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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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???

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.