Some people hate James Corden. They want the ground to break open and swallow him right up, with all the “stupid” “comedy” things that he says. His amiable, cheeky chappy demeanour just rubs people up such the wrong way that not only would they not piss on him if he was on fire, but they would probably light sparklers on his burning corpse and start a carnival.

Imagine the things you’d see. The sights and sounds of burning fat spitting on possibly e.coli contaminated hotdogs. Lovely.

Whereas on the other side of the coin, there’s people who adore the ground that he walks on and will happily tune into whatever he does. These people would probably not piss on him if he was on fire. They would probably phone the fire brigade and stand idly by and bite their nails waiting for Dennis the Fire Engine to turn up. Maybe taking a picture and uploading it to Twitter, or that fancy new Google Plus. Technological mavens that they are.

Us, well we wouldn’t say one way or another how we feel about James Corden. You don’t come to Hecklerspray for angry reactionary prose about things. Imagine, right? Right.

Well Corden is doing a massive publicity drive to drum up sales for his autobiography which has a handwritten title no doubt… and what’s the best way to drum up some attention for something? Well by dressing up as a woman is how. Just look at Corrie. Once they became Transsexualisation Street, the ratings went through the roof. Not just because they made it seem to Roy Cropper wasn’t going to embark on a paedophile inspired kidnap culminating in a dash from Underworld with a toddler under each arm into a white van.

But because they were addressing ‘issues.’

Obviously Corden isn’t addressing any issues, apart from making us aware that everyone STILL loves Adele, but that doesn’t stop him from popping his penis between his legs and dragging up. Maybe they even went the whole hog (so to speak). Who knows?

Talking to Heat, between rearranging his flattened package, Corden gushed

“I love Adele so much. I find what she’s achieved and keeps achieving an inspiration to any young singer-songwriter out there. I met her on her first-ever performance on T4. You could just tell then how huge she was going to be. She’s exceptional. It makes me excited about presenting the BRITs next year, knowing that the biggest-selling female artist in the world is going to be there. And she’s part of our little island. She’s just taken over the World.”

Obviously what Corden meant to say was she’s “part of our little island” because she’s an actual counterweight so Britain doesn’t keelhaul us all into the English Channel. While Adele stays around, we can live happy without sliding into the Sea.

So let’s put our hands together for James Corden. It seems that flashing his magina keeps the Great Sea God Adele from dooming us all to a life of floating on doors and rafts made from broken settees.

It didn’t do Leonardo di Caprio so well at the end of Titanic is it? Winslet couldn’t save him from a watery grave could she? So presumably it’s just fire that she can jump through with the lithe of a thousand Batmen. And maybe when all those powers combine, Kwame is Joseph Gorden Levitt and Tom Hardy is still a hulking dick.

Follow hecklerspray on Twitter or else we’ll kill you in your sleep or join our Facebook group if anyone is still daft enough to use it or BUY ONE OF OUR STUPID T-SHIRTS OR WE’LL KILL EVERYONE YOU’VE EVER LOVED!

Hello! Welcome to the hecklerspray liveblog of the Brit Awards 2011, sponsored by someone or other. Tonight, we’ll be growing increasingly weary and angry at all the goings-on at The Brits.

Your Mick Fleetwood and Sam Fox for the evening are tiresome ‘spray editor, Mof Gimmers and ravishing bombshell JustRestingMyEyes (not her real name of course). They’ll be fluffing their cues (and each other) and drinking heavily throughout each hammy link from James Corden. Click over for the descent into hell… AND KEEP HITTING THE REFRESH BUTTON!

Mof Gimmers: Hello there. Are you ready for the long haul? Good. You’re more prepared than us at least. There’s a high chance that the Brit Awards 2011 could be the most disastrous yet, what with it being moved to a new venue (it has moved from the Lewisham Crown Green Bowls’ Association Clubhouse to the impressive EnormoDome somewhere else in That London) and the fact that James Corden is hosting proceedings.

Also, be sure to follow us on Twitter, where David Baddiel lookalike, Kris Silver is running things along with Randy Figgins and keeping our lawyer on his toes. Now, who fancies a quick drink before we get going? Mine’s a rum.

