There's nothing more likely to get you in trouble with the police these days than the wanton use of asterisks. No, seriously. For about half an hour yesterday I was on the verge of major criminal charges.

I wrote an e-mail on Saturday to the parking department at Brighton & Hove City Council about their response to my PCN (that's a parking ticket to you and me). I wanted to point out to them the problem of traffic wardens walking down the middle of Lisa's road and therefore failing to check the side windows closest to the kerb, and I decided that the best way of explaining the situation would be to send them the link to my original blog post about it. Which is what I did.

So imagine my delight when I received this reply yesterday from Terry Wilson at Brighton council:

"Dear Mr. Gardner,

First of all: I note in your website that you appear to have confronted the female attendant and used offensive language to her. This behaviour is not acceptable and a note of this has been made against your records. If you use intimidating or threatening behaviour towards a parking attendant again, you will be on the receiving end of a police investigation and may face charges, so I would advise you to pursue any issue such as this through the correct channels and not use aggression towards the attendant."

Ah yes, there's nothing like a light-hearted blog post to make you the subject of a major police investigation. You may want to pause at this point, click on the link above, and search for the evidence of offensive language, intimidation, and threatening behaviour. Let me know if you find it.

In the meantime, Terry continues...

"To address the points in your email:

I have attempted to obtain photographs of the vehicle taken by the Parking Attendant that day but they are unavailable because although 4 were taken, it appears that they were not downloaded properly and are lost. But obviously this evidence would have been very useful in determining exactly what happened. In the absence of these, I have checked The Parking Attendant's notes which state "All Windows Checked". They also include details of exactly where the vehicle was, the tyre valve positions, the distance to the nearest sign, the registration number etc. and she took four shots of the car, all of which indicate to me that they attendant spent some time inspecting the vehicle before issuing the Penalty Charge. You state that the permit was clearly displayed, and our appeals team have to weigh this against the parking attendant’s observations, and she states that she did not see a valid permit on display."

Oooh, the traffic warden took four photos of my car! Marvellous! They would PROVE beyond a shadow of a doubt that I'm telling the truth... but miraculously they failed to download and have been lost. Which is convenient to say the least. And she was obviously too busy looking at my tyre valves to check the nearside window.

But going back to that first paragraph...

I replied to our Tel, with this:

"Dear Terry,

Please could you tell me where it states on my website that I used "offensive language" and "intimidating or threatening behaviour" towards the parking attendant. I did no such thing, I did not swear, threaten, or lose my temper in any way, and I would very much like to know how you have got this impression from my website.

I will add the full text of my website entry below, for your convenience, and look forward to hearing from you.

Regards,

Phil."

And to his credit, he got back to me ten minutes later with this:

"Hi.

I'm very sorry, I misunderstood the asterisks. I took them to be used in place of swear words which throws different light on things.

I will delete the note I put on the PCN records. As I'm sure you appreciate, aggression towards Parking Attendants is all too common and we take a firm line with it. But I accept that you were in no way aggressive to her, and I was wrong to suggest that you were.

My apologies to you,

Terry."

Which possibly makes him the first member of Brighton & Hove City Council ever to admit their own mistakes.

No letterbox news today sadly, but it is mine and Lisa's one and a half year anniversary, which is obviously quite momentous. Lisa's taken the day off work, and we're celebrating by spending it 140 miles apart.

But in other news, I'm now dangerously close to completing my Christmas shopping. I went into Ipswich yesterday afternoon, having located the perfect gift for my brother (as if being my brother isn't reward enough) in the Argos Catalogue ("don't shop for it - Argos it" as the advert said in an attempt at brainwashing which clearly worked on me). Being the kind of prepared person that would put a boy scout to shame, I checked the availability of my item on the Argos website, then headed straight to the Suffolk Retail Park, safe in the knowledge that my gift was in stock.

