1. Went to a post office but the queue was coming out the door so went to another where the queue almost reached the door but there were more cashiers so that was a bit of a triumph.
2. Saw that bloke who featured in the recent documentary about the reality game show scam, or should that be sham, maybe both. Anyway, he was in Tesco and looked terminally depressed, as if the woman who lived in the flat above him had just taken up flamenco dancing in addition to playing the trombone. He still had that Michael Hutchence hair thing going on but had taken to wearing a plastic headband, the kind of thing your average eight-year-old girl might wear. He was leaving without having bought anything so for all I know he'd stolen something from the pharmacy.
3. Ate the last of the jelly babies.
4. Watched Cheers.
5. Nearly fell in the Thames.

1) Went to work
2) Left work
3) Went to Tesco
4) Left Tesco
5) Came home.

Woke up

Had a ridiculously large breakfast

Got the ferry across to Hong Kong Island

Pissed around all day

Came back

Had Chinese food for dinner (note - here they just call it "food")

5 o'c-
If you have time go up that funicular thing for fantastic views. And the hydrofoil trip to Macau is great value too.

5 o/c. Also take the time to go to Stanley Harbour on the south of the island. "The Boathouse" is an excellent place for a drink, bit pricey though (like the rest of Hong Kong).

So 5'c, if you say you're going out for a chinese, I guess they say "Why, is it his birthday?".

I'll get me chopsticks.

Got up
Shot the President
shagged the Queen
lunch with the Blairs
shot the vice President
shagged Britney Spears, Halle Berry and Lulu
tea with the Dylans
attended Bob gig
shagged Sally Webster
got drunk with Kevin Webster
shot the Queen

woke up...

mmmmmmmm.....Sally Webster. Now you know you're in with a chance there.

Did he say "shagged the Queen ?".

One step back everyone.
(who the chuff is Sally Webster ?)

Nips like Range Rover wheel nuts, that's for sure (SW that is).

Hopefully tomorrow it will be
Maria.

I once did what I did for Maria but she just came in the lounge, folded her arms like Andy Capp's missus and asked me what the hell I was doing.

A man with a white coat draped over the back of his chair writes: Ah, I see you're reluctant to let your threads disappear. I know it's hard, but trust me, you have to let go. It might be painful for the first nine months, but it'll pass. Right, that'll be fifty quid, or forty-five cash. Now get the hell out my office.

Someone else, who probably doesn't have a white coat draped over the back of his chair but let's not be hasty in assuming anything, writes: Oh God, he's off again.

A lurker writes:

[ 29. December 2002, 11:46 AM: Message edited by: lightersideguy ]

Sometimes, when I've eaten the last of the Hula Hoops and I'm staring vacantly out the window at a precocious squirrel constructing a treehouse made from the side panel of someone's garden shed, I wonder whether Jeffrey was caught in some barbed wire, called for help, and was then shot by the colonel.

A third lurker writes, then deletes: I really hate it when he mentions lurkers. It makes me feel so dirty. I mean, it's not like we're doing anything wrong. And I wish he'd lay off Jeffrey. It's bad enough that he was blinded in one eye with the tassel off that go-go dancer, the poor man.

Moved my bed ninety degrees so my head now points to the north pole, then removed the ornamental Brillo pads dangling overhead in case they affect the magnetic field surrounding my brain.

No, it's no good. I can't sleep. Moved the bed a bit to the left. It now faces Macclesfield.

1. Got up at 1pm feeling like shite.Ate 4 king size sasauge rolls.Went back to bed.
2. Got up again at 5pm feeling much better.
3. Re-arranged the current Labour cabinet in my mind then put it all back again.
4. Tried hoovering my C.D player to improve the sound quality.
5.Went back to bed.

BOOM BOOM Mr Derek (I mean Mr Lightersideguy)

1. Spent an hour hunting for a book I've just sold at Amazon. Turned up in a box under the kitchen sink. Sometimes I can really annoy myself.
2. To Argos for a pack of 15 C90s to tape a certain breakfast show.
3. Fitted new gear changers to my bike. Tomorrow I might even fit them properly so I can actually use all the gears.
   
4. Watched Taxi & Cheers.
5. Spent the afternoon doing something a bit secret, then ate some sausages.

7:30pm - got a post in edgeways on this thread.

Shall we discuss the implications of the transfer window on young up and coming footballers now ?

LSG.Another half assed post.How many sausages ?

I hurt my knee bending down to get a jam scone off the tea trolley.

I'm going to the Union Rep about it. In this day and age scones should be a waist height and any lower surely contravenes health & safety laws.

Reorganised the contents of my fridge by order of smell incase the bulb goes again.

You know that drawing of an old lady with a headscarf and when you turn it upside down you see a young lady with a feathered hat? Or maybe you don't even turn it upside down, you just re-focus. Anyway, in Asda this morning I saw someone who looked just like the old lady. Thought about turning her upside down but all sorts of horrible things like crumpled tissues and half-eaten egg sandwiches might have fallen out of her pockets and I'd have had to pick them up. And that might have made me sick. So I just tilted my head a bit but couldn't make out the gal with the hat. Slightly disappointing, that.

And while I'm here, there seems to be confusion among the ducks in Richmond park about what to do when the pond freezes. Well, it's more of a lake really, but it's called a pond. Half of them are standing on one leg pretending to be storks whilst the others find it a bit demeaning, preferring to have two cold feet rather than just the one.

Scene: Outside Asda next Sunday morning.

Greeter: Can I help you, gents?
Skimmed Milk: No, it's alright. We're waiting for a woman.
G: Oh yeah? Well strangely enough, we don't allow that kind of thing round here. This is a family supermarket.
SM: No, we're waiting for an old woman. A really old woman with an odd-looking face.
G: Look, I know I'm a greeter, but that doesn't mean I can't kick your arse out of here.
Walter Fagen: But we've come all the way from Blackburn to see her.
G: You what?
WF: Yeah, we flew down by helicopter. She's bound to turn up soon, we won't be long.
G: How can you be so sure?
SM: Now look here, my good man. And by the way, you've got phlegm on your bow tie. We're not leaving until we see this woman and turn her upside down.
G: You what?
SM: Must I repeat everything I say? Oh my god, there she is.
G: Hey lady, run for your life!
SM: Don't listen to him. This'll only take a minute.
G: They want to turn you upside down.
Old Lady: Oh, not again. This happens all the time.