JustRestingMyEyes: Oh, Christ, the bloody Brits. Another year’s gone by, and what do we have to show for it? Scanning the nominees list, it looks like the only British music of note in the last year has been made by boys mooching miserably about underground clubs in fake nerdy glasses, or women so unbearably twee that just one verse of their siren song compels most grown men to reach for the nearest puppy to shred. Well, I presume so, anyway. I haven’t heard of a single one of them. The Brits, well…it’s for the kids, isn’t it? Like Christmas, or Cheesestrings, or shagging someone while wearing a condom with JLS’s face on it.
That’s a horrifying thought to start. It’s only gonna get worse. Strap the hell in and rum the hell up.

7.31 And what’s this shit? That John Sergeant bloke who stomped around on Strictly like a Scooby Doo mummy, cheekily observing houses so disgusting that Dennis Rodman wouldn’t shag in them. [MG]

7.36 Ah, clearly you’ve made the wise choice to avoid the red carpet coverage on ITV2, where the highlights so far have been Peter Andre answering “yes” to the question “What is your name?” and Dave Berry systematically sucking the joy out of everything. [JRME]

7.45 Don’t forget to keep pressing refresh folks. Mainly because we’re not obscenely wealthy like the BBC or the Guardian who of course, do inferior liveblogs to us. *ahem* [MG]

7.51 Never mind Tinie Tempah dressed like a cross between Joe 90 and Bryan Ferry talking to the utterly loathsome Dave Berry. Never mind walking Kinder Egg toy Paloma Faith… I’m struggling to open a packet of sweets and I’ve already punched ten of my own teeth out. *weeps uncontrollably* [MG]

7.55 So how many minutes into the ceremony will James Corden unleash the belly beast? I hope he’s done something hilarious and subversive like painted an Egyptian flag or a painting of Chairman Mao on it. We’re about to find out. Jesus Anthony Costa! It’s beginning! [JRME]

8.00 Sorry. Peter Andre‘s immense live TV skills and Justin Bieber‘s complete unwillingness to talk has left this writer agog. Now, it’s time for some Tron bollocks with Take That. [MG]

8.05 In Take That’s dystopian future, all riot police get naked and all songs sound like Muse. I’m scared. [JRME]

8.08 And PLAN B WINS the first award for BEST BRITISH SOLO MALE, loves his mum, and does nothing of any note whatsoever apart from make Elton John get all moist around the eye. Because he cries at how talented the young chap is! Honestly, you people make me sick. [JRME]

8.11 Over at ‘spray twitter, TVBite says “It’s nice to see the people who beat you up on night buses getting awards, isn’t it?” in reference to Take That‘s performance. [MG]

8.14 Oh pissing hell. Brit School graduate Adele is here to show us how painfully ‘real’ she is’ Of course, ‘real’ means ‘not thin’ in the pop world. Still, her hair looks like a delicious Cornish pasty, so that’s something. [MG]

8.20 James Corden was so moved by Adele’s honking that he could barely splutter his way through the clunking iTunes advert he had to deliver. Hey, James! You gonna tell a joke at some point? All this sincerity is frankly harshing our buzz. [JRME]

8.21 Fearne Cotton AND Justin Bieber? Jesus wept. [MG]

8.22 TINIE TEMPAH wins A THING! BEST DICKIE BOW WEARING BREAKTHROUGH SOMETHING OR OTHER! With any luck, he’ll kick Fearne all over the stage and then smash her face off with his award. GO ON TEMPAH! [MG]

8.24 Tinie you fucking wimp. [MG]

8.26 THE ARCADE FIRE, one of the most tedious, self-serving bunch of shits who ever shaved the side of their heads, win something or other. I already don’t care. I want someone to punch someone. [MG]

8.27 BUT RIHANNA IS HERE! [MG]

8.31 Don’t expect any words here. I’m furiously masturbating and crying with joy [MG]

8.33 It’s OK, Mof. James Corden says it’s OK to play with yourself during Rihanna’s performance. She’s got the epic pins out, which is good, but try to get put off your stride by the sudden presence of the cast of Stomp. [JRME]

8.34 That was amazing. I was amazing. Everyone was amazing. Especially Rihanna. She’s particularly amazing. Mumford & Sons were probably clapping along politely like nanas at a wedding.[MG]

