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Popper Idol

We loved Terri McIntyre on BBC3, and now we're loving her new mini-adventures every day on lowculture, courtesy of creator Simon Carlyle.
» So, Arlene was away at a funeral – her Nana’s next-door neighbour, Irene, had died of a severe panic attack. Naturally Terri wanted to help Arlene through this difficult time and insisted she meet her in town for a drink afterwards. Anyway Arlene got held up at Nana’s house, consoling her, and this left Terri with time to kill.
“Right,” thought Terri, “I’ll nip into Fraser’s and see if they’ve got any bedding reduced.” Terri’s good set had got ruined when the homing pigeons from across the way shat all over them. This is nothing unusual, and Terri would normally just put them through another cycle, but a couple of days prior to the shitting incident Terri had tried to poison the pigeons with bread soaked in bleach. So, when it came out the other end of the pigeons, it bleached poor Terri’s sheets.
Anyway, she didn’t bother going to Frasers, cos she’d done park ‘n’ ride and couldn’t be arsed lugging the bags. She just slipped into Vroni’s on Hope Street to have a white wine spritzer (although, in the end, she just took a white wine as soda water’s got loads of calories).
Arlene called to say that she wasn’t going to be able to make it cos Nana was too upset, so Terri got cashback and had another wine. As she sat at the bar, her skirt raised to reveal an adequate amount of thigh, a Pinot Griogio in the right hand and a Kensitas in the left, she caught sight of a rather handsome red-headed man. She wouldn’t normally go for a ginger but this one was cute. She raised her skirt, stubbed out the fag, subtly re-applied her lippy and within minutes, he was snared.
So they got talking, (she found out he was called Matthew, he was single and he was in the navy part-time) and they headed back to Terri’s for a bit of the vodka she had in the freezer.
Being a reservist in the Navy, Matthew gets to go on some trips – the most recent one being to Amsterdam where he’d bagged some mean amyl nitrate. So, armed with vodka and poppers, they hit the sack. Matthew asked her about the stains on the bedding but she just told him it was tie-dye and started trying to get his belt undone. Now Terri can get wild enough on booze but this stuff sent her to the moon and, between snorts, one of them managed to knock the bottle off the bedside table and all down the side of the bed. Matthew didn’t care, he’d done the business, so it was splash and dash for him, but Terri now had one seriously odorous bedroom. So she got her dressing gown on and headed for Arlene’s room.
Terri was so tired (ie gassed) that she didn’t hear Arlene come in and when Arlene saw Terri’s bed empty she thought it must be Terri’s way of giving her the treat of having the double bed. Arlene put the leccy blanket on full and jumped in.
When Arlene emerged in the morning, she was in a right old state. Her ears were bright red, her head was pounding and her heart was going like a box of frogs. She panicked and ran through to Terri.
“Terri, I think I’m having a panic attack like Irene.”
“Uuuugggh, what time is it?”
“Ten to nine”
“Aw, you’re fucking joking!”
“Well, nearly five to. But my hearts pounding, that’s what Irene had.”
“Did you have the blanket on?”
“Uh huh.”
“Well that’ll be it, you’ve just stewed yourself. Don’t just stand there, go and phone me a private cab, I’m late for my work”
Just at that point the buzzer went, Terri told Arlene to get it. It was Nana Hunter. She’d brought round some fleecy bedding that Irene had bequeathed to her.
For once Terri told Arlene to let her in and put the kettle on.
“Oh, and slip a beta blocker in her tea in case she starts her palpitations” shouted Terri.
» Never seen Terri on the telly? Check out the Fan of the Tan link in the box on the right to find out what it's all about.

By Paul :: Post link :: ::  
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According to Marxist theory, cultural forms such as opera, classical music and the literary works of Shakespeare all fall under the heading of high culture. Low culture refers to a wide variety of cultural themes that are characterised by their consumption by the masses. We might not be Marxists, but we do know we loved Footballers Wives. If you do too, you'll know what this is all about.

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