Unless the Greeter were to be the sublime Jerry St Claire barking up binbags neither I nor (I suspect) Skimmed would dream of frequenting Asda, it's Netto, Aldi or Arkwright's Corner Shop for us, we are, after all, of the Northern pursuasion.

(Insert Eeh Bah Gum , foot of our stairs etc)

BTW Why did no-one tell me the Blessed Peter Tinniswood had died, what a man , Tinniswood, Joe and Jake in the same month - what on earth is going on.

I'm a Tesco man,although I always get my sasauge rolls from Iceland,its just a tradition thats all.

I too was in Richmond Park yesterday (Sunday) afternoon, by the frozen lake - imagine that, a mini mystery moot!
The park is infested with green parrots, they're everywhere - if you want to know where the sparrows have gone, I suspect they've managed some sort of celebrity lifeswap and are all currently sunning themselves in the rainforests (if indeed you can sun yourself there - the name suggests otherwise).

Indian parakeets. Up to five thousand of them roost at Esher rugby club at sunset. And if you're in the area, nip over to the hill near the Royal Ballet school in the park from May to July. There's hundreds of skylarks swooping all over the place like Spitfires.

Noticed that the oak tree in my bathroom is two inches high. Flicked a few slugs off the balcony. Pruned the lupins. Flushed the loo every twenty minutes until a South African plumber came to fix the cistern.

And don't mention the stopcock. I'm not a total ignoramus. I managed to break the handle off the tap yesterday afternoon.

It's funny 'cos it's true.

Decided that my tax return can wait yet another day. Unless something really trivial comes up, might possibly start work on it on Monday.

woke up
hangover
went back to sleep
woke up
hangover
walked to pub, watched manyoo v chelsea
got drunk, felt brilliant
went to footy
watched us win 3-0
went to pub
came home
had a headache, went to sleep
woke up
opened wine
read this thread

Nothing particularly significant.

An award-winning lurker writes: Oh, how fascinating.

John Peel writes: Nothing Particularly Significant. Hang on, I'll just check my index cards. I think it was on Charisma back in '74.

A man wearing a brown overall that he's dipped in a large vat of Tippex writes: If this man doesn't get the treatment he needs pretty soon he's going to end up like one of those weirdos who write messages on the internet in block capitals threatening to do something stupid like not bothering to wind their watch on 24 hours when the month only has 30 days so the date on the dial will be wrong.

WHAT?

Someone else writes: So how's the tax return coming along?

MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS

No, seriously, everything's in hand. I just need to find a few scraps of paper, that's all. Documents, shmocuments. They're somewhere or other. There's no reason to panic.

Man in white coat: "Come in member 223, your time is up! "Whispers to colleague also in white coat: " you grab his brush and I'll take the ears "

Man in white coat 2: "Why do I always get the rear end"

MiWC 1: "Because I'm the leader, that's why."

MiWC 2: "Bloody Nazi"

MiWC 1: "What was that?"

MiWC 2: "Nothing...look here he comes!"

Both men wrestle their struggling prey to the ground in a flurry of soggy leaves, fur and other detritus.

MiWC 1, to a fox-puppet: "It's back to the funny farm with you young Sir."

MiWC 2: "Bloody hell, I'll have to get the tippex out again, now"

MiWC 1: "Stop whingeing and get this nutcase in the van"

Fox-puppet: "wibble.. preep... boing!"

Now just whisper in his ear, as the injection takes hold, 'Mortimer sent us '

Can I come back if I promise to be dull?

Thats how we got back in...

TV quote of the day -
Margo: Well that's the last time I play the tart for you, Jerry.

That's not nearly dull enough, please try harder. I am.

Stabbed myself in the forehead with a wall bracket yesterday morning and still have a slight headache. Barely a drop of blood, but it went in several millimetres. If I were having a cerebral haemorrhage I'd feel like vomiting, right? And it would probably affect my ability to spell 'haemorrhage' aswell.

Yes, as well as aswell.

I tried to compare the lyrical poetry of Eminem with that of Coleridge but without much success. Tomorrow I will try Tennyson.

Now I'm worried. Do lexicographers make house calls?

Rang one but got his machine. This is hopeless. And there aren't any grammarians in the Yellow Pages.

Just checked. There aren't any phone numbers in the dictionary either. Coincidence or conspiracy?

Cleaned my three-year-old mouse for the first time and it's weird not having to slam it around the desk anymore. Maybe I should think about washing my duvet as well.

I think you should.One will be full of cheese and the other will be full of cheese.

How's the tax return coming along ? I've till not done mine yet.

Apparently you can fill it in on the internet. Do you think it would be ok to put all the details on here, and send them the link ?

Tax target = Tuesday. Or possibly Wednesday. Or 5pm on Friday by hand at the Twickenham tax office.

As for today's shenanigans, not much, though I was mentioned three times on the R2 lunchtime comedy show as I introduced Rob Brydon to the work of Nichols & May.

I got a phone call today from Mr Taxman this afternoon reminding me that I still have to send in my tax return. Apparently they do it as a public service so that those of us who are poorly organised and hate bureaucratic form-filling don't incur unnecessary penalties. Don’t they realise I still have a week?

I'd be more impressed if they weren't squandering my tax dollars by having people working Saturday overtime and making expensive calls to mobile phones!

Thankfully, he called after the aforementioned (and absolutely superb) Nichols & May programme otherwise I'd have been seriously pissed off.

Lighterside, I caught that programme - I thought they were hilarious - especially the call to directory enquiries when he only had the one dime. That Elaine May, she's a smart lady - and she had a damn sexy voice.