8.35 What kind of stupid fuck sends a press release out on Brits night? Seriously. [MG]

8.37 TV’s Dawn Porter, like every woman watching The Brits tweeted: “Rhianna just had me thinking all sorts of things there.” Also, while we’re here, let us have a big hand for Kris Silver and Randy Figgins who is running our twitter account and probably getting us into all kinds of legal trouble. [MG]

8.38 And, like all good orgasms (Rihanna) here comes that clawing sense of puking depression (Mark Ronson). [MG]

8.40 And JESSIE J wins the one that we already knew about, the CRITIC’S CHOICE award. She does it like a mandem, which sounds like a terrifying marine beast, and seems to have misplaced her vajazzle in the accompanying video. Betty Boo is doing the do whilst pretending to be Lady Gaga. Thank Christ she didn’t turn up in a Kinder egg. [JRME]

8.45 Nice to see The Brits giving a chance to some homeless fellas. Very kind of the… wait?! That’s Mumford & Sons! hecklerspray is firmly behind Mark E. Smith‘s view on the band… and that was, essentially, to throw a towel at them that he’d pissed on. [MG]

8.48 Jesus, Mumford and Sons, where do you think you are, BBC4? Take your post-ironic trucker’s hat and fairy lights and banjo – Banjo! This is the Brits! Geri Halliwell has shown her brain on this hallowed stage! – and hurry on back to the Mercuries where people will stroke your beards until you politely cough out a climax. [JRME]

8.49 And the award for the most irritatingly catchy song of the year goes to Cee Lo Green. In fact, you can shorten that to plain ‘irritating’. Okay. It was for INTERNATIONAL SOLO ARTIST. [MG]

9.00 Oh, TINIE TEMPAH gets a double with BEST SINGLE, with the song that starts slow then gets a bit faster, revolutionising the music industry. And then make us all wait while someone called Labyrinth doesn’t appear on stage. We can wait all night, Tinie. We’ve got nowhere to go. [JRME]

9.01 Arcade Fire win something. No-one cares. [MG]

9.03 Scally soulman Plan B rightfully gets attacked by London’s metropolitan police force with a kettling job. Of course, Take That did the same thing earlier, making Plan B look like a massive dick-end Which he is of course Sadly, it isn’t Plan B who leaves the stage in flames, rather, hecklerspray writer Matthew Laidlow who tried to justly kick Plan B in the balls. [MG]

9.07 Oh joy of joys. Grotty bedsit noodlers, The XX are here to cast a huge cloud of gloom over us all. Fantastic. Thanks The XX. You’re able to deliver more misery than a clunky Matt Corden link. [MG]

9.09 Matt Corden there, in love with Cee Lo Green for two reasons: 1. He’s fat. 2. Someone flew him on a plane to the Brits. What? Did he expect the fucker to walk? It might have done him some good in fairness.

9.10 Nice to see secret couple The Ting Tings on a Mastercard advert. We all knew that right? It’s not a secret is it? [MG]

9.13 Hooray! Cee-Lo Green had changed out of his Alison Hammond costume and was sporting an actual bejewelled manhole cover around his wrist. [JRME]#

9.17 Avril Lavinge still partying like it’s 2005 and it’s so flaming rebellious to have a bit of green in your hair. And inexplicable automaton JUSTIN BIEBER wins BEST INTERNATIONAL FOETUS and runs his 100: thank fans 200: go to 100 Basic programme. I ovulate in sympathy. [JRME]

9.20 BEST FEMALE goes to docker-voiced child LAURA MARLING and a bleached Lily Cole gets up to accept it. Brits executives cry hot tears of joy at the credibility of it all and the rest of us wonder when Fearne Cotton is going to turn up again so we can scream abuse some more. [JRME]

9.23 Arcade Fire play on stage and the entire world goes for a piss. Good. We all needed a quick visit to the toilet to clear our stomachs after Bieber dragged his placenta across the stage. Weirdly, he called it ‘Mike’. The sick little bastard. [MG]

