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Sunday, December 14, 2003

It's all very well to capture Saddam Hussein, but it's not going to stop me talking about Pop Idol. Nice beard though. That's what happens when you hide in a grotto 2 weeks before Christmas.
I knew Sam would be out of Pop Idol last night. I've been saying all along that Mark will win.

Saturday, December 06, 2003

I'm not making any more predictions about Pop Idol. It's easy enough to make myself look stupid in everyday life, without seeing my publicly stated shoe-ins voted out every week.

Friday, December 05, 2003

Hurry, hurry, hurry! There's only one day left of my art exhibition at the Burlington gallery in London, and with my original watercolours and drawings on sale from a very reasonable £250, you'd better get down there quick and snap up a bargain. Click here to see my quarterpage advert, as published in 'The Week' magazine.

Well ok, it's not me. But I was quite good at finger painting at school, and if I'd been an artist, I'm pretty sure I'd have chosen that name.

Saturday, November 29, 2003

I've decided to only cover major world events in this blog from now on. So may I say Suzanne wuz robbed. If anyone should've won Pop Idol, it was her. You can't beat a pretty girl who sings like she smokes 40 a day, without so much as a hint of a nicotine stain. I always enjoyed her hand gestures too. She seemed to be signalling traffic in the chorus of every song. So frankly she deserved to win. And I believe I've uncovered the reason she didn't. The show's been going for months and it's only now she's gone that I've noticed her name's Susanne, not Suzanne. So that's about twenty text message votes down the drain. I demand a recount.

Wednesday, November 26, 2003

I went to see the film Seabiscuit yesterday. Obviously I'm a hard-as-nails thirty year old man, so I think my tears were probably due to a cold wind making my eyes water in the cinema. But I felt an empathy with little Seabiscuit, and the line "You don't give up on a life just because it's a little banged up" seemed kind of apposite.

Plus of course Seabiscuit slept a lot and ate more than all the other horses. And frankly that's me.

Tuesday, November 25, 2003

Just when I thought the rugby was finally all over, we've now got the tedium of the homecoming. Why can't we just accept that rugby is a dull sport for aggressive, mentally challenged people who are no good at football? There's just no getting away from it. What is it we've won anyway, the Five Nations? I really couldn't care less. The sooner we forget about Jimmy Williamson, or whatever his name is, and get some proper sport on TV, the better.

Thursday, November 20, 2003

Damn, I've missed the boat. I've just come across NaNoWriMo 2003, a yearly attempt to get as many people as possible to each write a 50,000 word novel in a month. It's the kind of mildly insane escapade I'd have been up for. I can't help feeling powerfully drawn to their philosophy: "To write without having to obsess over quality. To be able to make obscure references to passages from your novel at parties. To be able to mock real novelists who dawdle on and on, taking far longer than 30 days to produce their work." and my heart responded instantly to their rallying cry of "Let's write laughably awful yet lengthy prose together!"

Unfortunately, this year's project takes place during the month of November, so I'm already three weeks late. Dammit.

But NEXT year I'll be with you, guys. That's a promise. And sometimes I keep my promises.

Wednesday, November 19, 2003

I got up early this morning, watched endless breakfast TV reports about police turning up at Michael Jackson's ranch with a warrant for his arrest, then went shopping. Whereupon I walked into Tescos at 9am to find they had the store muzak system on a permanent loop of Jacko singing "Smooth Criminal". It's this kind of humour which might just make me shift allegiance from Asda and shop with Mr Tesco more often. That, and the fact that they do a mean onion bagel.

Monday, November 10, 2003

You know the monarchy are in trouble when the birth of Paul McCartney's fourth baby gets more media coverage than the birth of Prince Edward's first.

Frankly it's amazing there are ANY royal babies these days, as apparently they're all gay.

Saturday, November 08, 2003

The emergency services have been to collect my poorly TV, which involved driving their little van across the grass to the bottom of my steps. Whereupon one of my neighbours came rushing out to inform us that driving a van across a piece of grass could break the water pipes underground. It's amazing the things you learn from an irate neighbour.

Thursday, November 06, 2003

Although, on the bright side, I might actually get some of my new play written now.
My lovely widescreen TV has blown up. I may cry. I think I'm missing Bargain Hunt.

Sunday, November 02, 2003

Okay, can someone please explain 'Ring 2' to me in words of one syllable? I didn't have time to be scared, I was too busy trying to work out what the heck was going on. I think it must have lost something in the translation.

