Butch Boy

Something a little bit different this week – me and football. Well, I say different, I was just helping the boys out, the England squad that is, our boys. I was putting a few goal celebrations together for them; I did a few little routines and if any of our boys do one of my little jigs, or their interpretation of, when they score a goal, £1,000 goes towards providing clean water in African schools, and that’s great, isn’t it? It’s all sponsored by Coca Cola. Check it out via this link.

But of course I wasn’t going to do it quietly – why would I, why should I? I had Kate Walsh down from Live From Studio 5, putting her through her paces with a couple of the little combinations, which was great fun; she’s very cute.

But all I could see in my peripheral vision was Gordon How Hot Do You Look Smart in his white knee-length shorts (I think it’s synthetic silk they wear, isn’t it?).

I was modelling a nice pair of – well, I suppose you could almost call them batty-riders, they’d go down great in a dance hall. I wasn’t quite sure if I’d nailed it for the football look, but you know what, hey-ho!

Anyway, back to my Gordon – oh, he’s not mine at all, is he? He affectionately likes to call me Louise – I just call him GG, and no, it’s not for Gay Gordon (I wish), it’s for Gorgeous Gordon. We spent a wonderful hour together knocking out some moves, and ending up with him insisting he wanted to jump on my back for a shot. I was like, shot, darling? You’ve scored! Goal!

Anyway, after getting myself all unnecessary and overheated, I jumped straight in a cab and went over to the Sun office. My GG doesn’t only have his own spread every day in the Sun, he’s now branched out and has his own radio show, on which I was a guest. I thought it was going to be just me and GG, but no, there I was, pushed into a room with four shirts and ties, talking about hair removal and body maintenance.

Honestly, put those straight boys in a room with a gay and they wanna know why you’re looking so good – their words, not mine. So I told them how it is. You can have download it and have a listen yourself here.

We finished the radio chat and I had a little visit at the Bizarre office, where Gordon presented me with a massive horn. Mmmm. And an England flag. We had a little game of darts, a few snapshots, and that was me done – a lovely trip to the Sun.

Talking about sun, as I do, I could have done with some yesterday. So, the whole day it was looking like rain but no rain. The moment I stepped out of my car – well, it wasn’t my car at all, it wasn’t my Hyundai i10, it was one of those big Mercedes with blacked out windows and a big driver – pitter patter, pitter patter, bigger pitter patters, bigger pitter patters, now it was pissing down.

Where was I, you’re asking? I was at Top Gear, watching the track getting wetter and wetter. Shit! How was I going to be the Top Queer in those conditions - the fact that my outfit was getting ruined in the rain was bad enough. Not too far in the distance I saw a gazebo – is that what you call them? Or is that just a posh word for a tent? Anyway, I made a bee-line straight for it, where the lads were. Peter Jones - you know, the very tall one. Honestly, I had my neck aching, I had to keep looking up so far; the gerbil, or is it the hamster? I’m not sure; and Bill Bailey.

For some reason, as I made my approach, Jeremy Clarkson made his escape. He wanted to play cat and dog again, like we did on Jonathon Ross. Now, I’m not going to spoil my Top Gear moment – well, actually, there was more than one moment, there were moments. I’m going to let you see it when it’s aired on June 27, and decide for yourself if I’m the Top Queer.

All I’m going to say is that I was spectacular! I did spin off the track a couple of times, and the Stig did ask me if I was frightened, because we were going so fast; and no, I wasn’t - I was just doing some lovely off-track choreography. I did nearly kill a cameraman, but hey! Boys and toys!

Now, about me! Don’t worry, don’t believe all you read. I’m exclusive to no-one, apart from my husband, that is. And as for being handcuffed, they’d have to be more than golden, darling; they’d have to be diamond-encrusted. To all my beautiful Twitterers and Facebookers, Pineapple will still be involved in the new show, and no, I’m not opening a rival dance school; so no need to worry.

Just think of the new show as an extension of what you’ve already seen. It’s going to be fabulous, bigger and better. And don’t we all love things that grow? I do!