CHRISTINA AGUILERA

 

Hans Werner died recently, aged 89.  Born in Salzburg, he was raised by his grandparents in the mountains west of Innsbruck following the unfortunate death of both of his parents in one of the earliest ski-lift incidents in the region, when the chair they were riding couldn’t support their combined weight after an apres-ski feast of 30 Wiener Schnitzels each the night before.  Ironically, they were only able to afford the last day of their skiing break after demolishing the food in under thirty minutes to win the coveted crown of Schnitzel-Eaters of the year, along with 500 Schillings in prize money.

Hans grew up in the mountains, herding goats.  He developed a very keen eye for how his creatures moved, leaping from rock to rock as they did whilst balancing on almost vertical slopes.  Hans began to mimic the creatures, first with small jumps and easy ascents, but with increasing confidence it wasn’t long until he was able to scramble up and down mountains in no time at all, unaided.

It was this skill with traversing mountainous terrain that first brought him to the attention of the national Olympic committee of his country when they were putting together their team for entry into the then-niche Olympic event of Rock Hopping.  Hans could leap around like nobody’s business, with a seemingly boundless ability to spring, jump, and hop over any obstacle at incredible pace, eventually leading his team-mates to a well-deserved Rock Hopping gold medal in the 1952 Winter Olympics.

Following the death of Hans’ favourite farm animal, Wilhelm Goat Gruff, and a suitable month of mourning (he really loved that animal) Hans retired from Rock Hopping altogether and used his leaping knowledge to develop his own brand of sports clothing and equipment called “Unforgoatable”.  As well as being a tribute to Wilhelm, the brand name seemed to stick in people’s minds for some reason, and within a few short years he was propelled to immense levels of wealth.

Hans retired at 35, having amassed billions.  He went to live out the rest of his days, returning to Innsbruck to start a goat sanctuary, where he could be seen regularly bouncing and leapfrogging around the hills like a true mountain goat.  He never married, though he did leave several hundred kids. 

Hans Werner. 1931 – 2020. 

He truly was an  _  _  _  _  _  /  _  _  _  _  /  _  _  _  _  _  _  _  _  (5, 4, 8)

Answer > Agile rich Austrian  <

JASON STATHAM

JASON STATHAM 

“Devilled Strawberries? What on earth are you talking about!” said Pierre D’eath, the owner of the most famous patisserie in France. His young protégé Philippe LePlum had been experimenting with new recipes to add to the dizzying array of conserves available from Pierre’s flagship Paris outlet, La Mort par le Chocolat, and had hit upon the idea of adding an array of very strong spices to his latest attempts at creating a new product to impress his rather traditional boss. 

“You see” said Philippe, “our normal products are almost all terribly sweet and I think there is a market for something a little spicier that certain people can spread on their toast in the morning. I recently visited my British friend Charlie Potato, and he said that over there the restaurants are starting to add spices to everything – well mostly sriracha sauce to be fair – but the brits have definitely developed a taste for all things spicy. So I had the idea of taking one of our normal fruit conserve recipes and as well as sugar and fruit, I would add a number of traditional British condiments like Worcestershire Sauce, mustard powder, horseradish and of course a good dollop of sriracha. 

And I thought we could market it as Devilled Strawberries, monsieur.” 

Pierre thought about the name for a moment. “Philippe, I think your idea may just work, but we need a better name for it. I was in England shortly after the war, and the word ‘devilled’ tended to be applied to recipes containing kidneys, not fruit conserves; this is almost certainly not the connotation you are looking for. But I like the idea that the devil himself has had a hand in this, so why don’t we call our spicy fruit conserve…

_ _ _ _ _ ' _ / _ _ _ / _ _ _ (6,3,3)

Answer > satan's hot jam <

FRANCES DE LA TOUR (2)

Brad loved to go and ride the waves on his board down in SoCal. 

After a day’s fun of shooting tubes and the occasional wipeout he’d often take a stroll along the boardwalk behind Malibu Beach, frequently stopping to chat to any old dudes he could find about what the scene was like in the 60’s and 70’s when people used to flock there to enjoy the new craze. 

One old fella called Salty Steve had many tales to tell, like the time he rode a 100ft high breaker right up the beach, over the sand and directly into Jerry’s Beachside Bar without even getting off his board. Or when he got chased by a great white shark while paddling out and only escaped after bopping it on the nose with a snorkel. Or the time when he joined the zero-feet high club in a particularly dangerous liaison at the base of a big wave, twos-up on his board with Barbara (commonly known as Santa Barbara as she was particularly giving, especially at Christmas after a few bourbons). 

Brad would normally buy Salty a drink after hearing about another one of his exploits, as they were so amusing and detailed. Until one day when he was pulled aside by another old-timer called Wavy Davy, who told Brad that Salty Steve was an utter fraud, scamming drinks off strangers and that not only did he not own a board, he had never actually set foot in the sea due to a severe case of hygrophobia following a traumatic wellington boot / puddle incident as a child. 

“But… but.. the stories – they seem so real!” said Brad. “Yeah" said Davy, "he might claim to be just like the rest of us, but he’s all about long rambling stories rather than actual action out on the breakers. He’s what we call round here, an …"

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ / _ _ _ _ _ _ (9, 6)

Answer > anecdotal surfer <

DANIEL CRAIG

007 greeted the barman with his usual “Hello Igor - the name’s Bond. James Bond” 

“Ahh Mr Bond, welcome back – would you like your usual Vodka Martini, shaken – not stirred?” asked the bartender of the famous Moscow expat pub, the Bears Arms. 

“Not this time”, said James. “I was recently stationed in Rotterdam where those clever Dutch have invented an entirely new drink that I was very taken with, but I can’t remember what it was called – perhaps you would know, Igor?” 

“Certainly, certainly Mr Bond, anything for you – please try to describe how it is made and I’ll see if I can rustle it up – or Russial it up if you prefer!” continued Igor, with a weak smile and a wistful follow up comment, “I remember laughter. Ha... Ha... Ha…..” 

James described the drink: “The base is some kind of beer – not the usual Dutch blonde beer, maybe more of an English type” 

“Then they take a small glass of some sort of juniper-flavoured spirit, and set light to it until it burns so badly that the smoke really hurts your nose.” 

“They take what’s left of this spirit with its horrid burnt smell, then add it to the beer. With an umbrella.” 

Igor replied “Of course! I know what this is – in Russia it is called SmolskiJunipov Beer but I guess you would call it… 

_ _ _ _ _ / _ _ _ / _ _ _ (5,3,3)

Answer > acrid gin ale <

FRANCES DE LA TOUR

Passengers were disappointed with the new high speed electric staircase at King's Cross when they'd all paid £1 for an accelerated exit from the station only for it to break down on the first day of operation after travelling about 3 feet. 

They all banded together and harangued the station master, demanding that they each get their money back as an... 

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ / _ _ _ _ _ _ (9, 6)

Answer > escalator refund <