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Where did that toilet paper come from? It could only be The King.

I was dipping in and out of Blue Suede Jew tonight - a documentary on BBC2 about an Israeli Elvis impersonator who believed The King was sending instructions and advice from beyond the grave. Louis Theroux would have had a field day, but the questions were actually asked by Morgan Matthews, a modest chap who prefers to stay off camera.

The star of the show - Gilles Elmalih - did have a bit of the 1970s Vegas crooner about him, but sounded pretty bloody awful. His 17-year-old son (a medium who was in regular contact with Elvis) actually sang a lot better. Unfortunately performances were restricted to the front room, only attracting interest from BBC TV crews and an eccentric element of LA's Jewish community.

We learned that the real Elvis often communicated with his adopted family by writing on pieces of paper, screwing them up and chucking them around the room. Occasionally he'd also supply toilet paper when it was in short supply in the lav. When the documentary crew wanted direct contact with Elvis, however, there were two problems. One was his rock 'n' roll schedule. He gave shows in the afterlife and was quite busy. The other was a language barrier. As you'd expect, the official language of heaven is Hebrew.

Could things get even more bizarre? You betcha. Uri Geller was on hand to explain how he'd been cheated out of a $900,000 purchase on ebay. The world's best-known spoon bender had tried to buy one of The King's former properties and had been gazumped at the last minute. He sought reassurance via the teenage medium that things would work out ok in the end.

With a fair bit of Jewish blood in my own veins, I think I'm entitled to say enough already and Elvis Schmelvis. Phil Woodford has left the building.

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