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Vanessa Redgrave

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Revision as of 13:17, 4 September 2011 by Buck Felize (talk | contribs) (Who She?)
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Who She?

Doyen of the Redgrave acting dynasty, graduate of the Class of ’68 and fully-paid up member of the Anti-Everything Brigade. Typically, ‘Red Nessie’ is from a well-to-do, upper middle class background, is well-educated and is therefore a product of a system that she absolutely fucking despises. There’s irony in there somewhere, but she’s not alone. She shares the same bed with Jacqui Smith – another hypocritical cnut. Well, not literally the same bed, but you never know? Ken Livingstone is on her Christm... Winterval card list as well in all probability.

So anti-establishment is she that she railed against the mighty state apparatus by accepting a CBE for services to something or other. That’ll show the fuckers, eh? Along with that gong she’s won an Oscar, an Emmy, a Tony, a Keith, a Mick, several BAFTAS, a bronze swimming certificate and a tenner on the National Lottery.

Now in the twilight of her years, Nessie was once quite do-able – though never in the same league as ‘Hanoi Jane’ Fonda, who (let’s face it) is still very much do-able to this day. Vanessa cut her teeth burning various items of underwear and manning every conceivable barricade in those far off groovy times and has since cosied up to virtually every Marxoid-Commie-Maoist-Socio-Arab liberation front in the known world – and possibly a few off it. All in all one of Josef Stalin’s ‘useful idiots’.

Still, fair play to the batty old nag. She’s picked a side and she’s stuck to her tofu – unlike most politicians of today who’ve done more U turns than a Hungarian trucker with a fucked satnav.

Mad Dogs & Englishwimmin

And then in 2011 it all went horribly wrong. An illegal travellers’ site in Essex was about to be (finally) bulldozed by Basildon Council. The bunting went up and thousands of Essex residents breathed a sigh if relief. There was dancing in the streets and the babble of children’s laughter carried on the warm evening breeze. Unfortunately there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth by the poor, put-upon travelling community, who are generally just misunderstood and most definitely not a cabal of tax-dodging thieves who are happy to live in their own shit and make others’ lives purgatory. It was at this juncture that Red Nessie fired up her very own Outrage Bus.


Now, chucking your oar in with the PLO and African despots like Muammar Gaddafi is one thing, but siding with pikeys is a Bridge Too Far and Vanessa enraged the entire nation with her naïve, woolly-minded, silly old bat, Guardianista views. Unlike many on this sceptic isle, Nessie had never sampled the delights of having 13 year old pikelets on quad bikes churning up her very large garden at 3am.

Nor had she been pelted with dogshit or had her shed ransacked, her lead flashing go mysteriously missing, or opened her front door only to find her driveway raised by several inches of badly-applied tarmac that she’d paid a handsome sum out of her retirement saving for, or found her back yard transformed overnight into something akin to a Tracy Emin exhibition.

Odd that? Those who have suffered this kind of thing are less than enamoured by those on the other side of the fence. To add to the insult, a load of ‘anarchists’ jumped on the bandwagon too, no doubt to much bafflement from the dids. The site was now looking like a medieval siege with scaffolding and purple hair, as more social misfits joined the crusade against the Babylon and Nessie became quite vocal. The UN became involved.

Blue Helmets

Flooding Essex with half-blind Dutch conscripts in blue lids is a no-brainer and so it came to pass that life played one of its little tricks, as the Crays Hill pikey siege just happened to coincide with the little drama playing out in one of Nessie’s old stomping grounds: Libya. Implicated by MI5, MI6, Mossad, the CIA and FBI, Nessie found herself in the crosshairs of a NATO airstrike as top chiefs decided it was time to shut the silly twat up for gooders, as she’d pissed just about everybody off – including the UN.


And so it came to pass that in late September 2011, as lines of police riot cops withdrew into the next county for fear of an exploding gas bottle and a burning tyre, high above the shire circled a Norwegian Air Force F16 – it’s target a dozy bint dancing on a pile of piss-soaked mattresses whilst waving her bra at the rapidly disappearing coppers.

A cheer went up on the scaffolding and another one went up in the control room as 15,000 feet over Basildon, the handsome blond pilot thumbed the release switch and a 1000 lb laser-guided Paveway munition silently slipped the hardpoint and fell earthwards. A momentary flash signalled the end of Vanessa Redgrave and several acres of MDF and dogshit. The nation rejoiced. All that was left of the Oscar-winning actress was a charred Ugg boot and a melted CBE. The irony, the horror. The horror.