Saturday, November 01, 2003

It takes a lot to scare me. After all, I've witnessed Julie Reinger doing the weather in a tangerine trouser suit, so frankly I've become hardened to the effects of audio visual horror. But keen to join in with the spirit of Halloween, I spent last night with the lights out, partly to deter the legalised mugging that is trick or treating, but mainly so I could sit in the dark and watch the original Japanese version of 'Ring'. The climax of the movie came 6th in Channel 4's 100 Greatest Scary Moments, beating the likes of 'Halloween' and 'Nightmare on Elm Street'. But I wasn't worried. It was consistently creepy and unsettling, but there were no cats jumping out from behind sofas at tense moments, or people being hacked to death with meat cleavers, so I knew I had nothing to worry about.

And then came the final scene.

I think I need counselling. How can something which involves no violence, and not a drop of blood, be so damn chilling? And more to the point, why haven't I learned from this experience? I plan to watch 'Ring 2' on video tonight.

Friday, October 31, 2003

Will the Conservatives never learn? They seem consistently compelled to replace one dull, grey, balding man with another. If they ever want to see power again, they need to learn from the Maggie Thatcher years and vote in another blonde bombshell with a plummy voice. Bring on Boris Johnson, that's what I say.

Wednesday, October 29, 2003

Well blow me down. Just as I was considering calling Lombard Direct and getting an unsecured personal loan of between eight hundred and fifteen thousand pounds (subject to status, written details available upon request), just to see me through to the end of the week, all my Christmases have come at once, in the form of a cheque for $25 from Writer Online. It's dated October 1st, so it only took a month to get here from America, which proves that crossing times HAVE improved slightly since the Pilgrim Fathers did the trip in 1620. It was worth waiting for though, just to see the artistic way they've written the letter 'G' on the cheque. It transforms my whole name into a thing of beauty. Whilst simultaneously reducing my chances of being able to cash it.

Tuesday, October 28, 2003

Obviously I'm a mild mannered man with an unending love for humankind, and I only ever see the best in people. But god, I hate my neighbours. Well, some of them. Well, one of them. Sometimes. I came home last night to find that my wheelie bin and my shiny new recycling bin had both been stolen from their home at the bottom of my steps, presumeably by some kind of criminal scum with a refuse problem.

Except they hadn't. Oh no, they've been moved because they spoil the appearance of Tudor Close. A recycling bin is not an appropriate addition to the time-honoured landscape of the street. Obviously a couple of broken down cars with flat tyres and smashed headlights, which have been there for about three years, are FINE. But wheelie bins, no.

Naturally I get no say in this. I only live here. So anyone who wants to wait until I go out for the day, and then move my property, is free to do so. But the interesting thing is that my bins have been transplanted into the backyard, which, as per my tenancy agreement, is a no-go area for me. I only rent the flat, the backyard is not included. Meaning I have to commit an act of trespass every time I want to recycle a milk carton. I may be forced to throw my rubbish out of my kitchen window, and hope that with practice I can get it into the bin. Although that doesn't help the people who live underneath me, who are going to be thrilled when they find me waking them up early every Wednesday morning, when I have to break into their backyard and wheel my bin past their bedroom window, an act which will set their dogs barking for the following hour.

I'm tempted to wreak a terrible revenge by... um... tutting a bit and behaving in a generally frosty manner whenever I walk past the flat of those responsible. But I believe they may be planning to go and see Shotley Drama Group's production of 'Those Were the Days' later this week. So frankly their punishment awaits them.

Monday, October 20, 2003

Blimey. You'd think after 44 days in a box with nothing to do but write his leaving speech, David Blaine could've come up with something slightly less contrived and liable to induce vomiting. Still, at least his claim that "I have learned more in that box than I have in years" rang true. It must be a steep learning curve having beefburgers thrown at you by the British public for 6 weeks. The lesson of course is that we're not as gullible as our American cousins, and in Britain you're only allowed to be an attention seeker if you do it for charity. Ask Richard Branson.

Saturday, October 11, 2003

I know nothing about 'Art', but I know what I like. And frankly I thought it was a little overrated.

I failed to meet Les Dennis too. I did catch the eye of Christopher Cazenove however, and attempted to convey in an enigmatic glance the fact that I thought he should get his hair cut. I don't think it worked. Much like the play.

Friday, October 10, 2003

I'm going to see the play 'Art' in Ipswich tonight. Is it a bit optimistic of me to be taking along a copy of my new screenplay, in the hope of giving it to Les Dennis in the bar afterwards?

Our survey says...

Maybe I'll just try to get Amanda Holden's phone number instead.

Thursday, October 02, 2003

I know there are those who are already concerned about my obsession with Julie Reinger, the Look East weathergirl, who is officially the most annoying woman on planet Earth, but I feel I just have to bring her up again. For a start she has a new hairstyle which makes her head look like a pumpkin, but that aside, the question on everybody's lips has to be what has SHE been bringing up? I'm talking food here. The girl's going downhill fast. There's now less meat on her than in the average chicken McNugget, and judging by her manic, edgy, wild-eyed performance on tonight's show, the girl clearly needs help. I no longer feel the urge to slap her - I'm now more inclined to rush her to hospital.

