It must be hard being Pippa Middleton; trying to be a serious business woman and gallivanting around London, made all the more difficult because everyone knows you for being the one with the arse that stole your sister’s wedding day.

Poor, poor Pippa.

But a tabloid picture editor has come forward and announced that newspapers would be offered around 300 or 400 pictures PER DAY of the fitter Middleton, none of which are of her arse.

Paul Silver or the Daily Mail says:

“At the moment we have a situation where there must be nine or 10 agencies outside her door every day”

Hold on a minute… The Daily Mail?

Oh, we get it, all those pesky photographers camped outside Pippa’s pad must be a new breed of immigrant paedo paps that have come over here to make our beloved tabloid photographers jobless and bother our favourite Royal relations.

Those utter bastards.

The Mail obviously never run any of these photos, after all, what paper would run pictures of a woman we never hear speak and is effectively just a bit of posh totty that we’d like to think we have a crack at because she’s not an actual Princess like her older sister.

So this abhorrent invasion into Pippa’s private life is all for nothing, those immigrant paedo paps should just take their cameras back to where they come from and leave us all to bask in the warm glow of Pippa’s loveliness, sans pictures of her posterior splashed across the pages. [Her arse isn't literally splashing on the pages, Ed]

But oh wait, some of those 400 pictures sent to the tabloids everyday actually make it into the papers, because no matter how mundane the middle class Middleton is, her face still sells papers, because it’s attached to that arse that everyone keeps harping on about as if they’re banging you over the head with a double cheeked cushion, shouting, “SHE’S GOT A NICE ARSE, DON’T YOU REMEMBER!?”

We should all chip in and get Paul Silva a replica Queen’s Guard outfit that he can wear on that high horse of his.

There’s only one way to start an article about Piers Morgan and that’s with an unabashed string of obscenities and threats aimed squarely at the former Mirror editor and dough-faced clown. Unfortunately though, we have to be (minutely) more professional than that and would therefore urge you to launch your own insults at this image of his pompous face.

Still, what brings us to bother writing about alleged phone-hacker and self-confessed crymaxer, Morgan?

Well, it turns out that he’s had enough of being a sideshow to Howie Mandel (whoever the hell that is) and is taking time out to focus on becoming America’s most hated Pariah.

He’s not quitting the media though. Oh no. He makes far too much cash to do that.

Luckily for us, Morgan has decided that the American public gives two hoots about his opinion on US politics and is going to focus on presenting upcoming news events like the 2012 presidential election in which Herman Cain will undoubtedly win because, as their enjoyment of Piers Morgan shows, America loves an absolute dickhead.

Speaking on his CNN programme, which we still can’t believe he has, Morgan said:

“I can exclusively reveal that I’m leaving ‘America’s Got Talent. I’ve loved every single second, but discovered that juggling, to my surprise really is a bit more difficult than I thought.”

Morgan took a moment to thank charity-botherer and Crown Prince of the Calculated PR Move Simon Cowell for the opportunity, stating that he would be nowhere if he hadn’t taken pity on him.

Okay, he didn’t actually say that but we imagine that’s what Simon Cowell heard.

Rumour has it that Morgan has thrown his hat into the ring to present The Oscars after incumbent host Eddie Murphy bowed out of the show on Wednesday, declaring that he wasn’t interested unless he could host, present and win all the awards while dressed as different characters.

Piers Morgan presenting The Oscars. Imagine it for a second. Now clean up your vomit.

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Every six months, like clockwork, an event happens that assures us of the revolution of the earth and the cosmic alignment of the stars bringing summer and winter ever closer. We are referring- of course- to the biannual split of F1 moaner Lewis Hamilton and surprisingly talented ex-Pussycat Doll Nicole Scherzinger.

Yes, as sure as the sun sets in the West, the couple have now moved to end their relationship after 4 years together with Lewis reported to be so upset that he actually considered calling his father before realising he was Paul Di Resta’s dad now, not his.

The split has been blamed on the pair struggling to spend time together due to their hectic work schedules but you’re not really interested in that, are you? You want some completely unfounded muck-raking. Don’t you?

You make us sick.

A source, invented by Now Magazine to pad out their story and recycled by us for exactly the same reason, said;

‘They’ve spoken at length about it but agreed there’s no point as they never see each other… They spend their whole time on opposite sides of the world.’

