Auntie Doris’s Mysteries of the Unexplained #9: Ask the Ruddy Universe

imageOne of the most baffling mysteries of the unknown to have emerged in recent years, is “how on Earth does Noel Edmonds manage to remain so popular?” I can’t abide the irritating little so and so, and yet he has thousands upon thousands of people watch him grinning all over his smug face every time they switch the television on. By rights we should have seen the last of him when they pulled the plug on that insipid “Noel’s House Party” in 1999. But ohh no. He somehow made a comeback seven years later, and he has never been off the idiot box ever since.
Granted, there’s something about the television business that makes stars out of talentless self obsessed idiots, otherwise how could you explain Jeremy Clarkson. But Edmonds… How on earth did he do it?
According to him, the answer is that he asked the ruddy universe, and it granted his wish.
Back in 2006, poor old Noel was feeling unloved and rejected. He was on the scrap heap of forgotten celebrities, along with the likes of Mike Yarwood, Tom O’Connor and Keith Harris and Orville. He was on Skid Row, barely able to afford to look after the trappings of his celebrity lifestyle, such as the helicopter that he used to ferry his old pal Phil Ruddy Collins around in. When he looked in the mirror of his luxury house down South, the reflection showed the face of a sad old man, with tears of self pity rolling down its plump cheeks. He was clinically depressed, (whatever that means when it’s all at home – is it worse than being depressed? Can you be clinically short of breath, or catch a clinical cold?)
Anybody normal who was depressed would pay a visit to the doctors, or the local ruddy off license, but not Noel. Ohh no, that would be too simple. He had to go and see his reflexologist ( whatever one of them is when it’s all at home.) apparently, she used to make him sit cross legged in his underpants and bang his knee with a rubber mallet whilst he talked about how miserable he was. I’m surprised he hasn’t made that into a ruddy television programme yet. “Noel’s celebrity reflexology clinic.” Imagine watching the Jeremy Clarkson or Phil Collins episodes of that! It’s enough to curdle your stomach.
Any road, this reflexologist mentions that she has just started a new religion called “cosmic ordering” where all you have to do is write down what you want on a piece of paper, and the Universe gets it for you.
Next thing you know, Noel has asked the Universe to get him back on the sodding television, and he is presenting “Deal or No Deal” and making a ruddy fortune again.
And then he has the audacity to publish a book explaining how he did it by asking the universe. Of course, his ruddy book sold loads more copies than the one that his reflexologist wrote, and she lost that much money over it that she ended up having to close three of her clinics and move into Noel’s old place on Skid Row, along with all the other people who’s ideas he had pinched. Like the bloke who invented Mister Blobby.
And to cap it all, he is on about buying the ruddy BBC now, and having adverts on it. And I suppose that the sodding Universe will just stand by and let him do it an’all!
Sometimes I am ruddy well glad that I am dead.

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