And besides, the way things are going with Linda Barker's series of commercials for Currys, Julie's days as the queen of irritating TV are surely numbered anyway.

Thursday, September 25, 2003

Apart from the presenters of Newsnight, and three members of the Question Time audience who are trying to impress their intellectual friends on national TV, is anyone seriously still watching the Hutton enquiry? Surely anyone with any sense lost the will to live (no pun intended) by about day three didn't they? Can't we just declare war on someone - I'm getting so bored.

Tuesday, September 23, 2003


Yes, it's true, I've won first prize in the Writer Online Minuscule Fiction Contest. Hurrah! I'd like to state for the record, however, that this award won't change me. Mainly because the bulk of my cash prize will be used up on petrol driving to the bank to pay in the cheque.

Saturday, September 20, 2003

I had a visitor last night who arrived at my website after asking Jeeves "How can I make a profit at Betfair?". Frankly I don't think he found what he was looking for. But in an effort to cater for the ever changing needs of my visitors, I'm willing to answer the question here. So get over to Betfair and put the farm on Spuradich to place in the 3:15 at Newbury. Put the mortgage money on. No, really.

Friday, September 12, 2003

The following is a typical advert from the personals column of the London Review of Books. At 75p a word, this would’ve cost £16.50…

Woman, early forties, London, seeks distraction from a nice sit-down and a cup of tea. Interests: the arts, psychoanalysis, tennis, cycling. Box no. 16/07.

Nothing wrong with that (apart from the psychoanalysis bit, obviously). But consider instead the neighbouring ad, weighing in at approximately £380…

People who use museum postcards instead of letter-paper; people who own garden composters; ticket collectors who cannot accept the idea of the bloke in the kiosk at the station disappearing to the toilet at the exact time you've arrived to buy your fare; mechanics called Andy who get stroppy over the phone if you call during their lunch hour, fully expecting you to know that they take lunch between 10 and 11 in the morning; Islington intellectuals who have named their children 'Billy' or 'Eddy' despite knowing full well that they will never spend any time in William Hill's waiting to hear what the going is like at Haydock; people from Belway estates in Swindon who have named their children 'Mariella' or 'Giles' despite knowing full well that they are going to spend most of their adult lives in William Hill's waiting to hear what the going is like at Haydock; people who shoe-horn obscure French novelists into any conversation; people who take over-sized stroller pushchairs on the Northern Line at rush hour and get shirty when other passengers refuse to dislocate their limbs and fold themselves up in the corner to make room; newspaper supplement journalists who begin every article like they're writing a novel in the hope that a literary agent will snap them up; literary agents who snap up newspaper supplement journalists believing that their opening paragraphs would make an excellent start to a novel; the girl at Superdrug who never tells me how much my items come to but expects me to succumb to the power of her mind and make me look at the little screen on her till instead; postmen who make a concerted effort to bend packages with 'do not bend' clearly stamped across the front; people who go to public schools named after German saints and attend Rocky Horror Picture Show-themed leavers parties at the end of their final term then bore everyone they know for years to come about what a 'seriously good larf' it was; Bob Wilson; thirtysomethings who listen to Radiohead, believing that Thom York's depressing introspection has revolutionised the British music scene and made rock energetic once again without realising that Dire Straits fans were saying exactly the same thing about them in the early eighties; people who buy organic mushrooms; people who subscribe to magazines and get excited every time a new one lands on the doormat; people who have doormats; people who applaud the linesman's offside flag; people with espresso machines bought from Index for £19.99 that make you drink the stuff whenever you go round then go on about the difference in quality and how you can 'really taste the bean' although it's no different from Mellow Bird's but takes four times as long to produce; people with more than one cat; people who have bought radiator covers; people who frame museum postcards sent by people who use them instead of letter-paper; people who own a copy of Michael Palin's 'Pole to Pole' on DVD. Everybody else write to man, 37. Box no. 16/06

You have to say, that is £380 well spent. If I was a woman I’d reply like a shot. After getting rid of one of my cats, naturally.

Thursday, September 11, 2003

I've recently discovered a penchant for temporary tattoos. I've always been against the real thing, on the grounds that you may feel slightly silly collecting your pension in 40 years time with the word 'Hellraiser' tattooed across your forehead. But I'm a pliable kind of guy, easily influenced by those older and less responsible than myself, and so it transpired that I found myself being nudged into the purchase of a sheet of very fetching lizard temporary tattoos whilst on holiday a couple of weeks ago. Politeness prevents me from apportioning blame for this act, but suffice it to say it was all Helen's fault.

