I Know EXACTLY What Samantha Brick Is Going Through.

People like myself, and poor old Giles Coren, we suffer for our brilliance, good looks and modesty.

There has been a real explosion of gossip this past week since dear old Samantha "Thick-as-a" Brick published her very genuinely heartfelt piece about how much she has suffered over the years as she is just so much better looking than everyone else in this blighted country of ours. And I know exactly what she is going through, this poor tortured soul. Don't you think I haven't suffered as well? When you have the looks of a God, a wifey who all men want to sleep with and you're without doubt the most powerful, important and epoch making restaurant reviewer in the whole of the London area - you become a target. That's right - a target, for every jealous, ugly, poor, unimportant little troll who blathers through their worthless pointless lives, producing ugly poor children, living in squalid little houses MILES from the west end, filling their pointless miserable lives with take aways, beer and Britain's Got Talent.

Many is the time I have arrived at vastly important openings of desperately needed sushimi restaurants in Chelsea, to be greeted by the maitre 'd with a "oh it's you - get him in before the press see him", obviously knowing full well that seeing a man of my stature entering their modest portals would drive some of the gathered paparazzi insane with jealousy. Knowing that I, Giles London, have it all, and they have nothing. Aside from a camera with a big lens and a conspicuous talent for accurate long distance spitting, the dirty bastards.

On many occasions I have entered high class eating establishments not a stones throw from the King's Road, and before I have even reached my table the head chef will have pushed a large bottle of Bolly in my hands and said such charming words as "here's a free drink, don't write anything shit about us or I'll cut your balls off, you pampered little Daddy's boy prick". And you know it is just plain jealousy. Jealousy of a career I have forged with my own bare hands, fighting my way to the very top of the restaurant reviewing world, appearing in my own TV specials about silly old food with Sue Dyke, a career of blood toil and tears. When Daddy first offered me the post when I was sent down from Cambridge, I knew I had earned this position. Worked hard and earned it. And with my chiseled good looks, impeccable taste, dazzling wit, brilliant reviews, stunning sexy wife and overall brilliant wonderful jet set life... well, some people just can't hack it. And that jealousy rises like bile to their unimportant talentless craws, and they feel they have to vent it. And it manifests itself in so many little ways - being pointed at in the streets, a small barbed remark overheard in passing, being pushed down two flights of stairs on the underground, a savage kick in the cobblers in Maiden Lane etc. etc.

I was with Samantha the other night at Twats Nightclub in Soho and as we entered one of the other guests shouted "Christ! Look! It's the Brick and the Prick!" and my heart went out to poor old Sam. She didn't deserve that...

On a happier note, if you wish to recommend a good restaurant for a bit of nose bag (as long as you don't get jealous) then contact me at gileslondongetsstuffed@yahoo.co.uk and let's eat. Bon appetit!

Sub-Editors - An Apology

It has been brought to my attention that an internal memo from my desk here at The Clarion office has somehow found it's way to the pages of fellow broadsheet paper The Sentinnel. The memo is purported to have been written by me to four of the sub-editors on my weekly restaurant review page in The Clarion colour supplement on Saturdays. The memo in The Sentinnel reads thus:

Look, you dim-witted, fuck brained fuckers. Sub-editors are supposed to do what sub-editors do without pissing off, annoying or butchering the work of the TALENT - i.e. ME! The people who's brilliant writing, like what I always do, sells mucho editionos of the fucking paper and keeps Neanderthal fuckwits like you in fucking jobs!

My final line in my previous review of Los Cobblas Tapas Bar and Taxidermy Collection was: "OK, so £561.58 might be viewed in some quarters as a little steep for two garlic fried tiger prawns and a glass of Rioja, but so exquisitely does the chef at Los Cobblas put this sort of stuff together then a Tapas Bar and Taxidermy Collection is obviously the ideal place for me to come and...wait for it, brillianto jokeo on it's way mi amigos...get stuffed! (Get it?)." And how did the article look when published? Like so: "OK, so £561.58 might be viewed in some quarters as a little steep for two garlic-fried tiger prawns and a glass of Rioja, but so exquisitely does the chef at Los Cobblas put this sort of stuff together then a Tapas Bar and Taxidermy Collection is obviously the ideal place for me to come and get stuffed!" Yeah, a hyphen suddenly appears between "garlic" and "fried" without clearance from me, and then my brilliantly humourous aside at the end gets BUTCHERED by some ill educated FUCKING FUCKETY FUCK FUCK FUCKER! Do YOU get paid to go and review restaurants? NO! Is your Father editor of a national newspaper? NO! Do you have an assortment of random Flopsy's you can take to impressive restaurants every week? I don't actually know. But you probably haven't. I HAVE THOUGH. And this may seem petty and you may call me a bit of a pratt, but when I heard what you had done to MY ARTICLE, well I was awake all night. In a RAGE! A FUCKING RAGE MAN! And I know a man can get verbose when he is angry and sometimes I am guilty of using several hundred words when only one will do, and I.... (continues for another 12 pages in a similar manner) ....until I was spent and just lay on the floor next to the toilet gasping for breath, but it certainly stopped the conversation in the Vicarage I can tell you.