So I was naturally delighted to get there and find I'd entered the code of the batteries, and not the gift itself. It was only slightly embarrassing. But as luck would have it, the actual toy - sorry, I mean grown-up present - was in stock too. And I only had to queue for 15 minutes to get it. Which gave a chance for numerous strangers to chat to me against my will (I obviously look approachable). I plan to keep in touch with the woman who'd been waiting half an hour for two bedspreads, although the ginger lady who was going straight from Argos to pick up her kids (and seemed on the verge of asking me to go with her) was more friendly. Unlike the man who disapproved of the Argos computer system, and wanted to discuss with me his proposals for change. Frankly he seemed a bit grumpy, and refused to share in the wartime spirit the rest of us had built up.

I also managed to get my hands on a present for my Mum, whose birthday is December 17th. I'd like to claim it was from an expensive boutique, but I actually spotted it whilst pushing my trolley around Tescos. It says 'Christmas Gift' on it too, but I'm hoping she won't notice. To be honest I was lucky to get it at all, after encountering a woman who wanted to discuss with me the outrage that is Tesco's failure to stock longjohns. She'd been to Asda too, and they were no better. As it happened, neither of us knew what the world is coming too, nor what's wrong with people these days, but by the time I got away, the store was almost closing. Which is surprising as it's open 24 hours.

While I'm here, I'd just like to do my bit for the community by mentioning a very convincing malicious e-mail I received this morning. It looks like it came from Ebay, seems to be targeting UK residents only, and tries to get you to visit www.EbayChristmas.net. Both the e-mail and the site are actually very impressive copies, and the only thing which gave it away for me, is that it was sent to one of my e-mail addresses which I've never used for Ebay. The scam's mentioned here, but I'm slightly concerned that it was reported two weeks ago, and the site still hasn't been closed down.

So be careful people. And remember, crimes like this are actually very rare. So don't have nightmares, do sleep well.

Lisa's sister gave birth to a boy last night. So that's Wilma out the window. I'm currently lobbying for Butler instead.

But that aside, I do wonder where this blog would be without my letterbox. Or rather without people continually shoving rubbish through it. Being on the ball and up to the minute, I've finally got around to going through the pile of junk kindly donated to me whilst in Brighton last week, and amongst it I've found an item personally hand-delivered by a represenative of Babergh District Council. It's addressed thus...


... and says it was brought to me by a canvasser on behalf of the council who are very worried that I haven't returned my electoral registration form this year. The canvasser knocked on my door, got no reply, so scribbled this on the form...

... along with a note threatening me with a £1000 fine if I ignore it, and shoved the whole lot through my letterbox.

Naturally I'm not worried, because I happen to know I returned my form a couple of months ago, and besides, I'm not easily intimidated.

So anyway, here's a photo of my letterbox. The same letterbox in front of which a canvasser stood, ringing my doorbell and scribbling threatening messages on a form addressed to number 7, before opening it and posting the paperwork through.


Honestly, Brighton & Hove council are more competent.

Breaking news from the front page of The Shotley Noticeboard, which has just been unceremoniously shoved through my letterbox...


I can't help feeling Shotley Walking Club have gone too far this time. And how are they going to manage it in two and a half hours??

But it's a catchy title. Being a TREK to a place associated with a STAR, I can't think what else they could have called it.

Well it's taken more than two and a half months, but I've finally received a letter in this morning's post from Brighton & Hove City Council about the sterling work carried out in early September by their flagship traffic warden, W Lunch.

The letter begins well...


... but let's not forget, these are the representatives of a woman who failed to spot a parking permit displayed exactly as instructed, so to expect them to notice how I spell my name is clearly asking too much. They go on to explain why a Penalty Charge Notice (PCN) was issued to me (though manage to avoid using the phrase "because our traffic warden's an idiot"), before saying this:

"You stated in your appeal that you displayed a valid resident's visitor's permit in the window, however it was not seen by the attendant at the time the PCN was issued. You must ensure that your permit can be clearly seen in order to avoid incurring charges."

I DID!!!!!

Honestly, I could slap the lot of them. They continue:

"The information provided has been considered and in view of your assurances I can confirm that the PCN has been cancelled on this occasion only. The particular circumstances which have led to the cancellation of the notice on this occasion will not apply again as you now have full knowledge of why the vehicle was in contravention of parking regulations."