I Amazon'ed them but there's nothing available - I'll have to try Kazaa & see if there's some charitable aficionado sharing their stuff, out there somewhere.

Nothing, eh?
http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/B000007Q8P/ref=sr_aps_music_1_2/026-8989275-1984466
http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/B000001EKT/ref=sr_aps_music_1_3/026-8989275-1984466
http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/B000007Q8N/ref=sr_aps_music_1_1/026-8989275-1984466

Ha! I never even looked! Fooled you!

Cheers, Lighter - I'll be putting me order in tout de suite.

Filed the tax return this afternoon and celebrated by spending nine quid on sweeties in M&S. What the hell am I supposed to whine about now? Apart from tooth decay.

You could try installing the python Imaging Library on Mandrake 9.0 about 20 times as I have been doing without any obvious degree of success...

I've shouted at the kids, I've shouted at the GLG now I suppose it you lots turn...

I'm going off to get drunk....

Speaking of Python, Neil Innes on R4 tonight at 11 talks about working with those zany funsters.

Had Richmond Park all to myself and made four giant snowballs, then turned one of them into a six-foot plinth (snowmen are so 20th century, darling).

Washed my black jeans this morning. What's so newsworthy about that? Well, I need them for my stepgrandmother's funeral tomorrow, and it's fifty-fifty whether they'll be dry in time. All in all, it's added a touch of excitement to the proceedings. I'm no expert at social etiquette, but do know that wearing damp trousers at a funeral is generally frowned upon.

Unlike wearing jeans at a funeral?

OK, I'll wear my black shorts instead.

Lightersideguy is Roderick Spode!

Three hours to go and the groin's still damp. (Starts to weep like Stan Laurel).

Make like John Candy and put them in the microwave.

You'll be thrilled to learn I didn't leave a damp spot on the pew in the chapel. With two hours to go before setting off I hauled out the iron and started to scorch grey marks on the jeans so knocked that on the head and opted for body heat instead. Put them on, then toyed with the idea of trying to get an erection since there'd be more blood in the groin area giving off heat but dismissed that plan pretty sharpish. Plan Three worked, namely pulling the blinds and pointing a hairdryer at my crotch. Very pleasant. Might even make a habit of it.

The old hairdryer trick, eh? That reminds me of a guy I knew once...

Did the laundry, locked myself out, borrowed a ladder, climbed in through the bedroom window, found another beetle in the bathroom. Typical Monday really.

Found yet another beetle in the bathroom. Should have marked it in some way before throwing it out the window 'cause if it's the same one as before I'm going to have to change the lock on the front door. Nothing much else other than bought forty Lincolnshire sausages and refilled an ink cartridge then watched half the contents dribble out.

The moral being - don't refill your ink cartridges with sausage meat.

Though if you use fish to refill your pen, it's very good for poisson pen letters.

Every few months I have a stab at installing my CD burner, trying to make sense of a manual that contains words like Attantion! and al-low, various options that aren't explained in the slightest detail, and grammar that makes me squint. And every time it comes to nothing. It's been going on since August 2000. Well, yesterday I had another bash and made some progress. It doesn't actually work, of course, but I hooked it up and it didn't explode. Then, when I disconnected it and reverted to the previous setup, learned I hadn't managed to short circuit the whole thing. And that's progress in my book.

I think you'll find it's not a CD burner, it's a toaster.

I wish something interesting would happen in my life so I could contribute more than just a bulk of letters bunched into words and then in turn sentences as a sort of symbol of my continuing recolection of fondness of the existence of this thread, but not too much to counteract lazyness so I'm forced to write anything of great personal significance, but you see where I'm coming from.

Pretend, Hulk.

Aaaggghhhh, leopard attack!

Well spotted.

Leopards are the most dangerous of the big cats as far as humans are concerned. Most big cats are confused by bipedal pray, but a leopard will leap up, bit your face and rake your guts out with it's back paws.

True.

When I was a child I really enjoyed messing about in the kitchen mixing various beverages (beverai?) to form a mind blowing brand new drink,looking around I see I have plenty of suitable liquids to conduct such an experiment right now.I will write back with a full report later.

But they can't change their spots when all the prevailing trends in fashion dictate that they must.What use is that?
An air pie with no crust for anyone who can tell me where I nicked that from.

The window cleaner has moved the big Easter Island head that sits in the middle of the patio. Probably gave himself a hernia

Are you sure he didn't just leave the head alone and move the rest of the street and your patio around it,that's what mine usually does.

Result No 1: And it's bad news I'm afraid,hot chocolate and "White Lightning" just doesn't work.

I heard a Hot Chocolate cover of "Hi-ho, silver lining" which worked very well.

I think it's basically a poor mans moccha,but mix hot chocolate with coffee and you've got yourself a "nyum nyum nyum them's is extree tasty" oppurtunity.On the other hand I really had high hopes for coffee and tea (cofftea)but it is actually about as enjoyable as being asked by a work colleauge to accompany them to a recording of "My Family",being too polite to turn them down,and sitting there for 2 hours pretending to laugh.

I lied in my previous post. It was terrible.

Hulk's obviously discovered the Philosopher's Stone and has gone to present it to those doubting fools at the Royal Society.

LSG, did your CD burner instluctions lesemble these in any way?

I'm still here, just been trying to think of a phrase to express my utter disdain for the concoction that is one tea bag,a heaped spoonful of hot chocolate,and a pinch of bovril,topped up with boiling hot lemonade.

"Pinch of bovril?" The black treacley stuff? I call your bluff!

So forget all that stuff I said earlier about personal significance,this is the bit where I share my dilema with the treehouse but decide it's not a big enough dilema to warrant the start of a new thread and besides it's kind of related to what I did today,although actually it isn't,it's more what I did last night leading on to this morning.You see I met a very lovely girl in the club and ended up going back to hers but this morning we shared one of those awkward moments where neither of us had the balls to suggest meeting up again and I just left in a hurry,and now I regret it.So I'm thinking of making a suprise guest apearance at her front door and seeing if she'd be kind enough to give me her number but I'm not sure if I could take the humilation of rejection so I might just shove a note through her letter box,but would that be considered a sad freak thing to do.Advice anyone?

