The Editor's Blog

KERRY Katona’s estranged husband has seen fit to spill his guts to a Sunday tabloid. She’s probably mortified today to find that Mark Croft, someone she shared her life with and had children with could betray her in this way.  And we feel for her. That’s why we want to try and help her look on the bright side.  She may have been humiliated by her former partner … but – and it’s a big bonus –  she’s still got a fantastic pair of breasts!  And we’re sure that with a rack like that she’ll have no problem  attracting a nice new fella.  Check them out on our centre pages today. Chin up, Kerry!

SAD news about TV presenter Kristian Digby.  I’ve often wiled away the hours on my days off watching back-to-back episodes of Too Buy or not Too Buy. But if ( as is being suggested of Kristian) you’re a gasper – i.e someone who chokes himself out with a dressing gown cord or similar while having a hand shandy – you’re bound to come a cropper sooner or later.   Still, when it all does go wrong, at least you’ve gone out with a bang.  We had an open discussion about Kristian’s apparent Michael Hutchence-esque fate yesterday in the office. And, as you can imagine if you’re a regular follower of this blog,  we treated his untimely demise with our usual sensitivity.  But we did come up witih an idea that might interest those  Euthanasia people Dignitas.  Maybe auto-erotic asphyxiation -  which is the posh name for gasping  -  should be used to sex-up assisted suicide.  Instead of slipping away miserably in that dingy room that looks like it was rejected from the Eastenders set, the end could be so much more exciting.   Dignitas  clients could shuffle off this mortal coil while having a kinky five-knuckle shuffle hanging from the bathroom door or wherever. What harm could it do?   You’d definitely go out leaving your mark on the world…and possibly a bit on the lino too.

My ring caused quite the stir  in our news conference yesterday.  It was the sheer size of it that got everyone talking.  The way they were shouting,  I don’t they’d ever seen one that big before on display…Okay, I’ve kept you hanging on for the punchline for long enough.  It was a piece of finger jewellery that was at the centre of the excitement,  not a back bottom. It was all triggered by my choice of accessory,  a massive silver ring that I bought – appropriately enough – in Greece! (You can check out the scale of it for yourself on this very website!) It only took one person to spot it and before we knew it everyone was falling about laughing over  shouts of “look at the size of Pam’s ring.”  Funny thing was, there was a board meeting going on in the room next door.   I can only imagine what the men in suits made of the disturbance.  Probably thought we had some sort of x-rated circus act in the office.  It wouldn’t be the first time. We did once host an sex orgy featuring a female dwarf here at Sport Towers.  Anway, back to the studio…..

IT  may sound weird but I actually really like working on Sundays.  There’s no grown-ups in the building and no visitors.  No one from “Planet Normal ” gets buzzed in to deliver office supplies, fill the coffee machine or have official-looking meetings.  It’s just us – the team at the sharp end, having a laugh and putting together your favourite paper.  Luckily, we’re all one big happy family here at the Sport, honest!  And it’s always heartwarming to hear the way Daily Sport family members greet each other.  Take yesterday for example. Sports Editor and Man City fan Marc Smith comes through the door.  Assistant Editor Jon Wise spots him and bellows, full belt across the office. “F***in’ hell, it’s Smithy.  I thought you would have wanked yourself to death by now”.  A reference, I’m assuming, to City’s win over Chelsea on Saturday.  (Anyone who knows any different please feel free to let me know for future blogs!)   I’m not sure how Smith actually celebrated the drubbing, but it clearly wasn’t with a fatal dose of chicken-choking.  I kind of wish he had, though. Because it would have made a great front page exclusive.  I suppose it’s one to bear in mind if City go on to win the Premiership.  It’d make a great headline:  ”Man City fan wanks himself to death over title win.” Nah, on second thoughts, no one would believe it…

Being what we are, I’m often privy to conversations that probably don’t openly take place in normal offices.  Here’s one that made me laugh out loud. Picture the scene:  The deputy picture editor is sat at his computer with headphones on studying something intently on the internet.  Sunday Sport editor shouts across to him: “What are you looking at? ”  He replies: “I’m watching a man suck his own cock.”  Sunday Sport editor look at him for a split second,  then replies: “And why do you need sound for that?”   The whole office erupts in laughter.

