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Monday, July 04, 2005

I've had enough of Orlaith's breasts now. I've sucked them dry over the past week (I'm talking metaphorically there), and I've finally had my fill. Having reproduced that list of referrals from yonder last Monday, traffic reached an all time high on Friday, with (brace yourself) 910 unique visitors. Yes, 910. Which roughly equates to 10 regular readers and 900 Orlaith obsessives.

Better still is that your average boob fan is easily led, meaning that a total of (brace yourself even harder) 617 people clicked on the advert I cynically placed in my last post.

I get paid a commission of $4 for every t-shirt bought as a result of someone clicking on that link, which means that if each of those 617 people had bought just one shirt, I'd now have about $2,500. Enough for a down payment on a Brighton flat. So exactly how much have I made..? ... (biggest brace required)...

Well it begins with z and ends in ero.

Honestly, you have to wonder if internet advertising really works. Six hundred clicks and not one sale. Which is what happens when you try to sell clothing to people who like nudity. I should have thought that one through.

But onwards and upwards. After watching last night's show, people are now going to be more interested in Anthony and Makosi having sex in the plunge pool. Which is why I've mentioned it.

Anyhoo, the weekend turned out to be a big success. It started well when Lisa presented me with my birthday present (a new mobile phone) on Friday night. It's not actually my birthday til the 29th, but Friday was the 1st of July, which was the right month, and close enough for Lisa who's a little impatient when it comes to both giving and receiving gifts.

We then travelled back to Shotley Gate on Friday night with Lisa's mother in tow (not literally). As we headed up the A23, Lisa asked her if she'd ever been to Suffolk before. Her response of "Where?" suggested that maybe she hadn't, so Lisa repeated the word 'Suffolk'. To which her Mum replied "No. Why, what's there?". Something tells me she wasn't fully prepared for this trip.

But it went well all the same. We spent Saturday watching the racing (with Lisa banished to the kitchen to watch Live8), I won fifty quid on a horse called Zeitgeist, and Lisa's Mum decided she really ought to get into internet betting. Which means Lisa will be forced to open an acount by the end of the week.

In the evening we sang along to Velvet Revolver, tried to avoid Mariah Carey, enjoyed Madonna using the f-word at 7pm on BBC1, and lamented the absence of Howard Jones and Nik Kershaw this time around. I also enjoyed Paul Danan, who seemed to miss the point of the name Live8, and the G8 summit, by sending his best wishes to the six leaders in Edinburgh.

Sunday featured an even bigger summit - the momentous first ever meeting between Lisa's Mum and my parents. Lisa and I watched in awe as the leaders of two great clans joined together around a coffee table and drank tea. We may not have made poverty history, but we did eat a lot of cake.

From there it was on to Clacton, where Lisa's brother-in-law happened to be having a family get-together. His family, not mine or Lisa's, but we're not beyond a bit of gate-crashing, so we turned up anyway. We basically just stood there for half an hour pointing at people and saying "who's that?", while, no doubt, they were doing the same to us. But we did get some more free cake, which is what we went for.

We made our way back to Brighton via a drive-thru McDonalds in Essex, which became more of a drive-thru-and-park McDonalds, when, after making us queue for ten minutes, they happily took our money, only to keep us waiting another 15 minutes for our food. When I complained, the bloke said that everyone working there was new and none of them knew what they were doing, so it wasn't their fault. Which of course made up for everything, and meant I wasn't the least bit annoyed when I bit into my cheeseburger half a mile down the road and found the bun was so burnt it was black.

And to think I broke my diet for that thing. I can feel another complaining e-mail coming on...