Anti-Fan Beehive-iour
I used to live in Camden Town on St Pancras Way, just near the turning for Jeffries Street where a certain singer with a penchant for rediculous beehive hairdoos, dodgy out-of-a-bubblegum-packet-style tattoos, and getting pissed and hitting random strangers lived.

Over the course of the year or so I lived there I grew to detest this individual.

Why?

Because of my flowerpots, that's why. Whenever she was in the news for her latest drink or drug fuled exploits of twattiness, the paperazzi would park out in my garden and take photos of her from a distance, fucking up my flowerpots - the cunts.

I like my flowers. They make me calm. They give me a deep sense of inner peace. And if any cunt as much as goes near them I'll go apeshit, rip off their arms and beat them to death with the wet end.

Anyway, one time my mates and I are sitting in a pub in Camden Lock. My mate Steve is at the busy bar getting in a round when in flounces this poor excuse for a singer, who strides up to the bar and knocks him out the way. When Steve goes to protest she cuts him dead with a slurred but venemous:

"Do you know who I am?"

Steve looks her up and down: "Erm, no..."

She was pretty pissed already and really didn't like this response.

Steve continued: "I know what you are, though - you're fucking rude! That's what you actually are."

Unfortunately the bloke behind the bar knew who she was and served her first. In protest my mates and I decided to go elsewhere for our alcohol-related shennaningans. To make matters worse, though, before we'd even stood up from our table the amazing most wonderfully talented singer of our generation and her mates did a full-on cuckoo, broke a cardinal sin of pubness, and dumped all their gear on our table.

- To a proud alcoholic like myself that's the equivalent of raping my mother while fingering my sister and calling me a cunt, to my face. You just do not do this. Its not part of pub etiquette.

We leave, in a foul mood. We had a decent window table and were pretty much settled for the night.

But then I hit on an idea.

When we're outside I bang on the window and get the attention of this darling and saviour of modern music.

And then I sing, "Why don't you fuck off back to rehab?" And my mates join in as I finish with a flourish of: "Just go, go, go..."

We did this a few times before somebody threatened to beat us up.

I don't go out drinking in Camden Town very often anymore.
( SpankyHanky, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 9:58, 4 replies)

Friend of mine lived round the corner
Absolutely detests her from the few dealings he's had with her too.

The flower pots thing would make me very angry.
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 10:45, closed)

Great voice
But as for the rest of her, what a fucking skank.
(Capo, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 11:21, closed)

I believe
I had a punch up with some of her relatives whilst on holiday last year. One of them "fell" down some stairs. Tossers.
(Rsoles, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 15:59, closed)

she's an absolute stain
I'd love to do a dump on her chest. She waltzed into that pub by the canal in camden when we were in about 18months ago, looked like something african witchdoctors prescribe to ward off evil spirits, proceeded to bump into every person in front of her at the bar then started a fight at the toilets!

She's a begins with C, ends in T, got a U and an N in it too,

Not a coconut
(Don't tell him Pike i'll probably just stay in, Sat 18 Apr 2009, 1:55, closed)