As anyone who's ever eaten Pringles crisps will tell you however, once you've tried one, you just have to have another. So I've moved on from lizards to Chinese writing. I bought a sheet of transfers which claims to be the Chinese for all sorts of media-friendly words such as 'love', 'faith', 'friends', 'happy', and 'luck' (let's hope they've spelt that one right).

This is all slightly worrying, because aside from the fact that I'm sure I cut a slightly tragic figure walking down the street with Chinese writing on my wrist, I can't shake the feeling that in reality my tattoos probably say 'egg fried rice'.

Thursday, September 04, 2003

An identical flat to mine in the very next block, has been sold less than a week after being put on the market at £74,995. Whilst it's nice to know I'm living in a 75k property, it could be a problem if my landlord finds out. I happen to know he bought this place for less than a third of that value, so if he finds out what it's now worth, he may just come to the conclusion that my rent is a tad on the low side...

Of course, I could always argue that it's only down to my presence in the community that property prices have tripled in the first place. Frankly, people want to live next door to me, and they're prepared to pay for the privelege. It's almost undeniable. Almost, but not quite.

Sunday, August 31, 2003

I'm back from a week in the Isles of Scilly, during which I shamelessly wrote my website address on a blackboard in the St Mary's Heritage Centre, next to which my friend Helen drew a picture of me in the sea, and added the words "Mail me for a chat". Needless to say, no one has. That's what happens when you draw accurate pictures.

Tuesday, August 26, 2003

I'm posting this from the IT suite on the Isles of Scilly. And I didn't even know they had electricity here.

Tuesday, August 19, 2003

But I'm not scared to embrace that side of my sexuality.

Monday, August 18, 2003

Although, to be honest, I'm not 100% sure it's female.

Sunday, August 17, 2003

And what's more, I think the feeling's mutual.

Saturday, August 16, 2003

I've fallen in love with a fat-tailed sheep from Colchester Zoo.

Friday, August 01, 2003

I'm worried. Somebody in America has just arrived at my site after doing a search for the words "Diet Coke and your kidneys". It led them to my short film 'Keep On Keeping On', which (as far as I remember) contains very little medical advice regarding the effects of sugar free cola on the major organs. The thing is, I had no idea there WAS an effect on your kidneys from drinking Diet Coke. If there is, I could be in trouble. And does Ribena damage your liver? I need to know. I could be on the verge of major organ failure here and I don't even know it. More worrying still is that my website visitor may have been reaching out for help from the throes of his weekly dialysis session, only to be horribly let down when he found that my site contained not sound advice, but a dodgy script about nuns and sea monkeys. You know what Americans are like - I'll be sued for malpractice quicker than you can say "no win no fee".

Sunday, July 27, 2003

Returned home at midnight from my 30th birthday meal to find that the locals of Shotley Gate were letting off fireworks in my honour. It's so nice to be appreciated.

Monday, July 21, 2003


Tuesday - Drove to a recording studio north of Cambridge where I'd been invited to record one of my songs.

...which led to...

Saturday - Performed onstage at a garden party in front of fifty hog-fed people and one bouncy castle.

...which led to...

Sunday - Stood in a field while my female companion poked cowpats with sticks to look for dung beetles.

Saturday, July 12, 2003

Barely three weeks ago I stated publicly on my website that my one hope for the future would be for John Magnier to buy me a racehorse. With suspiciously good timing, the Racing Post are reporting this morning that the aforementioned Mr Magnier (or Johnny, as he'll surely insist on me calling him from now on) has just bought Choisir for £10 million. It's my birthday in two weeks time. SURELY it can't just be coincidence, can it?

Friday, July 11, 2003

Never before have I felt so much like standing outside a TV studio and chanting the word "TICKLE" as though my life depended on it. Let's just say I'm a happy bunny. At least until the phone bill arrives.
Another day, another top quality search engine hit. This time someone searched Yahoo for the words "hen reproduce", and (naturally) ended up at my site. So not only do I have the food hygiene market sewn up, but I'm now also a leading authority on chicken sex.

Tuesday, July 08, 2003

I've been offered the chance to go into the studio and lay down some tracks (man). With pop stardom surely just around the corner, I've been studying the pros for pointers, and decided that what I really need is a gimmick. Britney Spears has cornered the market in virginity, so that's out, but I feel drawn to Eminem's use of power tools. I'm not sure I could stretch to a chainsaw, but I'm considering appearing on stage with a Black & Decker Workmate.

Sunday, July 06, 2003

Gos is out. Which is just as well, as his evil twin is up for trial on terrorism charges in the US. Actually Moazzam Begg looks more like Gos than Gos does. (Click here). No wonder BB producers panicked at the first mention of the word bomb.