9.26 Wait? Take That have died? Then why the eulogy? [MG]

9.28 Over at our twitter account, Kris and Randy (still holding hands and typing with a hand each) are causing everyone endless headaches. “Is James Corden banned from the stage or something? Maybe Patrick Stewart is in the crowd.” [MG]

9.31 Full marks to anyone who actually noticed that we keep typing the host’s name out incorrectly as a little joke.

9.32 Cheryl Cole introduces Best International Female Artist (the most hotly contested award of the whole show to be honest) with a voice that sounds like she’s either just had a tooth out or her batteries are running out. Weird. Anyway, the GREATEST WOMAN ON EARTH wins the award. Yessir, it’s RIHANNA! [MG]

9.34 Sweet shitting crikey. Rihanna’s attractive isn’t she? Lovely top half of breasts. [MG]

9.36 Tinie Tempah is accompanied by a crow in human form on piano and blinds half of East London with all the lasers from the early ’90s combined. I’d have a flashback if I wasn’t such a massive square that the most acid I’ve ever had was on my chips. [JRME]

9.42 He’s made the building fall down. I’m unimpressed, frankly. [JRME]

9.44 TAKE THAT wins BEST GROUP, all dressed as geography teachers. Remember last winter, when you could set your watch by Take That singing The Rancid Bloody Flood every hour on the hour and there was something called a Matt Cardle? Me neither. [JRME]

9.48 And while we try and work out what proportions of Plan B’s bloodstream are E and coke, (none and none, lawyers!) over on Twitter, we’re informed “martine mccutcheons been in touch to let us know she’s still famous and a national treasure”. Get over there and follow them. [JRME]

9.51 Great news about Plan B wanted to massacre reggae as well as soul. What is he? Some kind of racist or something? [MG]

9.52 And here’s rock’s favourite bodybuilding pot noodle headed crooner. It’s Roger Daltry from The Who! He’s wants to tell us what the BEST BRITISH ALBUM IS! The XX, Mumford & Sons, Plan ‘Reggae’ B, Tinie Tempah and Take That fight it out. After Daltry gives Plan B a quick rimming by pretending he likes him, he announces that Mumford & Sons is the best album we British could manage this year. If you open your window right now, you’ll hear millions of bodies thudding against the ground like sacks of concrete and guts as we collectively end our lives. Fucking hell fire. [MG]

9.55 And of course, to celebrate British music, Cee Lo Green from America sings us out with a song which, ironically, instructs us all to completely forget this tawdry backslapping event. Wonderful. Great work Brits. You hapless fuckbags [MG]

9.59 Wait, that’s it? Cee-Lo duetting with Brit ancient Paloma Faith doing her best cackling Purley karaoke housewife, that’s the best finale you could come up with? And Anastasia’s ruddy shoes?! Honestly, that was the worst two hours of my life. And I’ve seen that Peter Andre show on ITV2. [JRME]

10.00 Well, thank you to everyone who read this bug-eyed bollocks. Myself and JRME are off to the aftershow party in our heads for a quick, agonising suicide after the shambles that was The Brit Awards 2011. Thanks to Kris and Figgins for doing such a sterling job with the twitter account. You’ve been wonderful, we’ve been dreadful… but not nearly as dreadful as the cunts who didn’t invite us to the Brits. Again.

Now piss off and we’ll see you in the morning. As ghosts. [MG]

Mathew ‘Hold the T, Extra E’ Horne and James ‘HA HA HA HA HA!’ Corden are true pioneers in the field of experimental entertainment.

In only a few short years, they have broken boundaries that lesser scientific performers could only possibly consider dreaming about far, far in the distant future. Let us pause for a moment in our busy lives and consider their achievements. Their feature film, Lesbian Vampire Killers, still holds the world record of largest gaping hole between title-prompted expectation and viewing disappointment. And, of course, the Horne and Corden sketch show on BBC3 managed to create the hitherto only theoretical comedic vacuum; a place where even the most gag-stuffed idea can have every last trace of humour squeezed out of it to leave a small, calcified pebble of misery, rattling painfully around in an empty space between a documentary about racist dogs and Family Guy.

But they’re not resting on their laurels. They have now managed to completely discredit the entire discipline of statistical research.

