double whammy.

Maybe if the pants were completed by some new ice white Nike dunks from the States, or the Converse went with some classic ripped Levis, I would have looked on it. But when I looked down I realised I just looked a bit like a tramp".

The problems didn’t just stop there, unfortunately. "My hair was a little wild, and I was rocking the bed-head look, but you know sometimes you actually look like you’ve just got out of bed? It was one of those ones.

All this combined with the Radio 1 t-shirt, which has given so many people so many hours of pure pleasure when seen with a retro Reebok windcheater, a dustman’s coat or even a Sergio Tacchini golf jacket, and I frankly looked like a local unemployed".

Jamie is now taking steps to ensure that it never happens again. "From now on I’m going to make sure that I’m never wearing more than two ironic items at any one time. It’s one thing to be a cunt, but it’s quite another to look like one".


Popular rapper turned actor Will Smith dropped by the office to chat about his favourite season, summer. But things soon got a little heated...

Dark Beige: Hi, Will, great to meet you. I believe you wanted to chat about your favourite season?

Will Smith: Summer, summer, summertime.Time to sit back and unwind.

DB: Quite. Do go on.

WS: Here it is, the groove slightly transformed. Just a bit of a break from the norm.

DB: Well, you're known as a rapper who likes to break down boundaries.

WS: Just a little somethin' to break the monotony.

DB: Montonony? What's been monotonous? Of what monotony do you speak?

WS: Of all that hardcore dance

DB: What kind of stuff do you mean? German techno? Drum and bass? Hard house? Dubstep? I always assumed you'd like dance music.

WS: Hardcore dance has gotten to be a little bit out of control!

DB: I'm sorry Will, please calm down. So, you don't like to dance?

WS: It's cool to dance. But what about the groove that soothes, that moves romance?

DB: Actually, I see what you mean. You have a reputation as a ladies man - is romance important to you?

WS: Give me a soft subtle mix. And if ain't broke then don't try to fix it. And think of the summers of the past. Adjust the base and let the alpine blast.

DB: What about your rumoured political ambitions?

WS: Pop in my CD and let me run a rhyme. And put your car on cruise and lay back, 'cause this is summertime.

DB: Then there have been rumours that you might be a scientologist, rumours you've always denied. Care to clear that up once and for all?

WS: School's out and its a sort of a buzz. Back then I didnt really know what it was. But now I see what I have of this. The way that people respond to summer madness.

DB: That's not exactly a no, then.

WS: The weather is hot and girls are dressing less. And checking out the fellas to tell 'em who's best. Riding around in your jeep or your benzos.
DB: Yes-
WS: Or in your Nissan stting on Lorenzos.

DB: Erm, yes. I Am Legend was a bit poor, wasn't it?

WS: Back in Philly we be out in the park. A place called the plateau is where everybody goes.Guys out hunting and girls doing likewise. Honking at the honey in front of you with the light eyes.

DB: Wild Wild West was shit as well.

WS: She turn around to see what you beeping at. It's like the summer's a natural aphrodesiac. And with a pen and pad I compose this rhyme, to hit you and get you equipped for the summer time.

DB: I hate you! Stop talking about the summer!

WS: Its late in the day and I aint been on the court yet. Hustle to the mall to get me a short set. Yeah, I got on sneaks, but I need a new pair, 'cos basketball courts in the summer got girls there.

DB: You just arbitrarily use any words you can to make a rhyme, don't you? You're like an 8 year old poet.

WS: The temperature's about 88. Hop in the water plug, just for old times sake.

DB: Right, that's it.