So in other words, we don't believe a word you say and you clearly had no idea how to display a parking permit, so we're being very generous in letting you off, but this is the last time because frankly it was all your fault in the first place, and you're not getting away with it twice.

It's good to know that the next time one of their traffic wardens completely fails to do her job, I'll be the one who has to pay for it.

The letter's signed...

If that signature says 'Rae', I'm a Dutchman. No wonder they couldn't spell my name. Oh, and it should be yours sincerely. But hey, why start getting things right now.

It's Lloyd Cole! Yes, I know it looks more like an alien holding a radioactive otter, but it IS him. And yes, I thought he was dead too. But it's amazing the number of 80s music stars who are still out there managing to flog concert tickets to people like Lisa. I was somehow persuaded to stay an extra day in Brighton in order to see the hot Cole causing a commotion in Hove on Wednesday night at a venue called 'The Old Market', which Lisa, who's lived in Brighton all her life, didn't even know existed.

To be honest I was lucky to get there alive, having been rammed by a pensioner on the way to pick up Lisa from work. I was stationary at the time, with my headlights on, and no other traffic around, but that didn't stop a man in his eighties who looked like he'd died about six months ago, veering his car across the road for no apparent reason and ploughing into my right headlamp. I'm not even sure he noticed. But then if you don't spot an entire car on the other side of the road, you're not really gonna know if you hit it. I waved as he drove on down the road, but he didn't let it worry him. Frankly it's only the fact that pensioners rarely top 10mph that saved my life that day.

But I was successfully comforted by Lloyd Cole, who played an evening's worth of songs I'm too young to remember, but which were actually very good. I'm almost a converted fan. We were also impressed by the undiscovered venue, prompting Lisa to quip "We'll probably find Roddy Frame's played here!". Roddy Frame, one of Lisa's top three obscure musical heroes, whom she hasn't seen live for more than 15 years, despite him being the only other man on the planet whose babies she still shamelessly offers to have, could clearly never have played within fifty miles of Brighton without her finding out, going into a frothing frenzy, and snapping up every ticket available. So we both laughed. And then picked up a programme which said he'd been there on October 14th.

So with Lisa on the verge of topping herself, I chose instead to wonder if I have the confident glow of a pharmacist. Whilst at Mill View Psychiatric Hospital on Tuesday evening (not everyone's idea of a night out, but I like the ambience) I was asked by one of the residents if I could supply him with any illegal substances. Naturally I declined (he couldn't afford my prices), so I was slightly surprised when we were approached in the bar of The Old Market 24 hours later and asked if we had any paracetamol. Do I look like a chemist? I said no, but gave her an aspirin and she went away happy.

Anyhoo, as of 1:30am this morning, I'm back in Shotley Gate. I made Lisa's nephew cry by turning up 30 seconds late to pick him up from school yesterday afternoon, so I thought I'd better leave before he tells his parents.

No sign of the baby yet. I've been doing my best to help by shouting "IT'S THE BAYBEEEEEE!!!" in a panic-stricken voice every time the phone rings, but sadly it never is. Lisa's sister is still refusing to uncross her legs and let it out. But with the due splashdown date only a week away now, my money's on a weekend birth. Which will annoy Lisa, who's hoping for a day off work.

We may not have heard from little Wilma yet (mine and Lisa's choice of baby name - sadly no one's backing us up on this one so far), but I have had an e-mail from my old school chum Emma, who I haven't seen for more than 12 years, but who has finally tracked me down via the magic of Google. It's like Friends Reunited around here. But without the relentless false claims of success and happiness. Although I will be replying to Em in a moment to tell her just how fantastically well I'm doing. And then hoping to win the lottery tonight so I can back up my claims. I'll also be consulting a solicitor this afternoon in case she tries to sue for breach of copyright over Phact #63. Although I should add that this phact is no longer true since I took possession of Lisa's Fire Extinguisher Training Certificate.

