Mmm... large baps. Like a lot of men, I have to say I prefer large baps to small ones. Although I wouldn't want more than one in my mouth at a time. I was however very pleased to see these baps proudly displayed at Felixstowe station this morning. In fact, if you look closely at the photo, you can see a reflection of me with a satisfied expression on my face, head nestling gently between a pair of large baps (sausage and bacon if you're interested). Which is certainly not where I expected to end up when I left the house this morning. This must be what it's like to be Peter Stringfellow.

But anyway, before I get down to work on the next Carry On script, I have to say I was pleased to see the arrival of 'The Play's The Thing' on Channel 4 last night. It's almost a year since I entered 20 of the finest pages of playwriting the world has ever seen into that competition, so I'm beginning to think I'm not going to hear anything now, but having watched the show last night, I can see why they didn't bother getting back to me. Apparently amongst the 2,000 entries they received, 81 had the word 'Jesus' in the title, 198 were about terrorism, 210 about death, and 335 featured gyms or fat clubs. So I'm now regretting writing about the son of God being blown up at a Weight Watchers meeting, and calling it 'Low Fat Jesus'. (Well ok, that's a joke, but now I think about it...)

Anyhoo, I may not have heard anything back from them , but according to judge Neil Pearson, "it's very obvious from a lot of the submissions that there is an ignorance of the possibilities of theatre - a lot of the writing, especially the comic writing, has echoes of sit-com". So at least I know they got my entry. I just couldn't compete with the sheer quality of the competition. Asked to read aloud a line from her play, Jenny Lincoln, one of the shortlisted playwrights, went with "Shit, my knees are knocking, but your dick's not hard!". And they say Shakespeare has never been bettered.

I attempted to garner some sympathy for the whole injustice of it all from Lisa last night, but having stayed awake for Big Brother chat, she fell ominously silent the moment I started talking about the inequity of the British playwriting scene. I left it for a couple of minutes before pausing, saying "Are you awake..?", and listening to complete silence for a few seconds. To her credit, she did wake up once she realised I'd stopped droning on about my plays, but ideally I'd have liked a little more emotional support than just a bit of gentle snoring followed by a snort and the word "What?". Next time I'll just tell her I won, and let her go to bed.