Hitler moustaches

If nothing else, Richard Herring's latest show, Hitler Moustache, makes a memorable advertising campaign. In a sepia-tinged poster, the comedian is shown in a pinstripe suit, with gelled side parting and sporting the trademark oblong-shaped crop of hair on his upper lip.

According to his press, the show aims to "confront racism head-on", and to reclaim the Hitler moustache for comedy. Charlie Chaplin built a whole (and entirely unfunny film) around his resemblance to Hitler - although I couldn't say whether it was Chaplin or Hitler who first had the famous 'tache.

The reclaiming of the Hitler moustache by comedy is proceeding faster than Herring might have expected, as this astonishing photo shows. As part of a photo shoot for Jewish humour magazine Heeb, comedienne Roseanne Barr has posed as a domestic goddess Hitler, clutching a tray of what the article dubs "burnt gingerbread 'Jew cookies'".

Irony is often used to explain away the most challenging comedy. So long as the comedian intended there to be another level of meaning to the act, then they can be forgiven the initial shock. This is unfair. Irony doesn't by right supervene the gag, especially when it involves someone dressing as Hitler and holding a tray of "Jew cookies". The irony defence also implies that it is the onus of the audience to get the gag, that the comedian is exonerated if the correct intent was there. But the audience is perfectly entitled to point out something as crude, unfunny and blatantly attention-seeking.

The swine flu skank

The Department of Health may be pleased to know someone has been listening to its warnings ...

The Tale of the Frog and the Lawnmower

A short confession.

A couple of months ago I was at home in Kendal, which was experiencing an uncharacteristic spell of good weather. I was staying at home at my mums, and being the diligent son I am decided to cut the grass.

We have a long lawn, which stretches from a shaded patch near the house, past a garage, under an archway before reaching a pond well populated with frogs. I set to work - I hooked up our ageing lawnmower to the power socket in the garage before zig-zagging down the garden.

Near the pond, there is a crescent shaped plant bed cut out of the lawn, planted with wild flowers and herbs. The grass has been allowed to overgrow and spill into the nearby shrubbery. As I edged the mower up to the flowerbed, it looked for a second like a patch of grass was trying to fumble out of the way. It hadn't - I had caught a live frog with an electric lawnmower.

As I worked out quickly that grass tends not to hop, I felt a sense of horror and my upper body stiffen up as I pulled the mower away from the frog. It could have been far worse, but I had clipped the unfortunate creature on the leg, and watched as it hopped towards the hedge with a froggy limp. I could see a small splinter of white bone protruding from its right leg.

The pond was a few feet away, so I decided to pick it up and put it where it might be happier. This was not easy - he (or she) was a reluctant passenger. I formed a tight cage with my hands and ended up with a patch of frog's blood on my t-shirt.

I left the creature meditating on a rock by the water's edge, and went inside to wash my hands. I arrived back at the pond in time to see it scramble under the water.

In Steve McQueen's film Hunger, Bobby Sands relates a childhood tale of finding a badly injured young deer by a riverside. To the astonishment of his mates, he puts it out of its misery by holding its head under the water. He gets a severe telling off from his teacher, but Sands is confident "I did the right thing by that foal".

Did I do the right thing by the frog? I don't know. But if there is such as thing as karma, I will not at all be surprised if the last thing I see is a 200ft frog wielding a giant flymo.

On colours my vocabulary is bad

BBC3 viewers may have caught George Lamb's Can I Get High Legally? For those who missed it, the short answer is yes.

The programme saw Lamb run the whole gamut from A-Class to BZP. He interviewed takers, dealers, and concerned professionals, and in true BBC3 style (see also: Super Skinny Me, anything involving Dawn Porter) he got stuck in himself, taking a cannabis substitute in the name of investigative journalism. He was honest enough to admit he found the experience intriguing, although soon added he found it scary the product was legally available.

He got off very lightly. Predictably, we must turn to Holland for the most extreme example of investigating recreational drugs. A Dutch journalist took heroin and other illegal drugs as part of a TV programme entitled Shoot Up and Swallow. The risk assessment form must have been a nightmare.

Both Lamb and the Dutch journalist were beaten to the idea by over 50 years, as this amazing piece of footage shows. An early TV documentary saw the presenter take mescaline on camera. Despite the fact it involves a grown professional tripping on a strong hallucinogen, the clip is really quite charming. His BBC accent doesn't once slip. It is the poshest trip ever recorded.

The Andy Murray jokebook

Knock knock

Who's there?

Andy

Andy who?

Andy Murray

--- --- --- --- ---
Why did the chicken cross the road?

To stick to his game, play well, and hopefully keep up what he had been doing throughout the tournament.

--- --- --- --- ---
There was an Englishman, an Irishman and Scottish man.

They all got together, played well and didn't make too many unforced errors.

The wang-der of the Commons

The gentleman pictured on the right is Sir John Trevor. Trevor is notable for being the only speaker (so far!) to have been forced from his job, after taking a bung to push a bill through the house. Perhaps when he got caught he claimed that his actions were "within the system". He did well even to get far enough to be expelled for corruption, given that Trevor was badly cross-eyed - something of disadvantage when trying to chair multi-member debates. MPs were said to find it difficult to tell if it was their turn to speak or not.

Lost in translation

Poor Susan Boyle this week suffered the indignity of having subtitles added to her interview on the Oprah Winfrey show. Watch and the producers even add generic highland fling music to the sequence (in case her birth country is in any doubt).

The use of subtitles patronises both the viewer and Boyle. Her accent is hardly incomprehensible - Groundskeeper Willy in the Simpsons has a much harsher brogue.

It seems certain portions of the US media have concluded that the Scottish accent is a bit too difficult for American audiences. Both Gregory's Girl and Trainspotting used dubbing especially for the US market, despite the universal truth that dubbing looks and sounds stupid. Trainspotting even had passages of the script rewritten to incorporate Americanisms. I wonder if the book's publishers took a similarly robust approach to editing, as in text form some of the phoneticisms genuinely are tricky: "Suppose that ah ken aw the pros and cons, know that ah'm gaunnae huv a short life, am ay sound mind etcetera, etcetera, but still want tae use smack?" Yet they are a pivotal part of the text.

A sub plot of the Sex and the City episode Don't Ask Don't Tell saw Samantha bed a whiskey-drinking, kilt-wearing Scot, despite not being able to understand a word he says. Even the most modern, incisive films or shows resort to crude stereotyping, such as Lost in Translation's observation that Japanese people cannot pronounce their 'Rs' too well.

Which all begs the question, what exactly the difficulty with a Scottish accent is supposed to be. As Irvine Walsh might write, Scotland, ah wouldnae tekkit.