The note sounds good to me. Wipe your fingers before writing it, as nothing puts off a potential girlfriend like sticky Bovril fingerprints.

Hulk, go for it man - once a wee while ago a chap who hurried to leave my place to go get his train, well he must've got half way down the street before he changed his mind as he came back and knocked on the door. I was impressed as it must've taken some balls!! We saw each other several times after

Did he have Bovril on his fingers?

is that what it is called these days!!

Most definately a new one on me!!

I'll go and check

Yep.

Maybe it was more to do with this :-

The Beefy Bovril Tongue Test!!

Ha ha ha

(Gasps in horror at the sabotaged thread, considers starting a thread entitled What Hulk Hogan Did Today)

The big news in my little world - and don't try looking all indifferent, this is positively earth-shattering - the big news is that I've hooked up the CD burner. Yes, I knew you'd be mildy impressed in a god-what-a-moron-type way. Bought it on 16-8-00 and it actually works. Isn't technology wonderful? The instructions were in the manual, it's just that they were buried in a ton of gobbledegook. So now I can submit that bestselling compilation on CD. Sent out a few copies on tape last year but presumably demos on cassette get tossed straight in the bin.

Opened the front door this morning to find a parcel from fenderbender, and if you've been paying attention you'd know it was one of those crappy ONDigital boxes that people can't give away, I mean one of those lovely ONDigital boxes that I've been given. He doesn't want anything for it but I'm going to send him something anyway, haven't decided yet. Noticed the parental lock is on so I'll have to email him about the code. I'm sure there isn't any free porn but if there is I'd hate to miss out on it.
Designed the cover for my comp, well typed it out and cut it into the right size actually, let's not get carried away, and it'll be in the post to Sanctuary tomorrow. Spoke to John Carter a while back, who famously appeared on an editon of Top Of The Pops in three different groups (Edison Lighthouse, White Plains and I forget the other) and he recommended Sanctuary, so hopefully I won't get ripped off if it's accepted.

LSG - if it's got an OnDigital card (or any other card, for that matter) in the slot in the front, removing it should also remove the parental locking.

Thanks for that. I expected the adult channels to be blocked, but there's classical music coming from all three of them, whereas there's no audio from all the other dead channels. Just found that odd, that's all.

Went to the vicarage and fetched the chairs which were being lent for the orphanage tea. Met Mr Page and he said he'd just heard on the radio that Germany had begun bombing Poland. Well, that takes care of Evelyn Waugh on the 1st of September 1939. As for today, I ate ten packets of Monster Munch, and that's about it really.

The third group was the Pipkins with their epochal Gimme dat Ding,a song that amazingly was worse than it sounds.

Close but no Nicorette. Well, possibly. He was involved in Pipkins, but I don't think he performed. So the answer might be Brotherhood of Man with United We Stand date of chart entry 14-2-70. White Plains - My Baby Loves Lovin' 7-2-70. Edison L - Love Grows 24-1-70. Pipkins 28-3-70.

Just got back from my local friendly Odeon -

The Ring - don't bother.

This might be difficult to believe, but after all that palaver with the Digibox I've lent it to someone. Just for the weekend, mind. An old lady I know told me she'd spent the entire day sitting in her armchair in the front room watching people pass by. She's 86, and probably won't live to see Christmas, but that's no excuse for wasting what remains of her life, so I told her about Freeview and she was just bewildered, so I offered to lend her mine for a few days to see if she'd like one for herself. Ten karma points to me, I think, although five of them are technically fenderbender's and Bill deserves a couple for offering to tape CYE. So that leaves me with three, which should see me through the weekend, whatever the hell that means.

I only hope she doesn't blow her daughter's inheritance on crap from QVC. That would affect my karma rating.

You sure she wasn't sitting looking out of her window as you strolled innocently past with the digibox under your arm for reasons that are neither clear nor important,when in a bizarre mind transference type thing she suddenly started singing 'Gimme gimme gimme dat ding' and you,shocked by this strange turn of events did indeed give her dat ding ?

This is a bit of a shot in the dark to be honest,but I didn't reach this number of posts by talking sense.

You know how frogs return to the pond where they were born to do a bit of spawning? Well, they start breeding aged two, and two years ago I released nine thousand froglets all over the borough. So guess what I found at the foot of the steps outside the back door this morning. A female with a mate clamped to her back, that's what. There's no pond nearby, and they seemed to be waiting for someone to open the back door so they could nip up to Frog HQ on the first floor. They're now on the balcony in a seed tray sprinkled with duckweed preparing to get on down. Almost makes the following story seem not so far-fetched.
http://www.aquariumofthelakes.co.uk/news2.cfm?news_id=1
Trouble is, what am I supposed to do the morning after it's rained overnight and I find nine thousand frogs piled up at the back door?

Well, I've had a few peeks out the back door and their mates have presumably found somewhere more fashionable to procreate. Some other loon in the area has probably hired a marketing company to publicise his outdoor jacuzzi to the frog community. Anyway, as for my temporary pets, they sat in the water all day, not without the occasional furtive thrust I might add, but overnight they decided to take up residence in a flower pot. Whatever turns you on, I suppose. No sign of spawn, though I noticed the male had absorbed a lot of water. They don't drink, but then you knew that, didn't you? So I guess he's fermenting his sperm or whatever in preparation for a nocturnal session.
Nipped over the common this afternoon and learned the mass orgy has started and should continue for the next week or two.
Fender - I've done your CD, or to put it another way, I haven't. It's on tape. Transferring pictures is no problem (about 600 Mb of porn yesterday, it's part of my plan to reduce the 90 minutes it currently takes to run a thorough Scandisk) but it takes several attempts to copy audio. I lost patience after the sixth time.