Hello all. Apologies, I know it’s been a while since I’ve blogged, but I’ve been busy ensuring the nation receives its daily quota of topless babes, showbiz sex pics and hilarious political pisstakes.  Speaking of which, who knew Gordon “Glass Eye” Brown had it in him to kick butt, eh?  Maybe that’s where John Prescott learned all his moves from.  Now that’s a fight I’d love to see.  My money would still be on Prezza.  He looks like he’d be a dirty boxer.  Probably whip out a frozen meat pie from his shorts pocket and poke Gordon in the good eye with it.  And then scoff it.

FROZEN STIFF

So there I am yesterday,  on my way into conference minding my own business when I hear a shout that literally stops me in my tracks.  Butter-wouldn’t-melt senior reporter Clare  Chapman strikes again: “Who wants to see my boyfriend’s cock and balls?” She enquires loudly.   For a second I thought she’d brought in her Christmas party photographs again (only kidding!) then I realised it was probably some sort of play on words.  Turns out her other half, who’s a bit of a handyman by all accounts, had harnessed all his precision joinery training to construct a giant snow penis, correct with bollocks in their back garden.  Very funny!  Got us all thinking in conference as well.  We came up with the perfect way to get back at any of those neighbours you don’t like –   stealth snow cock and balls building!  Set your alarm for the middle of the night,  sneak onto their front lawn and erect an enormous frozen genitalia .  Then, when they’re standing outside their house in the morning looking dismayed, chose that moment to pass by them tutting and shaking your head.  That’ll each them to get sniffy next time you roll in pissed, singing Girls Aloud songs at 5am. 

BEATEN ON PEN-IS!

OUCH!  Even as a bird, I must admit I cringed over our story about Match of the Day pundit Adrian Chiles lopping half his willy off in an accident on his bike as a youngster..  Still, at least they managed to rebuild it.  There was a lot of angst-ridden expressions among the blokes in the office while we were debating it in our news conference. And there seemed to be a lot of unanswered questions too.  “Did it look normal?”   “Does he have sex with the lights off now?”,  and predictably, the one that cropped up the most: “Is it smaller than it should be?” So Adrian, if you’re reading this, get in touch and clear all that up….please!   Imagine, if that kind of thing happened today,  with all the advances in medical science, they’d probably be able to make it bionic, you know, pin it together with bits of super-touch metal.   Then his nickname could be Robo-Cock or Sperminator  or Glans-former  or…okay, I’ll stop now!

HAPPY NUDE REAR

Well, that ‘s it folks.  It’s all over for us at Sport Towers, bar the puking, fighting and  drunken “I f***king love you” headlocks. Yes, our secretaries do love a good night out when the New Year’s Eve edition goes to bed.

But, like I’ve said in the leader on page 6 there’s lots more good stuff to come in 2010.

While I’m here, I’d just like to apologise to that lady in my gym who may have caught my look of incredulity at the length of her ladygarden this morning. I was just passing by as she dropped her towel. At first glance I thought she’d brought David Bellamy in with her! In this job, I’ve probably seen more pubic topiary than most.  There’s the Hollywood (all off), the Brazilian (which comes in four different varieties)  and the centre parting (no, not really – I just made that up. Be funny though, wouldn’t it?)   And judging by  the woman’s untended nethers,  the 70’s porn bush is making a comeback.  Remember, you heard it here first!  See you next decade! (Really f***ing annoying when someone does that isn’t ?)

Welcome to the Daily Sport editor's Blog

HELLO READERS AND DAILY SPORT FANS

WELCOME to Britain’s breast newspaper.  Hello, My name is Pam McVitie and there are many of you out there – mainly blokes and lesbians – who probably think I’ve got the best job in Britain. 