Friday, July 04, 2003

Oooh a bomb scare! How exciting! I expect it was the population of Britain uniting in an attempt to blow up Lisa.
BB cancelled due to a technical fault?? Don't tell me Davina's gone into labour???
Is it wrong to admit that I found Lisa's attack of breathlessness on last night's Big Brother the most entertaining moment so far? (Or at least post Jon). (Or post Tania's pig-related audition piece for Drama Queen 2003). (Well ok, the most entertaining moment this week). I'm not totally heartless, so if I believed for one moment that it was genuine, I wouldn't be laughing. But come on, if Gos can make it around that course without keeling over from a heart attack, anyone can. And besides, did Lisa actually get any further than putting on her hat and looking in the mirror? Obviously the British public were stunned by her miraculous recovery, with medical experts baffled as to how she could be fit and well the moment the task was over. Myself, I put the whole episode down to post-operative stress. These sex-change procedures are no walk in the park. Or so I'm told.

Friday, June 27, 2003

At the end of January I created my Shotley Gate webpage, and made a public stand against the local trend of annexing land using nothing more than a few fence panels and a joyful disregard for the law. So five months on, what effect has my campaign had? Yes, that's right, my next door neighbours are out there right now, fencing off a patch of grass the size of a football pitch*, and threatening to block access to my parking space with their wanton land-lust.

It's nice to know I have the full support of local people. Ibsen wrote a play about someone like me.

I think I'll transfer to a ground floor flat and get down to B & Q for some fence panels.

* Slight exaggeration. But only slight. It may not comply to the full list of FIFA regulations, but you could certainly have a kickabout on that grass.

Monday, June 23, 2003

I've changed my mind. Jon's eviction could actually be a godsend. We're getting quality Tickle TV already. Breakfast television has never been so good, with Jon declaring that fame is transitory, before being asked if the tomato plants will cope without him, to which he replied "Are they not already dead?".

Meanwhile Cameron has been shipped off to Africa, which produced the considered Tickle analysis "He'll be sitting in a corner quietly rocking within an hour". Let's face it, we were all thinking it. I just hope Cam's taken out medical insurance. He's going to need care for the rest of his life after this, and I for one refuse to allow my taxes to pay for it. Not when I'm already paying my TV licence fee just to watch his descent into madness.

Sunday, June 22, 2003

Forty-eight hours since the eviction of Jon (or the ascension of the Lord, as Cameron is surely referring to it), and there's a definite gap in my life. A geek shaped gap, but a gap nonetheless. I've taken to building a solar powered water heater out of a hose and a binbag whilst wearing a stripey dressing gown, in a pitiful attempt to feel closer to my fallen idol. Fortunately I already have a hairy back, so that's saved some time.

On the bright side, I've optimistically added a Tickle Toaster to my Christmas list, and I'm sure I'll feel better once I find a monkey to plant my potatoes.

Saturday, June 21, 2003

I've just received what is undoubtedly my finest search engine hit so far. Someone arrived at Act Two of my play 'Internet Cafe' as a result of Asking Jeeves "How long before chicken spoils?". I've just tried it, and sure enough, posing that question produces a ranking of number six for my website. I am now officially the 6th most popular location in the world for information on the keeping qualities of poultry. And the irony is, I don't even know how long before chicken spoils.

Friday, June 20, 2003

Oh for god's sake Britain, what's wrong with you??? You weren't meant to evict Jon!!!!!! I know Cameron's a nice guy, but he's also an apprentice axe murderer, and he could never say "naughty tomato plants" in a comically pitched voice, or point out those all-important times when Big Brother ends a sentence with a preposition. Only Jon can do that, and for those reasons alone, he HAD to stay. There's simply no justice. I feel ashamed to be British. My only hope is that with the increased food budget, this newfound access to red meat and sharp knives might just be enough to push Cameron over the edge, and lead to a recreation of The Shining before the week's out.

In the meantime, if Jon doesn't have his own primetime network TV show by the end of the month, I'm writing to my MP.

Wednesday, June 11, 2003

How marvellous. Even without Federico's help there are clearly enough berks in that house to ensure failure at every turn. Another tidy profit. I could buy a week's worth of food for the housemates at this rate.
I've moved on from horses to... people who look like horses. I placed a bet on Jon to be nominated for eviction from the Big Brother house this week, which was duly proved to be the foregone conclusion I suspected when the nominations were announced yesterday. I love Jon. Obviously I wouldn't want to meet him, but the guy should have his own 24 hour cable channel. I'd happily pay per view. If he can actually go all the way and win this thing, it would single-handedly restore my faith in the British public. And seriously mess with the minds of his fellow housemates, which can only be a good thing. I've now taken my Jon winnings and placed the lot on the housemates failing today's bell-ringing task. Ordinarily I could take it as read that Federico would screw it up and make me rich, but I can't help feeling that Fed probably has a lot of experience manipulating a bell end, so the housemates must be in with a fighting chance.