In what I reckon is the feelgood post of the month I'm proud to announce that my anthropomorphic kids produced enough spawn to fill a honey jar last night and have just been returned to the wild. Well, suburbia actually, but that's where they belong. Luckily it's raining, so I'm sure they couldn't be happier too. It's all rather emotional, and I wouldn't be surprised if it ends up as one of the storylines in John Cusack's next movie.

As for the Freeview saga, the old lady asked me to nip over to Currys and get one for her. The clincher? QV bloody C, of course.

Collected a handful of slugs and chucked 'em in the freezer.

The freezer also contains a pillow. As I think I might have mentioned before, it's the best way to kill dust mites. The last thing I want is to wake up to find a bunch of parasites have eaten a hole in my head.

I fear change. (sob)
*Saves all nine pages of the thread. Yes, even page 7*

I know it's selfish and unpatriotic, but with the war starting Monday night I started panic buying Hula Hoops. Thirty-six packets. Mind you, they weren't the regular size, they were those 'Not to be sold separately because they're significantly smaller than normal packets' size. Hope this doesn't constitute an act of treason. So now not only am I worried about the outbreak of war, I'm worried about an outbreak of acne.

What? This thread won't be assassinated for another week? Well that's just great. I thought I'd wrapped it up nicely and now it's like I've turned over the page to find some more questions. Right, so what happened today. Er, well that was that thing but I don't really want to go on about that, and er, what else, oh yes I did pop out briefly but that won't be very entertaining, which leaves the telly. Dan did a call-in the other day about women who wear too much make-up and nobody mentioned Zandra Rhodes. She was in that thing about design which was great stuff but highly reminiscent of a series about ten years ago only with Peter York and Robert Elms as talking heads. Anyway, Zandra was in tonight's programme and looked like she'd been shot by Homer's make-up gun with the setting on circus freak. As Lisa memorably said: "Dad, some women won't like being shot in the face."

Morning- Walked round Vancouver Aquarium, watched dolphins, sea lions, sea otters and beluga whales arseing around. Ate a very good hot dog.

Afternoon- went to see an Imax film about bears which was first rate- they can be quite irascible you know, despite their cuddly demeanour.

Evening- about to go and get pissed on Molsons Honey Lager.

Got arseholed on Jack Daniels and Cranberry whilst djing for joe public and friends in Clapham High Street. Managed to weather the evening without once pandering to the kylie minogue fanclub, despite their generous busts. (!)

You know those collars and bolts used for securing scaffolding? Last night I dreamed some guy was dismantling some scaffolding and throwing loads of those collars at me. Can't remember if I did anything to upset him.

Some sort of weird pattern seems to be emerging. The last image I had before waking up this morning was of a middle-aged woman with hairy legs standing on a parked car which was full of loose potatoes save for a space left in the driver's seat. She was scooping up the potatoes from the open sunroof and throwing them at various people.

They're teasers for a series of dreams that you'll experience in the autumn.

Explained to a buyer at Amazon Marketplace that the reason I hadn't sent him the book two days ago was partly the fault of Saddam Hussein as I'd been distracted by the war coverage. He mailed back saying that was fine. So that was nice.

On the dream front, I was shaving in the bathroom (as opposed to all those people who shave in the attic or their nearest synagogue) when John McCririck popped his head round the door and said he needed to sleep in my bed for a few hours. He then proceeded to complain about the ambience of the bedroom and started to rearrange everything. I just left him to it. After all, you don't argue with a man who wears that many rings. What he's basically got there are a couple of knuckle dusters.

Since this version of the board might be chucked in the loft later today maybe I should end this thread with a cliffhanger. Had a letter from the Inland Revenue a few days ago asking me to arrange an appointment with them. They'd like to discuss a few things about my tax return. We've agreed on Monday at 10.

Calling it a Tax return is a shady trick.They never ever return any.

Does Wormwood Scrubs have broadband?

So much has happened, and it's all been pretty insignificant. The tax meeting went well, though I was slightly self-conscious about touching my face. As I'm sure you know, people tend to touch their face when lying, so I didn't want to mislead her into thinking my life story was a work of fiction. What else? The old lady's had a stroke and even has trouble dialling the phone, but on the plus side her daffs are looking great. Everyone's been commenting on them, apparently. The tadpoles are approaching the seriously tricky stage of having sprouted hind legs and now their heads are starting to bulge as the front legs are forming. Once they break away from the face their lungs start to kick in so they need to be out of the water or they'll drown. So I've placed single cells cut out from seed trays along with rafts of lolly sticks in the water. It's all rather stressful really. And it's been five weeks since I sent that demo to Sanctuary Records and haven't heard a thing. John Reed, you're a jerk. Too busy repackaging the Trojan catalogue, no doubt. So the plan now is to ring Jeremy Beadle and see if his son can help. When he was on Dan's show the other week he said his son had just won an A&R award. No Iraqi civilians were killed in this news roundup. Back to the studio.

An emotional day. Released the first batch of froglets on Barnes common (15 if you're counting, which you aren't). Now, since I'm their mother/god I want them to succeed in the outdoor world and be independent little froggies and not have to rely on me anymore, so I rounded them up with a tea strainer, put them in a moist plastic crate, carried it gently into the bedroom, then placed it on the bed and exposed them to half an hour of frog chorus before they went on their journey. Wasn't too happy with Scandinavian Frog Serenade so switched over to Sounds of The Earth: Frogs on Oreade, a Dutch release I think, and that was much better. Least now they'll know what to listen out for when they're feeling horny in a couple of years.
Next week I'll be reviewing several Whale Songs collections and wondering what the hell they're whining about.

To be updated shortly.

After examining with a magnifying glass the monkey mites or whatever they are that are attacking my strawberries in the study, found I'd burned a hole in one of the leaves.