Daily Sport editor – wow! How many pairs of breasts do you see in a day? I can hear you asking.  Quite a lot, actually – more than a 200 but less than a thousand? I don’t know, I don’t actually count them, although for the purpose of this blog I might do a little experiment one day and keep a tally of the number of breasts viewed by me in one day.  You can hazard a guess, if you like.  And then I can reveal all.  But don’t phone in – it’s just for fun, as they used to say on the Big Breakfast.   

You might think a job like that is wasted on a woman. I don’t mind – I’ve heard worse.  One bloke who does benefit is my other half.  Sometimes, we’ll be in a bar or a restaurant and I’ll spot a girl with enormous breasts and I just have to point it out to him, I can’t help myself. I’ll say something like: “Don’t look now,  but massive tits at 10oclock”  and he’ll discreetly have a butcher’s.  Then we’ll laugh about it.  Let’s face it, he’d  look anyway because he’s a bloke and blokes look at tits.  And because I do a job catering for blokes who look at tits,  (…so, just blokes then!) now I look at tits too.  But not in a lecherous way,  just from a professional point of view. It goes without saying that I haven’t got to where I am today without being able to spot a good pair of knockers at 50 paces.   And it’s hard to turn that kind of thing off when I’m not in work. It’s not just boobs, either.  The other day I was having dinner at my sister’s house with my boyfriend and mum and we were all watching Strictly Come Dancing.  There was a point in the fox-trot or whatever when Ali Bastian was thrown in the air by her dance partner and in the process managed to give the cameras an almighty flash of gusset.  Almost as a reflex, I shouted out:  “Wahey! Great crotch flash” while at the same time making a mental note to find a little hole, so to speak, for the picture in the following day’s paper.   Luckily, my family aren’t prudish and  I was treated to a high-five by my other half but it could have been so much worse, had the vicar been round for tea.  That’s why I don’t go to church!

PITY THE FOOL WHO MESSES WITH MR PAM.

Speaking of me,  here’s a few other bits of trivia about the first female editor of Britain’s most boob-heavy newspaper.   My nickname in work is Mr Pam – not because  I have a moustache or anything (not since that last course of waxing, anyway) but because I’m very tough.  Actually, that’s not the reason.  I probably shouldn’t  explode the legend but, truth is, about 10 years ago,  someone somewhere wrongly entered my name into a database used by PR companies as Mr instead of Miss Pam McVitie.  As a result, most of my mail started to arrived addressed to Mr Pam.  And it’s stuck.   Until now, only people who were here 10 years ago know that.  Most of the more recent employees just think it’s something to do with my fearsome reputation and the fact that I can kick them in the head from a standstill, being a kickboxer.   It suits me to let them continue to think that, because I like the power a little bit.  And it’s not really stretching the truth that far because I can kick  to the head from a standstill – although since they brought in a Human Resources department and all that health and safety nonsense to Sport Towers, I’m not allowed to do that anymore.  Well, er… not officially, anyway. 

I’ve been here more than 11 years and I’ve held down a variety of jobs from reporter to news editor to deputy editor to editor, so I’ve done my time.  I’m Daily Sport through and through, I’m proud to say.

This blog is all about taking you guys inside Sport Towers. I want you lucky readers to see the paper through my eyes. I want to let you in on all the banter and bizarre debates we have  and let you understand how, somehow, it all helps me and a brilliant  team of people put together Britain’s Breast Newspaper every day.  

JOLIE good idea! 

Today I revealed the news of my brand new and very important Editor’s blog at our daily editorial conference.  This is a meeting where we decide what’s going in that day’s paper amid a little light teasing and banter.  Traditionally we start by taking the piss out of the picture editor because his missus makes him do the ironing. Then there’ll be some reference to the assistant editor’s wife entertaining gentlemen for  money while he’s at work and it’s likely there’s be a nod to the fact hat someone round the table has a small penis – not me, obviously.  Everyone knows that mine is fookin’ massive!  Those are the things you can set your watch by, although there may also be random jokes about people in the news (e.g. Subo), a quick review of someone’s toilet habits  and a discussion about whether Jordan aka Katie Price is still worth a shag. The short answer is yes, by the way.  The long answer – and I quote -  is “It’s better than a wank and something to tell your mates!” 