Irritating, perpetual complainer Hamilton, 26, lives in the Swiss city of Geneva where he spends most of his free time causing avalanches by wailing loudly at the side of a mountain (proving once and for all that no-one has any interest in his opinion on anything), while Scherzinger spends most of her time living a comfortable life in the Hollywood Hills.

Reports from the F1 paddock suggest that Hamilton might have all the time he needs to spend with his estranged lover if he loses his race seat at the end of the year, having spent most of the season flooding the McLaren garage with his petulant, child-like tears.

hecklerspray hopes that the distance excuse is just that and the fact of the matter is that Scherzinger became concerned at the sculpture of Hamilton’s facial hair. The racing driver’s beard has evolved over the years into a phenomenon more closely resembling something drawn by an architecture student with a set-square and an eyeliner pencil.

Despite moving to deny engagement rumours in the summer, their break-up is said to be final. The fictional source went on to say:

‘Although they came to an amicable decision, Nicole is actually devastated about it… She thought Lewis was the one.’

A spokesman for Hamilton declined to comment, but if you listen closely in the dead of night, you’ll be able to hear his despairing wails projected around the world by the Alps.

Lady GaGa is a real Europhile. She loves Europop, castles, actually having history that’s older than a hundred years and our general fondness for vague xenophobia for each other (presumably). And Britain has a special place in GaGa’s diamond studded heart.

How so? Well, it has been reported that GaGa loves Ol’ Blighty to such a stupid extent that she’s been asking her minions to talk to her in a cockney accent.

That’s right! She’s fallen in love with the single most annoying accent the British Isles possesses (yes, that includes the Birmingham accent, the Glaswegian estates dialect and Ian Paisley). We can only assume that she’s going to start littering her camp-pop with rhyming slang such as ‘Hamsteads’ (Hampstead Heath = teeth) and James Blunt (self explanatory).

GaGa is taking her Anglophile feeling even further. As you may be aware after seeing a series of dreadful, life-sapping commercials featuring Fearne Cotton, GaGa will be strutting her stuff at Radio 1′s Big Weekend.

For the show, GaGa has apparently asked for her dressing room to be decorated in Union Jack bunting, making her room the wet-dream of one-eyed racist, Nick Griffin. Not only that, but GaGa wants fish and chips and crates of gin.

Apparently, the singer has even toyed with the idea of eating a deep-fried Mars bar. It would appear she’s absolutely determined to die of heart problems before the year is out.

Still, all this (whether it is complete bunkum or not) is still roughly 8000 times more interesting than GaGa’s new leaked song, Edge Of Glory which sounds like the sort of song Dannii Minogue would turn her nose up at.

Yes. It’s that dull.

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British people, it’s time to celebrate – the world’s smuggest, dreariest, most interminable music awards show likes our music!

Some of the nominations for next year’s Grammys have been announced, and British names like Robert Plant, Adele, Duffy, MIA and Radiohead are all over them. Now we’re not saying that this is because 2008 was a bad year for music, but Coldplay did get seven nominations, so we suppose in retrospect we are a bit.

And this is just the start – next year the rest of the Grammy nominations are announced, including Best Native American Music Album. Come on Coldplay! Make it eight!

You don’t need to be told that winning a Grammy is a sure sign that you’ve made it in the music industry, a sign up there alongside being chased through Japan by screaming schoolgirls and being forced to orally pleasure a sweaty middle-aged record executive for a contract.

So the Grammy nominations are a big deal. And when we say big, we mean big – so big that the actual task of even reading out all the nominees for all 110 categories has to be split up over two calender years because listening to them all in one go would probably inspire some kind of Jonestown-style mass suicide.

That’s why, yesterday, the Grammy nominations were announced, but only for the handful of categories that anyone actually cares about. And, although Lil’ Wayne led the pack with eight nominations and Jay-Z, Kanye West and Ne-Yo all managed to get six nods each, the list was surprisingly Brit-heavy.

Coldplay managed to score seven Grammy nominations, Radiohead got five, while Robert Plant was recognised for his album with Alison Krauss and comparatively new girls like Duffy, Leona Lewis, Adele and MIA all got nods too. But why so many British artists? Reuters thinks it knows why:

“They’re doing great work,” said producer Jimmy Jam, a top Grammy official. He suggested this year’s crop of British newcomers benefited from a “trickle down” from the likes of trouble-prone London neo-soul singer Amy Winehouse, who won the record, song and best new artist Grammys this year.