How are the froglets?
this dry warm weather is making mine dry out,make sure they get enough water.
(see,some people care)

The froglets keep me busy and so far 400 of them have escaped to victory. The last couple of days I've been releasing them along the towpath of the Thames between Kew & Richmond Bridges, and was rather miffed to see a cluster of heron nests on the Brentford side near Kew Bridge. The bastards will be making short work of all the duck eggs and sweet little duckies in the coming weeks but I suppose that's nature.
As for my 87-year-old lady, you'll never guess what's happening this afternoon. Well, given enough time you would actually, but I can't be bothered to rephrase that. A drum roll, please. Ready? She's got a vicar coming round for tea. I told her that her life is resembling a seventies sitcom, and a pretty bad one at that. "He isn't coming to see how I am," she said. "He probably just wants some money." I made her promise not to give him any, adding that she should hide her purse in case he wants to inspect its contents while she's out in the kitchen farting around with the tea and biccies. It wouldn't surprise me if he helps himself to her bowl of sweeties, though. Those sherbert fruits are delicious.
Oh, and I have a cold. Ah diddums. Tonight some people will be drinking themselves stupid, others will meet their life partner, a few others will be admitted to casualty with dart-related injuries. Me, I'll have my face buried in a dinky little facial sauna and drinking peppermint tea.

Amused myself greatly whilst cycling this morning by doing that Man In The Box thing Dan does occasionally. Not before I'd released the latest batch of you-know-whats, of course, as they have good hearing and were confused enough about what was going on. The current total stands around 600, and hopefully most of them will be well on their way to the Swiss border by now unless the Duck Gestapo have hunted them down.
Saw an extremely fat bloke in Asda, so fat that his trousers have been let out only the extra material doesn't quite match and the stitching's dodgy so it looks like they could fall down at any moment and consequently make any bystanders bring up their cornflakes, and he had twelve large bottles of bubble gum flavoured pop in his trolley. I'd love to know how long all that will last him.
On the vicar front, turns out he didn't show up. No phone call, nothing. Very suspicious. Well not really, but I'd like to think so.

Duck gestapo ? Are they quack troops ?

Went for a ride with a friend and she said she was thinking of buying a bike rack for her car. So once she's got it we're going to spend the coming months riding all over the place drinking ginger beer, solving mysteries and stuff like that. Sinister old men given to wearing rubber masks in order to frighten off meddling cyclists, you've been warned.

F-f-f-f-f-forgot to buy a new jar of c-c-c-c-coffee.
Watched After Hours - quite good but hardly the 16th funniest movie of all time according to a book by Kathryn Bernheimer.

Switched on Danny Baker until I realised the guest was Pete Burns and decided to listen to something else. What a bellend that man is! A one hit plastic surgery disaster with all the witty repartee you'd expect from the entire cast of 'Bread'.

He was awful , Danny was struggling to get anything from him. Decided good time to visit the smallest room in the house or is that too much information.

Frog fever has passed, there's only two tadpoles left, one of which is some sort of spastic, so there's now space on the window sills to sow nasturtiums, poppies and giant sunflowers. Grew the latter three years ago, and lovely though they are, they're buggers on the high maintenance front, but I didn't want to waste the seeds. I'm a parsimonious old Hectorculturist.

Spent two bleedin' hours hunting for episodes of The Wonder Years for a friend who needed them for research. She does me plenty of favours so I'm not that bothered, though it resulted in the usual headache from reading the spines of hundreds of vids with my head cocked to one side. Was interrupted twice by calls from double glazing companies. I'm sure one was Zenith and the other wasn't, but it seems unlikely. They probably just wanted to be insulted again. The first time some bloke asked if I'd like to make an appointment with a rep who'd be in the area and I simply said, "What do you think?" "Probably not," he replied. "That is the correct answer. Goodbye." Click.
Second time it's a woman with an extremely calm voice (possibly from customer services, it's happened to me before) who asks if I'd like some literature about their product. "Absolutely not. But do you happen to know if it's okay to re-pot a foxglove that's flowering? Only I know you're not supposed to do it with certain plants." And then she hung up.
I'm tempted to announce that I'm giving up this thread for a mysteriously undisclosed reason, or maybe to catch up on my reading, namely the Mr Men books, but that would be churlish.

You need to register with the Telephone Preference Service LSG, it works. Unless you want your neck to stay cocked?

Done. Thanks, mister.

The best advice is never to repot anything while it's in flower.They're delicate things you know.
The seeds of foxgloves make an appetising soup to handout to peckish double glazing reps.

Turns out the vicar has rescheduled his visit for this afternoon. I was round there this morning and she asked me to get some sugar cubes. I don't know, maybe she's always wanted to say, "One lump or two, vicar?" so I didn't give her a hard time. After all, the poor woman's recovering from a stroke. I did suggest that instead of being so predictable she might offer him some heroin instead of tea just to see how he'd react, and she said he'd probably decline as a woman down the road had just given him some. I must have some sort of healing powers. A month ago she was all set to pop her proverbials, now she's cracking gags about her vicar being a junkie.

Popped round to see Doris and gave her some flying saucers. Well, she complained yesterday that the sherbert lemons I bought didn't contain enough sherbert. So that was that sorted. Asked her about the vicar, and it seems he opted for ginger beer rather than tea so she didn't get a chance to show off her sugar cubes. Unless he takes sugar in his ginger beer, which seems unlikely. Maybe I should have asked. Blimey, I'd never make a journalist with such a lousy investigative technique. Didn't even ask her about the heroin either. I did, however, get some rather juicy information about the Jaffa cakes. Seems he became slightly excited when she brought them in, so I asked how many he'd had. Doris reckons he only had two, but I checked the packet and there were only four left. Now, any fule knows you get twelve in a packet, and I really don't think Doris would have scoffed six, so we're left with the distinct possibility that he trousered two or three when she wasn't looking. Many a true word etc. He might have had the munchies.