But I digress,  the news of my blog was greeted with great excitement, especially when I suggested that,  like that blog about the posh hooker which ended up being a TV show starring Billie Piper, my blog might  be turned into a telly series or even a movie.  (That was called “Belle De Jour “ whereas  mine would be more “Bell End de Jour”) This idea sparked much frantic debate about who would play whom.  It was immediately decided that assistant editor Jon Wise would be captured perfectly by Cockney tough guy Ray  Winston.  There was a silly suggestion that Kevin Keegan could play  deputy editor Gary  Doran just because he’s got curly hair.   And it was asserted that the bloke from the Stella advert who drives the truck load of chickens would be ideal as news editor Neil Goodwin. However, it quickly became apparent that no-one wanted to make a suggestion about who would be me for fear of being knuckled in the side of the head if I didn’t like it.   Eventually the picture editor,  who’s not best known for knowing when to keep quiet, shouted out: “Who’ll play you, Mr Pam?”  An immediate hush fell on the noisy conference room And after about 20 minutes, the news editor volunteered: “Er..Angelina Jolie?”  Great suggestion, I thought.  What I want to know is why the cheeky bastards all immediately fell about laughing. 

HAIRY PIE

There are many words for the female nether regions.  My particular favourite is ladygarden because it just sounds so…well, inoffensive and fragrant. I imagine it’s the find of  expression they use at posh ladies colleges or the women’s institute.   “Come along now, gels,  attend to your ladygardens.”…that sort of thing. 

As you can imagine, given the amount of photographs of babes in their skimpy gear that pass through this office in a day, it goes without saying that  sometimes – usually if said babes wear see-through pants -  pictures will need doctoring. The powers that be would shut us down in a second were we to print a hint of flange so we have to be vigilant.  Today during such an inspection, I heard someone across the room: “Can you see any  hairy pie on that shot?”   

The query was relating to a glamour shot of a regular Daily Sport girl who was nude, but shot slightly side-on. In other words, she was potentially  in the  front bottom-flashing danger zone. You’ll be relieved to know that a very close-up check (the male members of staff take this part of the job very seriously!! ) revealed we were safe – not a hint of spiders’ legs to be seen anywhere. 

Anyway, the reason why I’m mentioning is it it made me realise how long it was since I’d heard the phrase “hairy pie” and it just made me laugh out loud.  It’s funny and a bit in your face, without being really vulgar and offensive – bit like Daily Sport.  We’re the hairy pie of tabloids. 

THINGS I’VE LEARNED ABOUT MEN

All men hate their wives.  Thank god I’m not married nor have any intention of getting married. Today’s conference started with people, who shall be nameless,  slagging off their other halves. One was moaning that his missus had told to put the washing machine on then told him off for doing it. The other was furious that his wife had hung up on him when he was in the middle of telling her not to ring him at work ever again to nag him. 

In the 11 years I’ve worked almost exclusively with men I have learned that they will gob off  a lot about their partners but are actually quite scared of them.  It’s okay, guys. Your secret is safe with me!

BIG COCK

Best story of the week was a tale about an Austrian farmer who officially has the world’s best-looking cock.  I am of course, referring to his cockerel, but it raised a laugh in conference when our angelic-looking assistant news editor Clare Chapman brought it up. 

Naturally, given the potential for a amusing headline, it walked into the paper.  

A foreign agency had filed the story so the newsdesk were asked to give it a slight tickle, just to rewrite it into Daily Sport style.    Funniest moment of the day came when Clare shouted across the office to the Assistant Editor: “I’’ve fiddled with your cock!”  Everyone just fell about laughing.   If you bellowed out that kind of thing out in any other office you’d be marched into personnel and subject to some sort of disciplinary procedure.  Here, you get a pat on the back and earn the respect of your colleagues. Brilliant!!