Tuesday, May 27, 2003

I believe strongly that it's important to try new things in life, in order to broaden your horizons and learn more about yourself. With this in mind, I bought some sugar-free jelly crystals from Tescos on Saturday. I've not had them before, but I mixed them up yesterday, and was unfortunate enough to spill some as I filled the jelly moulds. This produced two results: my kitchen worktop now features a strawberry red stain which even the most dangerous chemical cleaners known to man have failed to remove, and secondly, my hand looks like it's been involved in some kind of industrial accident. Extensive handwashing has made little difference to the red marks I'm now sporting all over my fingers. I'm afraid to go out in case people try to rush me to casualty. And more to the point, what is this stuff going to do to my insides if I'm actually brave enough to eat any of it???

Wednesday, May 21, 2003

Life Lesson 259a:
If you find yourself talking to a friend one evening and foolishly allow yourself to be persuaded to read your newly completed piece of micro fiction over the phone, it's just possible the aforementioned friend might find it difficult to see past the first reference to an axe, and thereby miss the subtle nuances of the composition. But personally I don't think it's necessarily a bad thing to be called a freak with an axe fixation.

Saturday, May 17, 2003

Well blow me down, Hawk Wing only went and did it. Winning a Group 1 by eleven lengths, and adding another tidy sum to the Phil-Hawk Wing Investment Fund. I could kiss Julie Reinger. If I was desperate. And drunk. And blind. Maybe.
It's a well established fact that Julie Reinger, the Look East weathergirl, is officially the most annoying woman on planet earth. And the fact that I've had six search engine hits in the last month from people looking for info on her isn't going to stop me saying so. But for once I'm prepared to tolerate her acting like an eight year old, temporarily at least, and all in the name of love. Not love for her, that would be ridiculous. I'm not a professional footballer for a start. But love for Hawk Wing, the best horse ever to finish second on a daily basis. He runs this afternoon for the first time since September, but only if the ground stays good. Which means that for once Ms Reinger might be worth tolerating. Any rain in the next few hours and I'll be deprived of the bit of innocent equine lusting I've been looking forward to all winter. Never has the British weather meant so much to me. Unfortunately the chances of JR's forecasting being accurate, are about the same as Hawk Wing not finishing second. I wouldn't bet on either.
Ok, enough already. I'm going to bed. And tomorrow's another day.

Friday, May 16, 2003

You never...

Jack is in the garden,
Jill is on her own,
There's a tree on a hill,
And there's a storm.
Tree on a hill,
Blowing down, blowing down.
The boys are in the pool hall,
They sing a song,
It's Mack the Knife.
And all the misconceptions,
Are the whirling wind,
All the misquotations,
Are the whirling wind,
They sing,
Yes, yes,
Good deeds are like dirty rags now.

I don't want to be president,
I don't want to be anything,
I just want to be in one piece.

It's an eye for an eye,
Oh let go,
I don't want to hurt you but,
I know it's bad,
And sometimes it's good to be bad.
Let the stupid people wait,
Because they've locked that great gate now,
Good deeds are like dirty rags.

I know she waits,
Breath held for him,
Hands trembling,
I know she waits there.
I know she'll be,
Gone soon from me,
I know she'll be,
What can I do now?
I know she's there,
Train comes for her,
Breath held for him,
What can I do now?
I know she'll be,
Gone soon from me,
I know she'll be,
What can I do?

Yes now, yes now,
Good deeds are like dirt,
Yes now, what can I do,
Good deeds are like dirty rags.

Mother don't be angry,
Mother don't be sad,
It's not your fault I turned out this way,
It's just when they make me feel small,
It's like a red rag to a bull,
And when they make me feel small,
Dirty rags, dirty rags.

How many wise men does it take,
To bring three gifts,
Do you know, do you know,
How many wise men did it take,
To bring three gifts,
You don't know, you don't know,
Mother don't be angry,
It's just another dying,
Now good deeds are like dirty rags,
Mother don't be angry,
Mother don't be sad.

Don't preach to me,
Don't preach to me,
Now good deeds are like dirty rags,
Filthy tongues say,
What have you done today,
Today, today, today.

Rhino is a coming,
Rhino is a coming,
Ostrich got his head in the sand,
When my bed smells,
Of too many eyed girls,
Ostrich got his head in the sand,
Good golly, Miss Molly,
You sure like to ball,
You sure like to ball.

Train, train, train,
Coming round the bend,
Took my baby,
But you never will again.

