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Watching the javelin at the 2012 London Olympics

Posted by Alex On August - 7 - 2012

“When’s Jan Zelezny going to throw?” asked William Shakespeare.

“He’s not,” replied Sophie Ellis-Bextor.

Shakespeare’s face fell. “I don’t understand,” he said.

“Well, he’s retired,” said Ellis-Bextor. “He’s not in the competition.”

“But why?” said Shakespeare, trying to turn in his seat, but struggling due to his ridiculously oversized breeches.

“Well he’s old,” said Ellis-Bextor. “He got old and retired.”

“I don’t understand,” said Shakespeare.

Ellis-Bextor was growing irritated. “What’s not to understand?” she snapped. “Sportsmen retire.”

“Why would Jan Zelezny not be throwing the javelin in the Olympic Games?”

“Because he’s retired,” whined Ellis-Bextor. “He hasn’t competed in years.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Shakespeare.

Ellis-Bextor didn’t respond.

“Do you think they’d let me have a go?” said Shakespeare.

Ellis-Bextor again didn’t respond.

“I miss Jan Zelezny,” said Shakespeare sadly.

Arriving back in the UK after an exotic holiday

Posted by Alex On April - 25 - 2012

Sophie Ellis-Bextor: Dear Lord, where have you been?

William Shakespeare: Nowhere.

Ellis-Bextor: What do you mean, nowhere? Where have you been?

Shakespeare: Ah, you know.

Ellis-Bextor: What? No, I don’t know. You’ve been gone months. Where the hell have you been all this time? Do you not think I’ve been worried?

Shakespeare: Look, just leave me alone, okay. Stop going on at me.

Ellis-Bextor: Don’t you dare speak to me like that. I’ve been at my wit’s end.

Shakespeare: Have you?

Ellis-Bextor: Of course I have.

Shakespeare: At your wit’s end?

Ellis-Bextor: Yes.

Shakespeare: How have you coped? Have you had to seek solace?

Ellis-Bextor: Well I haven’t coped.

Shakespeare: You haven’t sought solace then? You haven’t sought solace at this time of distress?

Ellis-Bextor: What are you going on about?

Shakespeare: Solace. I’m talking about solace. Have you sought solace?

Ellis-Bextor: Sought solace?

Shakespeare: Jesus Christ, do I have to fucking spell it out to you? Have you sought solace in the form of the oversized testicles of gravelly-voiced Middesbrough guitarist, Chris Rea?

Ellis-Bextor: Oh not this again. Does nothing ever change? Months and months and this is all I get?

Shakespeare: You might get more.

Ellis-Bextor: I won’t get more.

Heston Blumenthal fails to entertain at the Fat Duck

Posted by Alex On November - 15 - 2011

“Don’t you dare ask for chips or so-help-me-God, I will slap you,” said Sophie Ellis-Bextor.

“People usually need more than his help if they slap me,” joked William Shakespeare.

Sophie Ellis-Bextor looked unnerved.

“I’m joking,” confirmed Shakespeare. “If I were ever going to beat you, I’d have done it after Music Gets The Best Of Me, wouldn’t I? Hmm?”

Ellis-Bextor seemed slightly reassured by this.

“Such a shit song,” said the bard, mostly to himself.

The pair stood outside the Fat Duck, plucking up the courage to walk inside.

“What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever eaten?” asked Sophie Ellis-Bextor to distract from the awkward situation.,”

Shakespeare leered at her creepily, but sensed he should answer sensibly. “Peacock,” he stated with conviction.

“Peacock? Really? What’s it like?”

“It’s all right,” said the bard, perfunctorily.

The pair stood there and stared at their feet.

“Come on, let’s go in,” said Shakespeare. “That jelly of quail won’t keep.”

“No chips,” said Ellis-Bextor, taking his arm.

“I don’t even like chips,” said Shakespeare. “That’s a bullshit joke.”

As they walked through the door, a man approached them.

“Don’t talk rot,” said Ellis-Bextor. “Everyone likes chips. I’ve seen you eat chips plenty of times.”

