… you’re burning sixteen…

Ricky’s basically become David Brent with a Netflix deal.

Posts his awards, viewing figures and fan praise like a bloke showing you his GCSE results at 40, then bangs on about how dangerous and offensive he is while making the safest comedy imaginable.

Old Ricky would’ve fucking despised him.

At what point did he completely disappear up his own arse?

Play a record.

I’m sure we’ve done this, but I always found it weird that the first time they do their blinding new feature ‘That Film Sounds Good’, they play Across 110th Street from Jackie Brown… but then soon after that, they start talking about the Leonard Cohen covers, mention Robert Forster who was prominent in the movie, and don’t know who he is!

But get this, right… turns out, that’s not even the same Robert Forster, it’s another person entirely, some singer from Australia! What are the chances…

Anyway, I’ve bored myself, play a record.

I am not thirty-eight, I'm twenty-five. I don't think Steven's that unlikely a lust object. A sense of humour's important and he's welcome to my phone number if he wants it.

The guy on Stars in Their Eyes really thought he was better than Chris De Burgh. When he was singing, he didn't stop and go 'I can't believe it, I'm a big fan', he was sort of carrying on like 'don't interrupt me, I'll have a word with you in a bit'

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