Yes, I’ve taken leave of my senses. Here’s Engelbert Humperdinck, or as I like to call him Ingelbert Honkeydick.
This smashing, very orange video, featuring numerous shades of lipstick and eye shadow, [maybe he was born with it?] is entitled The Hungry Years. Why? Our Ingelbert doesn’t look very hungry to me. In fact in some of the smouldering images he looks positively stuffed.
What’s provoked this nightmarish trip down a memory lane that quite frankly should have been demolished a long time ago?
Well, Ingelbert Honkeydonk was in a film on UK television tonight. He was shown reminiscing about playing sax and commented how he liked the sax! [Raised eyebrows! That is what he said. You could hear the muffled sound of a generation of grannies and quite possibly great grannies scream and then faint.]
When I’d finally got off the floor, stopped laughing, wiped the tears from my face and I could breathe again I just knew I had to pay tribute to the great British institution that is Ingelbert Dinkyhonk. This guy has been crooning for so long now, he must be tired and it must be way past his bedtime. But no, he still keeps going. Just the other year he did us proud in that other great British tradition of not being placed anywhere respectable, in the Eurovision Song Contest.
Here’s his entry.
Lovely! He was on first and he was still awake/alive at the end of it all.
Now, having being very cruel and positively bitchy about this poor guy, with all of his own hair and teeth, I’ll come clean.
When I was about ten I had a bit of a thing for Ingelbart Enkydonk. Unbelievable but true! I liked his hair and teeth.
Now, I’m as mad as hell, because he still keeps going and crooning and I’m falling to pieces. I’ve still got my own hair and teeth, but for how long?
It’s just so unfair. Some people keep going and going and going and going and going…………………..
Thanks for stopping by. You probably wished you hadn’t, but that’s not my fault. Enjoy the rest of your Wednesday night.
Sorry Engelbart Humptydink…I still love you really. xx
Until the next bitchy time.