This epoch-shattering news was broken on Chortle:

Horne and Corden are the best comedy duo ever – better than Morecambe and Wise, Laurel and Hardy or The Two Ronnies… James Corden and Mat Horne topped a poll run by the online TV service seesaw.com, which attracted 3,000 responses.

That’s it. That’s the end. That’s the last survey that will ever be done. The idea that Horne and Corden – the most critically-panned comedy duo that ever walked a planetary body, the twosome whose best effort at a joke was to place anything between one and four quivering buttocks in the way of a camera and wait for the cretinous laughter – are the best comedy double act of all time is so ridiculous, it makes a mockery of all statistics ever done.

The concept of using a small sample to reflect the opinions and view of a much larger population is now obsolete. All numbers now mean nothing. Horne and Corden have actually broken maths.

It seems there is nothing this brave pair cannot do if they put their big old minds to it.

The scientific community was quick to react to this news. Steven Hawking has controversially claimed he “wasn’t that bothered”. “Who needs numbers,” he said, peeking round the gyrating thighs of his favourite Stringfellows dancer, “when you’ve got Krystalle?” The ghost of Archimedes was reported to be muttering something about preferring “that bit in Little Britain with bloke falling out of a wheelchair.” But current TV obsession and vocal celestial body fan Professor Brian Cox has declined to comment on the grounds of being far too handsome.

Of course, Mat and James themselves have been celebrating their epic breakthrough in own indomitable style. Horne has gone for a bit of a nap for the rest of the decade, poor mite. And Corden has stripped to the waist, impervious to the aeroplanes falling from the sky, deranged computers eating humans, rivers running red with the blood of the righteous, and all the other signs of the death-of-numbers apocalypse he has caused; he’s got his belly out, and he is laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing.

His belly apologises for the chaos it has wrought.

Follow hecklerspray on Twitter

Some good and some bad for this week.

Folded:

• Mary Portas (if nothing else you’ve got to respect her for sticking with that same bowl hairdo for the last forty years)
• Little Scarlet jam (so unbelievably moorish you can eat it straight from the jar, just like Joey, the mental one from Friends)
• That new iPhone everyone is banging on about (FaceTime video calling! Nope, no clue either)
• England (please beat Germany. Many thanks)
• Anchor butter‘s ‘Paradise City’ riff (crap advert, obviously, but country Guns ‘n’ Roses is a winner)

Creased:

• James Corden’s World Cup Live (as good as we expected, i.e: worse than eating your own foot batter)
• The world’s longest ever tennis match in the history of the world ever (pat on the back for the players, but still less fun to watch than an explosion in an abattoir)
• Ticket offices (any ticket office, anywhere, for anything. All manned by utter cretins)
• Frank Sidebottom’s gone (if you don’t remember this legend from Saturday morning TV, clearly you should be doing your homework right now and not wasting time here)
• Watching Dressed to Kill (sellotaping our eyelids shut would have been a better use of our time. Thanks a lot, Fiver)

The best thing about Simon Cowell is that he makes a success of everything he does. Music. Television.

Legitimately dreadful haircuts. And now football. Yesterday, the bizarre Simon Cowell-masterminded World Cup mash-up of Shout and No Diggity featuring James Corden and Dizzee Rascal reached number one in the charts. It has single-handedly brought the nation together thanks to its uplifting message, its arbitrary scattering of the world ‘England’ and the fact that it’s still only about a tenth as awful as that Terry Venables song.

But is Simon Cowell happy with the song’s success? No – he’s not going to stop until Fabio Capello has played Shout for the players in the England dressing room before every match. Presumably with a threat to play it at them again at full-time unless they can convincingly win.

Between the fact that they’re knee-deep in a badly-timed defensive crisis, the fact that their first-choice goalkeeper is in the middle of a crippling crisis of confidence and the fact that, thanks to all the vuvuzelas, all their matches will be soundtracked by a noise that’s half brass cover version of the Jupiter And Beyond The Infinite section of 2001: A Space Odyssey and half the sound that serial killers hear in their heads seconds before they go on the rampage, England need all the help they can get this World Cup.