The maitre d’ stood patiently.

“Yeah, I eat chips,” said Shakespeare. “Of course I eat chips. I’m not saying I don’t eat them. I’m saying I’m not that bothered about them.”

“You said you didn’t like them,” countered Ellis-Bextor.

“Jesus, don’t take everything so literally. When I say I don’t like chips, I don’t mean I don’t like chips. I mean-”

“So what do you mean?” asked Ellis-Bextor disdainfully.

“I mean – for fuck’s sake – I mean… Okay, you were saying that I’d ask for chips like it was my favourite thing in the world. I’m saying I would never do that.”

“Why? Why wouldn’t you do that?”

“Because I’m not that bothered about chips. There’s about a million things I prefer.”

Ellis-Bextor released Shakespeare’s arm and looked skyward. She breathed heavily through her noise and opened her eyes widely in an effort to prevent the first tear from forming.

Shakespeare addressed the maitre d’. “Just tell me about the menu before we sit down,” he said. “Just name one dish. Name one thing that I can eat. Something special. Something that will convince me this is all worthwhile. Something unusual that I could never get anywhere else on earth.”

“Good evening, sir,” said the maitre d’. “Tonight’s most intriguing culinary experiment is baked steam.”

“Baked steam?” asked Shakespeare.

“Baked steam,” confirmed the maitre d’.

William Shakespeare and Sophie Ellis-Bextor stared at each other for a long moment, silently communicating something in the way that only those with unbearable levels of intimacy can manage.

Finally, Shakespeare turned back to the maitre d’. “Okay,” he said brightly. “We’ll give that a bash.”

The best pub in Fort William

Posted by Alex On October - 25 - 2011

“My legs ache, but I’m really glad we did that,” said Sophie Ellis-Bextor.

“If Ben Nevis thought it could get the better of William Shakespeare, it knows better now,” said Shakespeare.

Ellis-Bextor laughed and shoved him gently. “Sophie Ellis-Bextor conquered it as well, you know.”

“You didn’t teach it a lesson like I did though, did you?”

“No,” said Ellis-Bextor, suddenly serious. I don’t know why you did that really.

“I want that fucking mountain to remember me,” said Shakespeare.

“I think it will,” said Ellis-Bextor darkly.

The pair strode down the street until they came across the pub they were looking for.

“There it is,” said Ellis-Bextor. “The best pub in Fort William, they say. What better place to spend the evening after a hard day’s walking.”

They pushed through the door and were hit by warm air. Shakespeare had worked up a thirst. “Right, what are you having?” he asked.

“Ooh, let me see,” said Ellis-Bextor, but then she suddenly realised that Shakespeare was no longer next to her.

She turned round and he was still hovering in the doorway. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“I dunno. I’m not sure about this place. I’m kind of having second thoughts.”

“What are you on about? It’s exactly what we were hoping for. Warm, quiet – we can have a few drinks and something to eat.”

Shakespeare shuffled his feet and wiped his palms down the sides of his breeches. “Yeah, but, you know. Shall we just have a look at somewhere else first?”

“Come on,” said Ellis-Bextor, but upon turning towards the bar, she realised the problem. There were three velociraptors standing there, peering at them and mouth-breathing.

She turned back towards Shakespeare. “Oh, I see. It’s this again.”

“What?” said Shakespeare, innocently.

“I don’t know what’s with you sometimes. Let’s just get a drink. It’ll be fine.”

One of the raptors emitted a high-pitched shriek. Shakespeare visibly jumped.

“Fuck this,” he said and turned to walk out.

Ellis-Bextor stormed after him. “Do you actually have any balls?” she roared.

“Yes,” sobbed Shakespeare, stumbling through the doorway. “They’re small and saggy and worthless.”

He cried all the way back to the hotel and Ellis-Bextor walked with one hand on his back, forlornly trying to comfort him. She felt extraordinary guilt at having homed in one of his biggest insecurities in the heat of the moment.

Only when they got back to the hotel did Shakespeare appear to perk up. “Give me a blowie,” he demanded.

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