Anyhoo, the good news is that having spent another 3 hours in the gift shops of Brighton yesterday afternoon, I've managed to lay my hands on a further four Christmas presents. I also resisted the temptation to buy some Christmas lights in the shape of plastic bunny rabbits, and spent the same amount of money on Lisa's Christmas card as I did on an entire pack of cards for everyone else. Which either demonstrates how expensive Lisa's was, or how cheap the others were. Frankly it's the latter. But it's the thought that counts.

Today got off to a joyful start when I drove Lisa to work and saw a man hit by a car on the other side of the road. He didn't seem to be moving much, but on the plus side, it was only half a mile from the hospital. I was naturally sympathetic, but he was less than 50 yards from a pedestrian crossing, the speed limit's 30mph, and he was hit right next to a speed camera, so frankly the man's an idiot. But obviously I hope he gets well soon.

Right, I'd better get off the internet and back to work. I'm currently in the middle of fitting a lock to Lisa's bedroom door to stop her 2-year-old nephew running in and eating her make-up. Which is good news for her, but bad news for him. He's developed quite a taste for the Max Factor range, so he won't be happy.

My horoscope, courtesy of Mystic Meg in today's Sun:

"Your home chart is at the centre of the action and, after all the waiting, you get the cash go-ahead for changes you want to make. The extra living space could do a lot for a love relationship too".

If that's not proof positive that my brother's putting in an offer on a flat as we speak, I don't know what is. Although from the sound of that "extra living space", he's not going for the studio flat.

Anyhoo, I'm doing my best to stay off the internet today, as Lisa's sister is expecting her third child in just nine days time, and the last one was two weeks early, so we're on a state of high alert around here. And I might not be too popular if Lisa misses the birth because I'm busy surfing the net for hair replacement products. Although it is true that I've just been looking at Mane UK, after seeing an advert in yesterday's paper which claimed to give you a full head of hair within seconds for just £13. I'd quite like a mane, although Lisa's already informed me that I'd look "ridiculous".

So I'd better be off. I'm hoping to combine a lunchtime meeting with Lisa, with some possible Christmas shopping, whilst still finding time to write a light-hearted critique of a TV institution. In which I'll be revealing that Lisa's cousin's daughter's boyfriend was strapped to David Dickinson as he jumped out of a plane last night. No, really, it's true. Frankly me and The Duke are like that (cross your fingers as you read that bit).

Give it a couple of months and this could be my new living room. It didn't actually look anything like this when we viewed it yesterday of course - since taking the photo, the vendors had decided to go for more of a 'bare rubble-strewn carpet and broken window' look - but I'm assured it's the same property. And it has a lot of potential. Which is estate agent speak for "I'd rip out that yellow and blue striped wall-cladding in the bedroom immediately if I were you".

But of the seven (yes, seven) flats I toured yesterday with my brother, his wallet, my sister-in-law, and everyone's Lisa, this was definitely one of the leading contenders. It's conveniently situated on Hove seafront, close to Chris Eubank's house, and just around around the corner from The Sussex pub, regular haunt of Nicky Keig-Shevlin, the Southern FM breakfast DJ with whom I'm regularly forced to wake up against my will. In addition it features partial sea views, period features, and a brown stain on the ceiling.

It's also a lot bigger than the first flat we saw - a studio apartment in this exclusive row of houses on Brighton seafront, which despite coming complete with locked gardens and a private underground tunnel to the beach, lacked enough room to comfortably swing a cat. Which is quite important, as my little hairball Chloe will be moving with me.

Amongst those to cross off the list was the one-bedroom flat in Palmeira Square, which despite being handy for the shops, featured a bedroom the same size as a double bed, a cooker ignition switch which was permanently trying to light, and a strong smell of gas throughout. Frankly we were lucky to make it out of there alive.

But the other leading contender, at least amongst the three members of the party who have no say in the matter, was this one-bedroom effort in Rugby Place. I've never liked rugby, but it has its place, and that happens to be less than half a mile from Lisa's flat, which is handy. Although my enthusiasm waned slightly when she said it's probably not safe to walk between the two after 9pm. I need another of those private tunnels.

It did however have its own roof garden (well, you could walk on the neighbour's extension), and a loft which, according to the estate agent, might actually come with the flat.

