http://newsbiscuit.com/forum/topic.php?id=27337 The NewsBiscuit Community en-US Thu, 23 May 2013 06:12:54 +0000 http://bbpress.org/?v=1.0.2 q http://newsbiscuit.com/forum/search.php http://newsbiscuit.com/forum/topic.php?id=27337#post-75191 Sun, 03 Jul 2011 21:13:34 +0000 Vertically Challenged Giant 75191@http://newsbiscuit.com/forum/ <p>The interview itself that OllieP posted the link to is the funniest thing I've seen in ages. So this made me smile because it reminded me of that. </p> http://newsbiscuit.com/forum/topic.php?id=27337#post-75184 Sun, 03 Jul 2011 20:46:31 +0000 Mr Payne 75184@http://newsbiscuit.com/forum/ <p>I started reading this thinking it would be shit. But I laughed quite a lot - probably not because of the writing, but because Ed Miliband was such a dick. It's the comedy equivalent of Tina Fey repeating the words Sarah Palin had said and them being arse-splittingly amusing. </p> http://newsbiscuit.com/forum/topic.php?id=27337#post-75178 Sun, 03 Jul 2011 20:30:27 +0000 Edward Cain 75178@http://newsbiscuit.com/forum/ <p>For the perusal and consumption of NewsBiscuit writers, here's the transcript of my interview with not-Ed Miliband (which I originally posted over at <a href="http://www.threelinewhippet.com" rel="nofollow">http://www.threelinewhippet.com</a> ):<br /> ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p> <p><em>Three Line Whippet</em> has been granted unprecedented access to the private life of Ed Miliband, Labour Party leader and Doncaster’s premier automaton. I met him in his constituency home on a day when teachers’ strikes dominated the news agenda (an issue which I had resolved to avoid after Ed’s last interviewer had to be slapped out of a nine-hour coma).</p> <p>After an awkward introduction involving the malfunction and eventual breakdown of his handshaking arm, Ed led me through the house and onto the garden terrace. He gestured with his still-sparking right hand for me to take a seat.</p> <p>“It was a nightmare getting up that hill on my bike!” I commented, opening the conversation.<br /> “Did you say strike?” replied Ed, with a kind of nasal excitement.<br /> “No.”</p> <p>He looked disappointed. There was an awkward silence. We continued, looking intently down at the crazy paving, until I offered him a cigarette.</p> <p>“Lucky Strike?”</p> <p>It was only a split-second before I realised my fatal error, but Miliband’s eyes had already gained a metallic glint. There was nothing I could do.</p> <p>“These strikes are wrong at a time when negotiations are still going on. But parents and the public have been let down by both sides, because the government has acted in a reckless and provocative manner. After today’s disruption, I urge both sides to put aside the rhetoric, get round the negotiating table, and stop it happening again.”</p> <p>I woke up, aware only of a faint whirring sound coming from somewhere behind Ed’s left ear. I made no response, keen not to give him any encouragement to expand further on the subject. Time to move on, I thought.</p> <p>“So what have you been doing this week?” I asked plaintively.<br /> “This week I have been pressing the message that these strikes are wrong at a time when negotiations are still going on. But parents and the public have been let down by both sides, because the government has acted in a reckless and provocative manner. After today’s disruption…”</p> <p>I believe that he pontificated on this vein for some time, but I became distracted by the sudden urge to knaw at my fist. After using a passing cat to soak up the blood from my now ragged stump of a writing hand, I began again on a different tack:</p> <p>“How do you relax in the evenings?”<br /> “ I like to think over the day’s pertinent issues, particularly how these current strikes are wrong at a time when negotiations are still going on. But parents and the public have been let down by…”</p> <p>I was once more diverted, this time by the growing realisation that the cat had now stopped breathing. I determined to grip it less hard in future.</p> <p>“Congratulations on your recent marriage,” I interjected desperately. “How is this new life treating you both?”<br /> “I urge both sides to put aside their rhetoric and stop it happening again.”</p> <p>Ed’s answer seemed familiar and confused, but I was so relieved to finally escape his extended monologues about the teachers’ strikes that I ploughed on regardless.</p> <p>“And how did you ‘pop the question’?”<br /> “I said to her, ‘after last night’s disruption both sides must get round the negotiating table in a reckless and provocative manner.’”</p> <p>In a futile attempt to salvage my pay packet, I turned to Miliband’s upbringing. I asked him whether he thought his family circumstances had made him the man he is today.</p> <p>“My father, Dead Miliband, instilled in us an unwavering commitment to diplomatic resolution. He would have said that these current strikes are wrong at a time when…”</p> <p>I had no wish to continue this painful interview. Briefly I calculated the consequences that would ensue if the adjacent pot of peonies were given an airborne trajectory. Encouraged by this beautiful daydream, I approached Miliband’s problem directly.</p> <p>“Thousands of Facebook users have ‘liked’ an embarrassing video of your robotic interview with the BBC earlier today. Does this raise questions about your ability to communicate effectively?”<br /> “These ‘likes’ are inappropriate at a time when-”</p> <p>Ed’s answer was cut short by the concurrent outbreak of a fire between his legs. Normally I would diagnose the cause as last night’s dodgy curry, but in this instance I deemed that the more fitting explanation had something to do with the cigarette lighter I had just thrown at him. He blinked frantically, and as I made my swift getaway I’m sure he shouted strictly-rehearsed expletives to the effect that I had acted in a reckless and provocative manner… </p>