Went for a ride with Ann and she asked if I'd worn the Dreher baseball cap and I explained that I hadn't despite being told by someone on the internet that hardly anyone knows Dreher is a Hungarian beer owned by South African Breweries. Besides, it's green, and generally I only wear blue, grey, black and white. She found Katt's suggestion that I wear a panama hat very funny, but then she knows me and Katt doesn't and I'm stating the bleedin' obvious again.
That led to me babbling about the website devoted to the Iraqi Information Minister but since she rarely watches TV the topic was a bit of a non-starter. Told her I'd heard Rod Wotsit on Up All Night mention that the IIM had been found hanged over a week ago but hadn't heard any reports about it on the news. Very odd. I'm not sure how we got on to foxes, but one of them dug up and ate a neighbour's cat. We wandered round the Isabella Plantation in Richmond Park and almost everything's blooming, although they have way too many azaleas. The pond had a few ducks I hadn't seen before so I'll have to look 'em up in my big book. Ann says they're delicious. That led to me telling her about the loony who has an enormous raft on the Thames near Twickenham and eats loads of duck eggs and I wondered if I should do something evil to him or just put it in a script. She agreed it might be wise to do the latter.

As requested, wrote to Karl Eldridge a few days ago about getting a few BBC contacts but haven't heard anything. Can't believe I fell for the old I-think-you're-funny-send-us-an-email-so-I-can-learn-your-personal-details-and-drain-your-bank-account scam. What a shmuckerino.

Scene: Post Office
Me: First class inland. And a receipt.
Clerk: You never smile.
Me: You what?
Clerk: You never smile. You're always so serious.
Me: Oh.
I smiled. She smiled. So I handed over the money and left, then realised the bitch had forgotten to give me the receipt.

http://www.richmondandtwickenhamtimes.co.uk/archive/display.var.694481.0.0.html

The last 7 paragraphs of that article are a classic example of local paper reporting.

- Er, could I have one of those money laundering forms?
- What for?
- I wanna launder some money.
- Really? How much?
- Oh I dunno. About fifty quid. No, seriously, about quarter of a million, give or take fifty quid.
- You've got a quarter of a million pounds?
- Yeah. And it needs to be laundered. So I could have one of those forms please?
- No.
- Why not?
- Because I don't believe you
- I could be an eccentric millionaire
- I bet you're not
- How do you know?
- Well for one thing that T-shirt you're wearing. They're three for a fiver at Asda.
- Yes, but many a mickle makes a muckle, or whatever.
- What's that mean?
- No idea. Look, forget that. I might be a criminal. In a strictly legitimate way, of course.
- And what might you do?
- Something to do with porn.
- Really? You got a catalogue?
- No, but I have a website.
- What's the address?
- Give us the form and I'll tell you.
- There you go.

Your mistake there was the t-shirt.
White I bet.
Three for a fiver or no.Mistake.You could have been in Basle now,micklin' and a-mucklin'.

Basle Brush ?

A very productive day, one of the highlights involving a woman who sprinkles sand on her food.

Stopped to watch a fantastic aerial display by dozens of skylarks and couldn't resist going Nyeeeeeeeeeeeeow several times.

1405-XL-JAJGD+JAJSATC

1. Rode past the Chelsea Flower Show where it's all go ready for next week. The odd thing was seeing a bloke and his daughter heading for the entrance carrying a watering can and three empty flower pots. And they didn't even match. They're clearly some sort of minimalists making a statement about the pointlessness of having a twenty-five foot high stainless steel hedgehog in a suburban garden.
2. Watched the Tony Blair cavalcade zooming down Millbank. Didn't wave as one of the outriders would have probably shot me.
3. Saw a bloke at a bus stop near Downing Street who looked like Moby. Hardly noteworthy, I know, seeing how approximately 300,000 men in the London area vaguely resemble him. Anyway, it happened, so there.
4. Noticed the horses weren't in those kennels. The Household Cavalry must be on holiday or something. Several tourists seemed bewildered as they'd travelled thousands of miles to see the sights of London and were being denied the chance of asking 17-year-old cadets stupid questions like would the horses like some of their french fries.
5. The Mall was closed, so presumably Prince Harry or the other one was out rollerblading.
6. Saw a car with a CHK badge but couldn't figure out where it was from. Surely Czechoslavakia isn't trying to be all trendy and illiterate? Finally decided that since Hong Kong is now under Chinese rule it stood for Chong Kong.

7. Jumped the red light outside the Houses of Parliament. Half-expected to get pulled over.

Policeman: Oy, see that building over there?
Me: Er, yeah.
P: Do you know what it is?
M: Yes, it's the Houses of Parliament.
P: Oh, so you're not a total cretin then?
M: Not really, no.
P: Do you know what goes on in there?
M: I've seen it on the telly, if that's what you mean.
P: They pass laws and stuff.
M: I know that.
P: Laws like you should stop at red lights.
M: Oh right, I can see what you're getting at now. So what do you want me to do?
P: Come along with me. Bring your bike.
M: Do I have to?
P: Absolutely.
M: Where are we going?
P: To the floor of the House of Commons. You're going to apologise to everyone for being such a prat.

Came dangerously close to spilling a tray of compost down the back of the telly.

Easily done. There must be a "nothing but shit on the telly these days" line waiting to happen. But I can't be arsed.

I wish I could type faster.

Worked for ooh, well over an hour in the morning, so rewarded myself with a leisurely ride along the Thames from Kew Bridge to Eel Pie Island and back again, pausing to scribble barely legible notes.