So first thing Monday morning my brother will put in an offer, it'll be accepted, the paperwork will be rushed through, and I'll be in by Christmas. Not this Christmas, obviously, but maybe by the time I'm 35.

Breaking news from today's Daily Comet (which is like the Daily Star, only more fast-moving) (frankly I never read anything else) (although it is a local paper for the town of Thibodaux in Louisiana, so you have to wonder what kind of life I lead), is this story. Apparently a woman has called 911 after being served cold onion rings at her local Malt-N-Burger.

And not just any woman. Sharita Williams of 132 Senator Circle, Thibodaux. That's what I love about local papers - none of this "can't be named for legal reasons" nonsense - they're straight in there with the full name and address. I think I'll write to Sharita. We could become pen pals. Frankly we already share the same high standards in food preparation, so who knows what else we might have in common.

Anyhoo, I'm off to Brighton now, via a stop-off in Chelmsford, where I hope to bump into my sister for a couple of hours. I won't be able to hear her above the sound of my Dad practicing the violin of course, but it'll just be nice to see her smiling face. But woe betide my mother if she serves me any lukewarm food for tea...

Having just logged into Blogger, I happened to glance at the list of 'Recently Updated' blogs, and couldn't help noticing this one. The blog itself isn't actually that interesting (unless you're really, really into pies), but there's just something inherently funny about a blog called 'Helpful Pie Resources'. Or is it just me?

Anyhoo, I actually have nothing to say today (which marks the day out as being different to... oooh, no other days whatsoever), but Lisa's managed a blog post, and frankly if she can do it, so can I.

Talking of people who blog about once a month, the latest headliner in the Blogger 'Blogs of Note' parade is Simplicity, whose author has managed four entries in the past three weeks, and who basically just seems to post links to other sites. Even he questions why he's noteworthy. Honestly, it makes me feel like e-mailing Blogger to complain. Have they ever listed a site actually worth visiting?

Mind you, I'm here trying to stretch precisely nothing into a full-length blog post, so I'm in no position to criticise.

Anyhoo, my sister arrives for the weekend tomorrow. I'd like to claim she's flying in from Texas just to hear my Dad play the violin, but she's the intelligent member of our family, so needless to say she's not. I don't get many opportunities to see her though, so the chance to spend a weekend in her company is not one to be missed.

Unless there's a chance to go flat-hunting in Brighton with my big brother. Which is why I'm heading for the south coast instead. But hey, I'm seeing Sis at Christmas, and I might even get her a present. What more does the girl want?

Well I did watch the concluding part of 'Walk Away and I Stumble' last night. Obviously I don't want to spoil it for anyone who's recorded all three tortuous hours of the thing, and plans to ruin their weekend by watching it, but suffice it to say it went majorly downhill in the second half. Which is surprising, because frankly I thought it had already hit rock bottom on Monday night. It's hard to pinpoint precisely what the worst moment was - there were so many - but to be honest, when you have a scene where the daughter makes a mercy dash through a multi-storey car park on horseback, you know it's not going well.

But in more exciting television news, the official line-up for the new series of 'I'm a Celebrity' has been announced, and having been assured a few days ago by a certain someone (no names, but she's an expert on the legless) that both Dickie Davies and Ron Davies (can you see a pattern forming here?) were going to be involved, I can't help feeling a little disappointed. But at least we've got little Jimmy Osmond. I'm looking forward to seeing his face melt in the heat.

In the meantime, I can reveal that I've seen a glimpse of the future. I bought these in Tescos...


Oh yes, no more carrying heavy bottles of bleach up the steps of my flat - now I can make my own. The back of the pack says 'Safer to Use Than Liquid Bleach', and I agree. The tablets may look like Trebor Extra Strong Mints, but it's ok, I'm not going to leave them lying around. I'll be making them up into bleach and filling my old lemonade bottles instead.

I've just had a hit over at the other place for the words 'Jodie Marsh is Indian'. Which is news to me. Though I do know that Ian Duncan Smith is Japanese and Mariah Carey's black. I also discovered recently that Jodie Marsh apparently has better GCSE results than I do, so if you want proof that exams have become easier, there it is right there.