He’s right. After her slightly unbelievable Grammy wins last year, Amy Winehouse is still big news – but because she’s too busy trying to complete her transformation into Feeble Mumm-Ra at the moment, she’s not eligible for any awards.

In fact, it’s not hard to see that the British acts that were nominated for Grammys yesterday were only chosen because together they make a kind of composite Amy Winehouse – Leona Lewis has the broad appeal of Amy, Adele has the voice, Duffy has the vintage sound, MIA shares Amy’s love of multiculturalism, Radiohead have Amy Winehouse’s funny-looking eyes and Robert Plant has her genuinely awful hair. And what do Coldplay share with Amy Winehouse? The fact that if we hear either of their names spoken again today we’re going to hurl ourselves out of the arseing window.

But let’s not get too excited, Britain – these are just the Grammy nominations. Nobody’s guaranteed to win anything. Fingers crossed that Coldplay pick up a couple of trophies at least, though – because if their next album is going to be the ‘boo hoo Gwyneth Paltrow left me‘ album that everyone’s expecting, they probably shouldn’t worry about saving any more shelf-space.

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Awesome or Off-Putting is a weekly delve into cryptozoology, ufology, aliens, medical marvels, scientific wonders, secret societies, government conspiracies, cults, ghosts, EVPs, myths, ancient artifacts, religion, strange facts, odd sightings or just the plain unexplainable.

In 1914 the British army was retreating from the Germans near the city of Mons, Belgium. WWI was beginning to blaze, and the soldiers apparently thought if they could just find a place to make a stand they might be able to change their fortunes. That place wasn’t found – but more Germans were.

It appeared all was lost until – according to legend – the heavens opened and some sort of apparition swooped in to aid the side of good.

This is the story of the Angels of Mons.

The first encounter British troops had with the Germans in WWI was on terms not so favourable to the first-mentioned army. The pre-Nazi army had a vast amount of numbers on their side – enough that French and Belgian forces had already been forced to retreat.

As the story goes the British forces would have loved nothing more than to join the other two friendly armies in a mad dash to anywhere else. Their problem though, was that the Germans had already pretty much caught them. They weren’t surrounded, but a fight would have ended poorly, as would a retreat with the enemy right on their backs.

According to this English legend, the plight of the crown did not go unnoticed by the heavens themselves. Angels appeared to keep the Germans in place while the British booked it without looking back.

The Angels of Mons legend has several different version. Here is one, as told on Paranormal Suite 101:

“It would appear that the BEF was doomed, when suddenly a strange apparition appeared in the sky between the British and German troops: a group of angels! Several reports of that day’s events describe three angels wearing long robes, illuminated by a bright light. The one in the middle was the largest and had a pair of wings.”

Other versions of the story depict the heavenly back-up as being being little more than a gigantic glowing cloud plume, or ghostly bowmen accompanying someone called St George. Yet another version we’ve only heard has it the Godly-aid was in the form of a single angel – with a wing span that took up nearly the whole horizon.

What the story seems to boil down to is this – the vastly outnumbered British forces were able to hold off the Germans – miraculously, according to some. Clearly this could only happen if God was on their side. This seems to be what gave the legend its roots – that plus a decent author. According to Wikipedia:

“On 29 September 1914, Welsh author Arthur Machen published a short story entitled “The Bowmen” in the London newspaper, the Evening News, inspired by accounts that he had read of the fighting at Mons and an idea he had had soon after the battle.

“At the time Machen was a journalist on the paper and although he was a well known author of supernatural stories there was no indication that his story was fiction when it was originally published in the Evening Standard; it was written from a first hand perspective and it was a kind of false document, a technique Machen knew well. The story described phantom bowmen from the Battle of Agincourt summoned by a soldier calling on Saint George, destroying a German host.”

That link up there takes you to the actual short story. True or not, the Mons Angels were printed all over the newspapers of the day. They were even used in religious sermons to prove the plight of the Brits had the full backing of the Almighty. This is clearly convenient for a country at war.

To wrap things up – here’s another interesting bit from Wikipedia. It involves actual witnesses (notice that’s plural) to the whole thing:

“The only real evidence of visions from actual named serving soldiers provided during the debate stated that they saw visions of phantom cavalrymen, not angels or bowmen, and this occurred during the retreat rather than at the Battle itself. Furthermore these visions did not intervene to attack or deter German forces, a crucial element in Machen’s story and in the later tales of Angels. Since during the retreat many troops were exhausted and had not slept properly for days such visions may have been hallucinations.”