Saturday, May 10, 2003

Following my remarkable gambling success of last weekend, where Khulood carried my cash all the way to 19th place (out of 19 runners) in the 1000 Guineas, I fled to Wales this week, where I found myself betting on a horse in the middle of the Brecon Beacons. If a horse can stand on the tarmac outside a restaurant for over half an hour without moving a muscle, it seems reasonable to bet a friend a tenner that it's stuffed. Well I thought so anyway. Of course, within 10 seconds of shaking on the deal, the horse strolled off. Which just goes to show you don't always get your money back when you bet on a non-runner.

Thursday, May 01, 2003

Democracy is clearly a young person's game these days. The elderly have been replaced by young men in suits. And to think I wore my Versace jeans specially. I feel so let down. I was instructed to vote for two candidates, whereupon I looked at the ballot sheet and found there were only three people standing. I suggested that maybe we could save time by instructing everyone to vote for the one candidate they DON'T want. That went down about as well as my asking if I could vote for the same candidate twice.
I'm just off to exercise my democratic right. (No, I don't have a dog called 'Democratic Right', I mean I'm off to vote in the local elections. I do have a dog called Silk Cut, but he died of cancer, so I take him out for a drag every night.)

What was I talking about..? Oh yes, voting. It will inevitably involve some cheesing of old ladies, but cheesing of old ladies is what I do best. Which reminds me, I'm going to Wales on Sunday...

Thursday, April 24, 2003

You know there's something wrong with your life when you're trying to write a screenplay for a competition which closes in 6 days time, and instead of working on your script, you find yourself spending the afternoon talking to a friend about her period.

Monday, April 21, 2003

I've had a search engine hit as a result of someone entering the words "massage parlour Essex" into Google. He arrived at my 'Internet Cafe' page. It's nice to know that by writing a simple play, you can get caught up in a bit of East Anglian buffet whoring.

Sunday, April 20, 2003

Had a very nice day in East London, eating sweet potatoes and Quorn, and wondering whether gay herds really do go carolling. Don't ask.

Saturday, April 19, 2003

Note to self: Don't eat three quarters of a Terry's White Chocolate Orange Egg in one evening. You'll hate yourself in the morning.

Monday, March 31, 2003

I walked back past the grass verge today. The bag of doggy poo was still there. But I realise the only thing more insane than leaving a sealed bag of shit by the side of the road, is going back five days later to look for it. So I won't be doing it again.

Thursday, March 27, 2003

I'm in the middle of trying to write a difficult scene in my new play, and there's a pheasant on the grass outside my flat, 'korr-kok'-ing like there's no tomorrow. I think I'll move to London for some peace and quiet. Either that or buy a gun.

Wednesday, March 26, 2003

I was walking in Shotley Gate this afternoon and up ahead of me was a lady walking her dog. The dog stopped on the grass verge at the side of the road to do its business, whereupon the lady pulled a small plastic bag from her pocket, waited for her pooch to finish, then collected its little present in the bag and secured it neatly with a bow. Another responsible local citizen, I thought, cleaning up after her dog. I then watched as the lady gently tossed the bag into a nearby patch of long grass, and walked on.

Now, I admit I've never owned a dog, so I may not be entirely au fait with the minutiae of canine toilet training, but I was under the impression you were meant to take the bag home with you? I'm not saying it's stupid to take a piece or organic matter and seal it in a plastic bag which will take 20 years to biodegrade on that grass verge, but... oh sorry, that's exactly what I'm saying.

In my view, the only good reason for sealing a doggy poo in a bag and not taking it home, is if it's a paper bag which you plan to place on someone's doorstep, set light to, ring the bell, and run off, safe in the knowledge that the occupant will emerge and stamp on the bag to put it out. Which is obviously something I've never done, and know nothing about. I only mention it for the sake of balanced reporting.

Saturday, March 22, 2003

Three days into the war on Iraq and in my tireless search for the truth, I've uncovered what I believe to be the military's covert plan of action. Let's just say I don't think there are going to be millions marching to protest about this one.


Saturday, March 15, 2003

Someone's stolen the name badge off my car. This is slightly troubling. In the 1980s, when the Beastie Boys were doing their tongue-in-cheek version of rap, which was immediately taken seriously by the world (and subsequently by the Beastie Boys themselves), there was a craze for stealing the VW sign off every Volkswagen in the country. Which was fair enough. Only trouble is, I drive a Skoda. Did I miss the moment when Westlife appeared on Top of the Pops wearing Skoda badges around their necks? Have I missed the boat on a new craze? Of course, my biggest worry is now car theft. My car came equipped with a brilliant anti-theft device - the word "Skoda" clearly printed on the rear. With this gone, it's only a matter of time before thieves mistake it for a sporty hatchback, and make off with it.