Anyhoo. The things I do for love. Against both my will and my better judgement last night, I allowed myself to be talked into watching the turgid relationship drama that was 'Walk Away and I Stumble' (you can tell it's going to be painful from the title alone) on ITV. As a rule I don't tend to watch television dramas on the grounds that they're all... oh, what's the word..? Rubbish. You get far more convincing drama from a bunch of celebrities in the jungle, or Noel Edmonds opening cardboard boxes on Channel 4. But as a bit of a new man, I eventually agreed to the request from my other (but not necessarily better) half, that we should watch the stumble fest 140 miles apart, then come together via the magic of telecommunications for a full and frank discussion of the issues raised.

So having sat through ninety minutes of infidelity and terminal illness, I rang Lisa. Only to find that she seemed to know rather too much about 'The Woman With Half a Body', which had been on Channel Five at the same time. She claimed she only flicked over during the commercial breaks, but having given me the woman's medical history, life story, relationship details, and reasons why she thinks her husband is "not all there", I was beginning to wonder just how many commercial breaks they'd had down there in Brighton.

Conversely, all she seemed to know about 'Walk Away and I Stumble' was that Tamzin Outhwaite had 47 months to live. It was actually "four to seven", but for someone who'd been glued to the other side for an hour, she'd done well to pick up that much.

So that's an hour and a half of my life down the drain. And the sad thing is, I'll probably watch the second half tonight.

I've just been working out the chords to the Hanson song 'Deeper'. Yes, I know it's not cool for a fully grown man to admit to being into Hanson, but I'll have you know that their latest album exhibits a surprising level of musical maturity and the kind of emtionally charged lyrics not seen since the days of 'Mmmbop'. I can recommend it.

Anyhoo, having just referred to the CD sleeve for lyrical purposes, I've discovered that backing vocals on 'Deeper' are sung by Michelle Branch. So it's no wonder I like it. The dashing hero in 'Be Worth It' was named Adam Branch for a reason - it's a combination of the first man, and my idea of the first woman. At least she was then. She's now been relegated to second place.

But anyway, the chorus to 'Deeper' goes...

I'm falling deeper and deeper and deeper in love,
And I'm feeling more and more and more and more and more alone.

It's a song about living 140 miles from Brighton.

No, really.

And it's no wonder I'm keen to get down there. I bought this postcard on Wednesday...


... which successfully highlights the appeal of the place. I think I've walked past that portaloo.

In other news, am I the only one who finds that Welsh bloke on the McDonalds adverts intensely irritating?

They do say there's no such thing as a free lunch. Well frankly they're wrong. I've just received this in today's post...


Marvellous. Not only is it free, but it's FUN. And I have to take Jo Guest. This could not get any better.

The letter itself was posted in Folcroft, Pennsylvania (wherever that is), but fortunately I don't have to go to America for my free lunch. They're giving me the choice of Ipswich Corn Exchange on the 29th, The Erlsmer Hotel in Westcliff at noon on the 30th, or Hylands House in Chelmsford that same evening. Which is quite spooky, because I have family members in all three locations. Except Ipswich.

Naturally my only reason for going is the free food - I already know how to make money on the internet. Yes, that's right, I've picked the winner of the Paddy Power Gold Cup at Cheltenham this afternoon. This goes back to my surefire theory (previously mentioned, and indeed mocked, on this blog) about always backing a horse after it's had a wind operation. So on that basis, Brooklyn Breeze at 14-1 cannot lose this afternoon. He's even named after the wind for goodness sake. What more do you want?

So that's my financial future sorted. It's just a shame the money's coming a day too late. I received the news yesterday that a pair of evil house-buyers have beaten my brother to the mortgage application forms and put in an offer for the two bedroom flat in Telscombe Cliffs. The peeling paint on that balcony had my name on it (literally - I took a marker pen), so I wasn't happy. Another 24 hours and that flat would have been mine, all mine, dammit.

Sorry, I mean my brother's. But we're a close family.