Or, failing actual help or anything that could genuinely be perceived to be helpful in any meaningful way whatsoever, England need to listen to a tinny three-minute reworking of a bad song from the 1980s just before they go on. That’s Simon Cowell’s assessment, anyway – he thinks that the James Corden and Dizzee Rascal version of Shout that he put together is so inspirational that it should be played to the England squad before every match. The Sun reports:

The music mogul, 50, reckons the song – which made it to No 1 yesterday – will lift the lads’ spirits before the crucial clash with Algeria. He said: “England needs this record right now. “They should have played it in the dressing-room at half-time against the US.” Simon added: “I’m going to try to get it played in the dressing-room before the next match.”

Now this might sound like the unbridled egotism of a man so powerful that he can dress exclusively in a wardrobe of what looks like the horrible non-leather outfits you usually find at the back of leather goods shops, but we actually think that Simon Cowell has a point here – Shout should have been played in the dressing room at half-time against the USA. It would have taken Rob Green‘s mind right off his first-half fumble, for instance.

Admittedly that’s because he’d be too busy writhing around on the floor, his hands clasped tightly over his ears, mouthing the word ‘Why?’ again and again as he failed to understand why he was being punished in such an overtly sadistic way, but we should take what we can get at the moment.

Follow hecklerspray on Twitter

What’s in and what’s out for the cool kids this week.

Folded:

• James Corden gets taken to school by Sir Patrick Stewart (drunk celebrities are fun)
• Konnie Huq and Charlie Brooker together at last (good luck to them. Or should we say, good to her. He’s apparently got plenty)
• Evil Santas (not as good as Evil Bunnies, but should still kill five minutes)
• The Lives of Others (you’ve seen this film, but just in case you haven’t please go and watch it now to complete your life)
• Cutest video ever (you WILL cry)

Creased:

• Big Brother’s back for one last time (then it’s as dead and buried as James Corden’s humility)
• The Losers (and to think we thought it might be good, or at least funny)
• Forgetting to put the rubbish out (now we’ve got to stuff it in next door’s all next week and he hates that)
• Jimmy Nesbitt (so sick of hearing this guy’s name)
• Sing-a-long Grease DVD (oh, it gets much worse)

At time of writing the world was reeling at a bizarre clash at the important Glamour Woman awards.

Patrick Stewart – X-Men star and Jean-Luc Picard of the Starship Enterprise – became involved in a surreal exchange with bloated smugmeister James Corden.

Corden- famous for being overweight, partially responsible for an underwhelming sitcom and laughing sycophantically on unwatched panel shows so hard that everyone hoped he would pass out – hosted the much regarded event.

According to various news sources, at one point Stewart criticised Corden for slouching about with his hands in his pockets whilst the actual awards were being given and the camera was off his huge fat needy face.

And that he could see his big muffin-top gut.

Responding to genuine criticism of his lack of professionalism and likeability, Corden responded with the statement that he could see Stewart ‘dying’, clearly unaware that this was not an open-mic event at a holiday camp – surely Corden’s natural home.

In a further reference to an earlier achingly-unfunny line from the gurning tubby fool – in which he unamusingly claimed to ‘fancy’ one of the Jonas Brothers – Sir Patrick Stewart suggested Corden might want to lose some weight if he were to stand a chance of having homosexual sex with a pretty boy massively out of his league.

Again, sound advice from a knight of the realm. All concerned shuffled about a bit and stared at their feet until it was all over…

Alcohol was not thought to have been involved.

Follow hecklerspray on Twitter

Obviously James Corden was going to be all over the place during the World Cup. He vocally likes football.

He hosts a sport-based quiz show. He stars in those toe-curlingly chummy sketches with the England team at every opportunity he can get. He’s a shameless attention-whore. So, yes, James Corden was always going to do something for the World Cup. But an unofficial England anthem? An unofficial England anthem that’s a cover of a Tears For Fears song? An unofficial England anthem that’s a cover of a Tears For Fears song that Simon Cowell masterminded?

An unofficial England anthem that’s a cover of a Tears For Fears song that Simon Cowell masterminded and Dizzee Rascal does a rap on? James Corden, we wouldn’t have expected any less from you. Sadly.

