I knew that hot Irish bird off've The Apprentice looked familiar...
...it's bloody Aunt Sally from Scatterbrain Farm! A Una Stubbs for the noughties (and who didn't want to get naughty with the painted doll in a haystack, back in the day!).
I suppose that would make Sir Alan a kind of Crowman, but although he may have the grizzled look, I can't see him shuffling about a field pulling a wheelbarrow, all bedecked in feathered millinery products.
Forget "You're Fired", it'd be like "You're Stuffed (full of hay)!)
It'd be dead ace to be able to switch heads though! I'm fed up of boufifng up me barnet, but for it to deflate and flop after travelling through wind & rain to my destination. At least with a spare head I could get to a dance hall, a quick switch, and I'm all impressively follicled again!
And you could be out on the dance floor, strutting your funky stuff, while your other head is buried in some young maidens muff (or, in my case, being kicked whilst it spouts bollocks about stamp thieving gnomes, loch ness camels, and general random shite that no-one can find the wavelength to).
Ooooh - and if you dropped your spare head on the floor, it could sprout legs, like the one in The Thing, and go scuttling about like some aerobic arachnid.
Or something.
Double ooooh - what would be better would be having a spare body! Then, I could have my At Home body, feeding on Roulade and Ragout, but come Hades Night - pop on my svelte Bird Pulling body and I'll be well in there! No more repulsive sweaty mass of wobbling lard sending gorgeous gothettes into a frenzy of fornication avoidance! Let me apply a slim, toned, Humpmeister Generale bod to get hot EMO chicks into rampant rabbits wrigging on my rod!
No more Pheromones for me - fed up with Two Ton (Nick) Kamen bewailing his loss of pop chart buffoonery and soiling his undercrackers on filthy launderette seats.
I hear he groped Jeremy Vine...
