
He'd mistaken it for a pudding, and was keeping it in his pudding sock.
I was visiting Mr. Winner a few days after he nabbed it. I was there to help him compose rude versions of lyrics to George Formby songs (the album's out soon), and while Michael was absent for one of his marathon toilet sessions, I noticed his pudding sock poking out from under his favourite beanbag. It was moving around as if it had vermin in it, so I whacked it with a handy bong and opened it up.
A stunned Fiji fell out. I recognised it from the missing island posters that were posted in airports around the world.
So I released it into the river Trent and it made its way out to sea and back to whence it came.
( ,
Tue 9 Oct 2007, 17:00,
archived)
I was visiting Mr. Winner a few days after he nabbed it. I was there to help him compose rude versions of lyrics to George Formby songs (the album's out soon), and while Michael was absent for one of his marathon toilet sessions, I noticed his pudding sock poking out from under his favourite beanbag. It was moving around as if it had vermin in it, so I whacked it with a handy bong and opened it up.
A stunned Fiji fell out. I recognised it from the missing island posters that were posted in airports around the world.
So I released it into the river Trent and it made its way out to sea and back to whence it came.

that story is 100% true.
I've met Michael Winner and he's nothing if not a gentleman.
( ,
Tue 9 Oct 2007, 17:01,
archived)
I've met Michael Winner and he's nothing if not a gentleman.