The World Cup is amazing. Not because of the football, or because there’s an unofficial law stating that the camera must always linger on a barely-dressed female supporter during Brazil matches for what seems like an almost stalkerish length of time. No, the World Cup is amazing because it’s the time when every tinpot act in the country makes their own gaspingly awful unofficial England anthem.

Terry Venables has done one. Bubble and Dean from Big Brother have done one. Mark E Smith has done one. And they’re all awful. All of them. But none of them are a Simon Cowell-approved reworking of a Tears For Fears song featuring Dizzee Rascal and the fat one from Lesbian Vampire Killers. No, that’s a special level of awful. A level of awful that operates at such a high frequency that even dogs would struggle to hear it.

But, hey, that’s James Corden for you. Sky News reports:

Dizzee Rascal and James Corden are showing their support for the England football squad by recording an unofficial World Cup anthem. The track is a reworking of the 80s Tears For Fears hit Shout. During the song Dizzee urges the England team to give it their all. He raps: “Come on England, we need to sort it out/Put the champs down, pull your finger out.”

Apparently England fans have until tonight to get onto the track by phoning up a number and bellowing the lyrics. We’re not going to tell you what number it is because, really, you’re better than that.

Follow hecklerspray on Twitter

10 – Like cheese? Like human breast milk? Then boy oh boy, have we got the perfect delicacy for you! - Monsters And Critics

9 - Like cats? Like puns? Like reading cat puns on your iPhone? Then boy oh boy, you probably need the Witty Kitty iPhone app! – Lobstur

8 – A website called Lazertits. Without exaggeration, it will change your life – LAZERTITS

7 – James Corden in ‘not very good’ shock – Watch With Mothers

6 - Oh Ryan and Tatum O’Neil, we much preferred you both when you were estranged - Bestweekever

5 - Danni Minogue is now so pregnant that the only thing that’ll fit her is a second-hand muppet costume – Amy Grindhouse

4 - Ha ha ha Mark Owen ha ha ha – Popsugar

3 - Sunglasses that probably won’t make you look like too much of a twat, even though it’s only bloody March - Clothesonfilm

2 – Prince Philip is the most awesome man who has ever lived. We wish we were him SO BADLY – Asylum

1 - The Trolololo man reviews Trolololo YouTube parodies. He is so wonderful…

A title sure to attract Goths, gore-hounds and repetitive strain injury victims across the country.

Lesbian Vampire Killers is a title is so audacious, so in your face, so silly, it should probably be less of a surprise that the film can’t live up to its promise.

Thrusting current ‘it’ boys from the vastly overrated Gavin and Stacey, Mathew Horne and James Corden play the two best buds Jimmy and Fletch. Jimmy (Horne, recently-dumped) and Fletch (Corden, craving adventure), decide to take a scenic camping trip to some generic creepy village. Problem is, it only features one house, a pub, an endless forest and obviously the aforementioned lesbian vampires.

If that set-up doesn’t sound contrived enough, then add to that a director who starts off like an ADHD victim on ecstasy, who inexplicably goes cold turkey half way through the film. He aims for Edgar Wright but comes off more Edgar Shite. He could have at least stuck to his convictions.

It’s then down to Horne and Corden to supply the buddy-banter comedy. Scrap that – it’s down to Corden. Horne’s Jimmy does little more than stand around screaming, moaning and looking slightly feminine. Corden brings the funny, but for a clearly talented man he is reduced to spouting out a barrage of knob jokes.

The ladies of the film do nothing to add to the proceeding. Not that we went in looking for it, but when a film clearly advertises a film about lesbian vampires we would at least expect something towards titillation. Hell, we would’ve settled for some titters at all from the 90-minutes.

Trying to make sense of the mess is hard work. At one point one very non-lesbian vampire character obtains some sort of magical powers for a brief moment, which left us slightly perplexed. But needless to say this is the least of the film’s worries. With hap-handled plot, romance, action and comedy elements, there really isn’t much to be seen here from two of the UK’s biggest rising stars.

Lesbian Vampire Killers is a film that should do exactly what it says on the tin but barely could be called Bi-curious Bat Beaters. Horne and Corden do their best to enjoy the material but we seriously think there is a complaint to be made here to the trading standards commission.

[story by David Scarborough]

You! Follow hecklerspray on Twitter!