Monday, March 10, 2003

As of yesterday, my website has been listed on Google, which has now supplied me with my first search engine hit. So was it someone looking for ME, for my writing, for my music?? No, it was someone from Canada who did a search for the word "Cadbury", and the phrases "creme eggs" and "white chocolate". And yes, there IS a page on my site which contains all of those elements. Although having found it, the person in question didn't stay long. I wonder why...

Friday, March 07, 2003

Ron Davies was looking for BADGERS????? Is the man being advised by a team of comedy writers???

Saturday, February 22, 2003

I've had time to reflect on last night's performance of Red Riding Hood at Shotley Village Hall, but for the life of me I still can't work out why the policemen were wearing tights.

Friday, February 21, 2003

Another trip to the post office, another slimming masterclass. This time I got out the photos and we discussed dumplings. I also mentioned the dreaded 'D' word (that's depression, not donuts), which the lady took in her stride surprisingly well, perhaps because I have a habit of going to the post office in a dishevelled unshaven state which makes me all too believable as a mental case. So by this time next week the population of Shotley Gate will have heard not only about my weightloss achievements, but also my state of mind. These are interesting times...

Wednesday, February 19, 2003

I was in the studio this afternoon, laying down some tracks for my new album. Well ok, I was in my living room with a battered old tape recorder, doing songs for this website. It's interesting how one starts out with certain ideals, intent on standards of perfection, only to find yourself saying within twenty minutes, "oh that'll do, let's move on to the next one...". By the end, not even patently wrong chord-changes were stopping me.

Friday, February 14, 2003

Valentine's Day. The most romantic day of the year. And indeed it seemed so, when I was caught up in a menage a trois at the post office this afternoon, sandwiched between two old ladies who wanted some weight-loss tips from me. One said "I keep telling people about you". Which, if true, might explain the lack of Valentine's cards in my hallway this morning.

Wednesday, February 12, 2003

During today's fine edition of Richard & Judy, I witnessed for the first time an advert for new Walls Balls - spheres of sausagemeat in breadcrumbs, aimed squarely at the children's market. Can there be any more cynical marketing ploy than to name your product after a mildly rude word, safe in the knowledge that children all over Britain will eat them, merely so that when Mother asks what they want for tea, they can shout back "BALLS!!!"?

I'm off now to buy a packet of Bernard Matthews 'Up Yours'.

Tuesday, February 11, 2003

AND ANOTHER THING!!! What's happened to Catherine Zeta Jones' accent??? She sounds like Dick Van Dyke attempting Welsh.
I've been down to London today, trying to sneak into the high court with a hidden camera to snap a few shots of Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta Jones. The court artist may have had the official coverage, but my photo of Catherine munching on a pork pie in the witness box should be appearing in tomorrow's Sun.
The 80s revival downstairs has gone to my head, and I found myself getting out my old Howard Jones LPs yesterday. It's like being reunited with an old friend. A preachy vegetarian old friend with bad hair, but an old friend nonetheless.

Saturday, February 08, 2003

I'm getting worried. Midweek it was The Cheeky Girls, now the weekend's here it's Musical Youth coming through the floorboards and encouraging me to pass the duchie on the left hand side. Which I will do, I assure you, just as soon as I have a moment.

Tuesday, February 04, 2003

My neighbour is currently playing The Cheeky Girls at full volume. It's only when you hear them coming through the floorboards without the benefit of an accompanying video that you realise just how crucial those visuals are to an appreciation of the girls' work.

Sunday, February 02, 2003

It's 12:20am on a Saturday night, and I've just got in. It's the one night of the week when every young hip dude in the country is out on the town larging it (as I believe the younger generation say). So where have I been tonight...? Yes, that's right - playing Scrabble with my parents.

Thursday, January 30, 2003

I was accosted in the post office today by an old lady who wanted to talk to me about her rheumatism. It must be the caring warmth I exude from every pore. I smiled sweetly and pretended I didn't speak English, a plan which may have stood more chance of success were it not for the fact that the lady in question knows me.

Sunday, January 26, 2003

I'm planning to place a spread bet on how many times the phrase "the magic of the FA Cup" is heard on the BBC today. If anyone's interested, I'm buying at 43.

Saturday, January 25, 2003

Saturday nights have become far more enjoyable since I discovered 'Dark Angel' on Channel 5. It's a marvellous programme. I couldn't actually tell you what it's about, as I've only ever watched it with the sound down, but take it from me, Jessica Alba is VERY talented.

Friday, January 24, 2003

RIGHT!!! I think maybe it's about time I started this old thing up again. It's been a while, but on the positive side, there's a chance that anyone who celebrated my last posting by making love will be expecting their baby any time now. So congratulations to you all, and remember those breathing exercises.