Jo Brand's week

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Australia Day was celebrated on television this week with a few Australian films and programmes which were introduced from some hall which appeared to be full of drunken blokes, most of whom were, I assume, Australian and looked as frightening as the characters who then popped up in Mad Max. The compere for the evening was the ubiquitous Jonathan Coleman, he of Virgin Radio and beer ads. He kicked off the evening by running us through some very basic history and mentioned the day that the British claimed Australia for their own, passing comment as he went, that it was not a great day for the Aboriginals. "Aha," I thought, "he is going to acknowledge the suffering those people went through." But, having made that statement, he just went on to say, "but enough of that" and moved on. Well, I'm sure the indigenous peoples of Australia must be so pleased that their entire tragic history was so eloquently and profoundly tackled. No wonder they feel that no one gives a toss.

Oh dear, two-thirds of Church of England vicars cannot remember the Ten Commandments and it seems that some of them can only remember two, which include "Thou shalt not commit adultery". Given the "randy vicar" stereotype, which has been with us for some time now, they must obviously be thinking about it a lot. It is a little worrying that something which should really be imprinted on their minds has somehow managed to leak out. It's not as if 10 is a particularly large number either. A former Archbishop of Canterbury remarked that they were just "caught on the hop". No wonder we're all falling apart morally if this mob can't even keep the most basic of God's rules in their heads.

I received a very strange letter from Brixton police station this week informing me - "Mr Joe Bryant" (who says the police aren't very good at spelling, or telling what sex you are, for that matter?) - that since my flat was burgled in 1991, there have been "developments". This letter was posted last July and had sat on the floor of my old flat since then. Needless to say, I'm having trouble contacting the detective in question, but I am intrigued. The flat was burgled while I was in hospital suffering an allergic reaction to hair colour and doing a very reasonable impression of a 60-year-old Vietnamese woman with a very big face. Are my video and answerphone coming home to me after all this time? Now that's what I call a fast clear-up rate.

Wonder if I've got enough time to lose some weight before Princess Diana's gear goes up for auction. I don't think I'll go for the Galliano dress that looks like a nightie, because it looks like a nightie. It makes me roar with laughter to see the glitterati so accepting, if not downright adoring, of the Princess turning up in something not unlike my mum used to wear under her proper dress in the Sixties. Us stout birds will just have to wait until Fergie puts her old rags up for auction. I suppose I could go for that puffball dress and use it to wear to the shops to scare off schoolchildren.

In an attempt to recruit new nurses, advertisements to pull them in are going to take a warts- and-all approach. I must admit previous adverts have been a bit soft-focus and tended to concentrate rather too much on the "angel" aspect of nursing, which doesn't really exist. How can you remain an angel when most of your day is spent doing unpleasant and rather undignified things to bits of people most of us normally don't see? I suspect that the huge numbers of individuals leaving nursing may well be something to do with the changing role of women, allied to the increased selfishness of our culture. Looking after people just ain't what it used to be, especially given, no doubt, that patients are so much more demanding these days.

Poor old Miss Universe is expanding at a rate unacceptable to all. She has put on nearly four stone over Christmas and is seriously in danger of having her title removed. So what has gone wrong? You can't blame her, really. With the title under her tightening belt, it must have been tempting to go on a damn good binge over the festive season. I put it down to ennui. Anyone with half a brain must get bored to death being wheeled round talking cobblers and smiling for all you're worth. Let's hope Miss Universe has got a few vitamins into her body, kick-started the old grey matter and realised what a ridiculous, antiquated and belittling (sorry) farce she has been involved in. See you at the women's group, Miss U.

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