Now get this fucking fuckers! MY DAD is Editor of this fucking paper and if you ever, and I MEAN EVER butcher any of my brilliant articles again I will KILL YOU IN COLD BLOOD WITH MY BARE HANDS! Or get you suspended on full pay. You just see if I don't.

Regards as usual, guys,

Giles London

Restaurant Critic #1

As you can see, The Sentinnel has just used my words out of context and have tried to portray me as a spoilt, psychotic, bully boy, but nothing could be further from the truth. Me and my close team of sub-editors get on like a close family and love each other very much. Don't you think that if they really hated me, they'd find a way to be-little me in these pages as well? Hello, my name is Giles London and I only got the job because of my father. I have a very small penis, no sense of humour and I am a total and utter twat. And by the time the posh tosser has worked out who put this on his copy I will be in my new job on the other side of the World. Stitch that, London, you prick.

On a lighter note, if you can think of somewhere cool to have dinner, then drop me a line at gileslondongetsstuffed@yahoo.co.uk and let's have some nosh. But I still won't pay as I am such a tight fisted donkey-raping shit-eater.

A Load of Wankler

I am soon to be immortalised in print, and not just newsprint! I have wanted to write a novel for some time and so this weekend just gone, I sat down and bashed out my first effort. It took me most of Saturday AND Sunday would you believe! When I had finished it, I sent it over to Daddy for his perusal and do you know, I had a publisher phoning me up almost immediately with an offer to print it! How lucky was that? Here you see a mock up of the front cover and dust jacket blurb of how it will look (of course in full colour when it does come out). Please click on the pic for a full look of it in all it's splendour.

It is called "A Load of Wankler" and revolves around a suave and sophisticated restaurant reviewer based in London called Guy Wankler (Guy pronounced "GEE" in the French idiom). It follows his adventures and misadventures as he reviews some of the finest eateries in London. The reviews of this book have all been marvellous so far and I am indebted to some of the finest writers on The Clarion for their honest and forthright views on my writing style. Guy is a renaissance man who loves fine food, classy women and talking about himself, but then who doesn't? It is being published through a subsidiary of Clarion Newspapers called "Alan London & Son Publishers" and retails at a very reasonable £29.99 from all good booksellers. It is thought provoking, humorous, forthright, feisty and very sexy in places, if I may say so. I shall publish a couple of sample chapters on here in the next day or two and would love some of my fans to leave their reviews of this, my magnum opus.

Let me know what you think of my book. Email me at gileslondongetsstuffed@yahoo.co.uk and be honest and tell me how wonderful I am and how much you loved it. Bon appetit - and happy reading!

Come Dine With Me!

Hi! Or as we say in West London, arriverderci! My name is Giles London and you probably know me from such TV programmes as "Gordon Sweary's Fucking Kitchen" and "Really Crap Early Morning ITV Movie Review Show". I also write for The Clarion Newspaper here in the UK as a restaurant critic. I have been doing this job for some seven years now and have had a tough fight up the slippery pole of the British media to get here, and now that I have attained the apex of my writing career I am anxious to prove the skills what I have got make me worthy of my place. Or something.

How did I become a restaurant critic? Well I could have spent my formative years washing dishes in Michelin starred Paris eateries, or studying the works of some of Europe's finest chefs. But instead as I was being chauffeur driven down from Cambridge after graduating, I phoned Daddy at work for some advice and he was brilliant. My father worked in the printing industry (Old Inky we called him!), so he had a few contacts in Fleet Street. so I felt sure his advice would be wise, worthy and above all, sensible. I was not wrong.

"Oh fuck all that queuing up for a job in the media, Giles. I'll sack the tosser who is our restaurant reviewer, he is nearly due to retire anyway. Should save us some money on a carriage clock and a piss up. Once you start you can write any old cobblers and get a free meal while your at it. Should keep you on the straight and narrow for a few months. Now I must dash as some of the sub-Editors are hassling me for a decision. Think I might sack the bastards..." and the phone went down. I have never forgotten those sage words.

And now with the dawning of the internet age it seems appropriate that I should launch my ever popular reviews into cyber space - and here they are in all their glory.

Ah, but what name to call these reviews, I hear you ask. Good question. Well, the naming of it was a stroke of luck. I decided to phone my pal, celebrity chef Aldo Silli while he was on honeymoon in the Bahamas recently. When he answered the phone I said:

"Hi Aldo, it's Giles here!"

"Who?" He said. Aldo is such a joker.

"Giles London. I am launching my own restaurant critic blog in cyber space and I was wondering if you had a good idea for a title for it...?" I could hear his lovely wife Thingy (for fuck's sake find out her real name before publishing GL) in the background moaning about Aldo hurrying as things were going "off the boil" - how nice he finds time to cook even on honeymoon! Aldo came back quick as a flash with the perfect title.

"Get stuffed!" he yelled, and hung up. So that's what we called it. Actually I think he said "Get stuffed you pompous little prick", but that wouldn't fit on the title page!

So tuck in guests and enjoy the sumptuous reviews!