I love stephen fry.

He's all right. When he isn't whining about people being mean to him on Twitter.
 
he has a fabulous brain. it is good I will never meet him because his intellect would intimidate me into a blushing, giggling mess.

I bumped into him in The Blue Boar in Hay a few years back. We talked about cricket.
 
I bumped into him in The Blue Boar in Hay a few years back. We talked about cricket.
I don't even have sport to fall back on!
you're a jammy bastard, sean.
I would love to invite him to dinner but he might be offended by my drooling on his big brainy head.

I love QI.


http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0380136/
qi is fabulous! pretty much everything he's done is fabulous though.
not just his comedy but his more serious stuff. his debating is the shizzle.
 
What a really ugly and disgusting thing to say.

What?

I don't think it's a disgusting thing to say at all. I like Stephen Fry. He's been through a lot of shit, but swallowing pills and chugging down vodka... No. I'm glad he got help.
 
but not surprising.

I disagree.

What's not surprising is you jumping on any old bandwagon to have a go at me. I don't know WHY on earth you're so angry at me. LOL

You know me better than that, dolf. You know I fucking love Stephen Fry.

Let go of that anger and relax.
 
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He is brilliant.

He makes any topic interesting and seems a genuinely lovely bloke.
 
“Language is my whore, my mistress, my wife, my pen-friend, my check-out girl. Language is a complimentary moist lemon-scented cleansing square or handy freshen-up wipette. Language is the breath of God, the dew on a fresh apple, it's the soft rain of dust that falls into a shaft of morning sun when you pull from an old bookshelf a forgotten volume of erotic diaries; language is the faint scent of urine on a pair of boxer shorts, it's a half-remembered childhood birthday party, a creak on the stair, a spluttering match held to a frosted pane, the warm wet, trusting touch of a leaking nappy, the hulk of a charred Panzer, the underside of a granite boulder, the first downy growth on the upper lip of a Mediterranean girl, cobwebs long since overrun by an old Wellington boot.”
 
“Language is my whore, my mistress, my wife, my pen-friend, my check-out girl. Language is a complimentary moist lemon-scented cleansing square or handy freshen-up wipette. Language is the breath of God, the dew on a fresh apple, it's the soft rain of dust that falls into a shaft of morning sun when you pull from an old bookshelf a forgotten volume of erotic diaries; language is the faint scent of urine on a pair of boxer shorts, it's a half-remembered childhood birthday party, a creak on the stair, a spluttering match held to a frosted pane, the warm wet, trusting touch of a leaking nappy, the hulk of a charred Panzer, the underside of a granite boulder, the first downy growth on the upper lip of a Mediterranean girl, cobwebs long since overrun by an old Wellington boot.”

he has a way with words. oh hells!
 
Fry, Emma Thompson and Hugh Laurie were all at Cambridge together.
 
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