TO PEE OR NOT TO PEE

Friday’s feature on page 6 about penis shapes threw up a debate about asparagus.  As most people know,  eating asparagus makes your pee smell funny.  One thing led to another in our discussion and pretty soon we were debating the social rights and wrongs of watersports. For those not in the know,  we’re weren’t talking being dragged behind a boat on a pair on skiis  on holiday. We were referring to the sexual term watersports, which is where one person pees on their partner for sexual gratification. Not my cup of tea,  but hey, as long as both parties are agreeble to it, there’s no judgement here.  So there we were,  wondering whether or not there’s a watersports etiquette.  Should you feel bad about indulging if you’ve eaten asparagus or sugar puffs (which apparently have the same effect.)? Then there’s beetroot which I’ve now learned turns your pee red.  If you frequent kinky sex clubs where people do this kind of thing, is there a picture of an asparagus spear with a red line through it?  Please let me know if you have an inside track on this. You never know when this kind of information will come in handy.  The last thing you want to do is go round to the mother-in-laws for dinner and have her serve up asparagus on a bed of beetroot the first night you’re planning to drench your other half.  That would put a dampener on things, if you know what I mean!

WOOD YOU BE BOTHERED?

Pouting cocktail waitress Jaimee Grubb says she slept with Tiger Woods 20 times in 31 months.  Hardly seems worth all the bother when you work out that this equates to one a half bonks a month.  Still, according to my married colleagues, this is a veritable shagfest.

WITH THIS RING...

I’d like to say a big thank you to celebrity  cocksman Russell Brand today for his admission that he would be happy to wed gorgeous pop star girlfriend Katy Perry.   Reason why I’m so grateful to Russ is simple – his heartfelt confession gave me the opportunity to do one of my most favourite things as editor …write a ring headline.  I know it’s childish but it just makes me laugh.  More often than not, if you see me,  pen in hand, hunched over a sheet of A4 and chuckling to myself, that’s what I’m up to.  I remember my first ring headline with great fondness.  Back on 27 July 2001 when I was deputy editor we had a story about how Jennifer Aniston and Brad PItt sued the designers of their wedding ring for putting out a cheap copy.  The headline was…drum roll please: “Big stink over Jen’s Ring”.  I still fill up with pride when I think of it.  Since then, I’ve moulded myself into a bit of a ring-headline afficionado. One of my fave ring headline moments came when Jordan launched her own range of jewellery for Argos in November 2005. The headline was “Jordan: My ring will get a lot of wear”.  But myself and assistant editor Jon Wise were so inspired by this story that we actually wrote 11 rapid fire ring headines in total including : “Jordan: My ring’s going cheap”; “Look at the size of Jordan’s ring”;  “Jordan: Everyone can have my ring this Xmas”  and  “Queue round the block for Jordan’s ring.” 

Yes, if there’s ever a prize offered for ring headlines, I’d like to think I’ll be right up there with the best of them, so to speak.

YOUR SECRET SAFE IS WITH US

I was touched by the plight of a reader who wrote to me recently.   I can’t give away too many details for reasons that will become apparent in a moment.  I was opening my post as normal when a fiver fell out of a letter.  It was from a man who had found himself in a distressing situation.  The poor bloke is a massive fan of our magazine Sport Readers Wives and has been buying it on the quiet since it was first published.  Turns out he’d gone into his local paper shop, all excited as usual, to pick the latest copy  only to find – shock horror -  his newsagent had gone away and a friend of his wife’s was holding the fort.  Given the situation, he baulked at buying Sport Readers Wives and instead (probably) came away with Practical Angling or something.  He had promptly gone home and penned a Jim’ll Fix it style letter to the Editor of the Daily Sport.  I’m happy to say we did fix it.  We not only sent him a copy of the mag, but we also sent his fiver back.  So we saved his cash and his marriage.