Mistook a small child for an Egyptian goose.
A man reading on a bench tapping his feet despite an absence of a Walkman.
A really fat Japanese boy struggling in a hired rowing boat. His girlfriend had taken the precaution of wearing shades to reduce the embarrassment factor.
There seems to be a distinct lack of junior duckies. Only saw two broods, though one of them were wigeon, which was rather dinky. I clearly need to buy a couple of acres and start an intensive duck breeding programme. Any visiting herons and foxes will be stared at Paddington-style until they leave. Donations welcome. Forget the drought in Ethiopia, there are cute little duckies being attacked in moderately affluent parts of south-west London. And why do they choose to live nine hours away from the nearest water supply? It's not like their kids have just settled in their new school and their work might suffer if they move again. I mean, really.
A Spanish-looking bloke with a huge birthmark on his face carrying an acoustic guitar and a tambourine.
A furious bloke shouting at a cyclist who'd caused his daughter to fall off her bike. I stopped to listen, of course, but it wasn't that great an argument as the offender just mumbled.
A boy making final adjustments to a fake corpse underneath a footbridge. As I passed he said, "I apologise, it's just a dead bloke." Very strange. And why did he say 'I apologise' instead of 'sorry'? I don't bloody know. Middle-class kids today, tsk. There was a police car lurking round there on my way back but he and his mates had gone, as had the dummy.
Two girls on the footbridge to Eel Pie Island throwing bread at people in rowing boats.
An overweight fortysomething white bloke wearing a Brazilian football shirt with the number nine and Ronaldo on the back.
An elderly man who closely resembled Bobby Charlton but didn't look quite as disillusioned with life.
An odd couple walking hand in hand. She was wearing a homemade black and red outfit topped off with black hair and a red fringe and red go-faster stripes along each side. He seemed to be wearing pirate boots but without the flappy bits above the knee.
Overheard: They're going to Iceland but they're coming back from Africa on Friday.
Why would anyone want to be a cox? You don't even get any exercise, just cramp.
Either they're some sort of huge dock leaf, or someone's planted loads of rhubarb on the stretch near Kew Gardens.
A couple of hippies picking blossom or whatever from a tree, filling two Waitrose carrier bags.
A middle-aged Japanese bloke in vest and shorts running up and down the steps near Kew Bridge. I've seen him many times before, running up and then walking down a steep road leading to Richmond Hill, but this time he had a friend loitering at the top, presumably keeping count. Now why would anyone agree to do that? Beats me.

Scattered a tub full of poppy seeds along the towpath. Doris tells me the hippies were picking elder flowers to make wine the other day. So that's another mystery solved.
Bought two combs. I only needed one but they were only sold in pairs. Pleased to see the back of the packet has instructions:
To Style: Start at root. Gently comb for desired set or cut.

So that's what I've been doing wrong all these years. I feel such a fool. Excitingly, the comb manufacturer has a website http://www.lookingoody.com/ and I'm looking forward to checking it out after all the wonderful telly tonight. Well, it makes a change from porn. Not that wonderful actually. I've been rather miffed about the severe absence of frogs on that Bill Oddie live wotsit. The Radio Times definitely mentioned frogs on Monday, and there's a subliminal shot of one in the opening credits, but so far there's been sweet frog all. Oh look at the badgers eating peanuts, yes very fascinating, and aren't those foxes cute? Yes, but where are the fucking frogs? And yes, I know they don't do much, hardly anything actually, but I was promised frogs so I demand to see some cottonpickin' frogs.

As for the people watching, saw an enormously overweight woman leafing through a book about potatoes.

Sweet frog all (imagines LSG grinning inwardly when that phrase popped into his head.

The fucking frogs were on the porn that you didn't watch last night.Disappointing frankly.
Oh and the giant rhubarb stuff is probably rheum.A native of New Zealand originally I believe(Mr.Chuckle will confirm or not).Quite spectacular but invasive.Bit like the red Arrows.
No actually,nothing like the red arrows in any rhubarbular sense at all.

I miss Tales from the Riverbank.They should bring it back.But like this.

Frogsporn ?

As I write this, I'm the only one here. One registered user (me), no anonymous. I guess that happens late at night, but it's almost 9am on a saturday morning. Rhinoneal has been and gone, and there were a few of us around an hour ago.

Sorry I was asleep.

I was in Tesco.

I was playing Vice City.
and having breakfast.

I've just spent half an hour blowing up a large swimming pool for the kids. Strange how GLW has these ideas but I have to implement them...

Off to Tesco shortly.

Electric pump - £15 from Argos.Saves hours.Recommended.
Verbs used up.

As if I don't have enough distractions, I've decided that I have a new goal in life - to grow thousands of black buddleias. Well, several hundred initially, and then maybe I'll revise my projected figures on a specially bought flip chart. There simply aren't enough of them, and it's about time something was done about it. I'm sure it's common nationwide, purple everywhere with the odd white one and that ghastly yellow that looks like congealed scrambled egg, but black ones are scarce. Nipped over to the shop at Kew Gardens and they don't have any, it's a disgrace. So http://www.thompson-morgan.com/ has been checked out and they have a packet of mixed. Years from now you can tell your grandchildren how the forest of black buddleias originated.

Cuttings are far better than seed for a semi hardwood shrub such as Buddleia,or as it is commonly known,The Butterfly bush(because it attracts them.)
There is of course also the orange ball flowered variety Buddleia alternifolia,which looks nothing like the others at all.In fact,I don't know why I brought it up.

Anyway,black flowers.Apart from Goth weddings,what's the point ?

A friends entire front garden was various black flowers,came second in the the local horticultural society best garden award,actually looked nicer than it sounds.

Don't tell the RSPCA, but I'm holding a ladybird hostage in my lounge. I've told her she can leave as soon as she's eaten all the aphids on one of my foxgloves.

This in addition to her house being on fire and her children all gone.

For future reference is it under a glass or chained to the radiator?

One of its hind legs is tied to the stem with a generous length of dental floss.

The ladybird has gone, and there's no sign of a corpse. So one of the following has happened:-
1. He got depressed and fled to Belgium.
2. The aphids ganged up and ate him.
3. The ladybird equivalent of the SAS broke in and rescued him.
4. Something else.

Today's highlight was coming across something I found last year from an OCD lonelyhearts web page in which some bloke from Cornwall listed his interests as 1. Sitting down 2. Looking 3. Occasional breathing.

Outside the Post Office saw an Arab with a weird beard that closely resembled Oliver Hardy's when Stan managed to stick a paintbrush on his chin and pull off the handle. Bought a few bags of sweeties at virtually the only shop for miles that still has them in jars and asked if I could swipe the old Evening Standard posters from outside as I use them as wrapping paper when selling books through Amazon. He said 'sure' and didn't even look askance in that I-always-thought-he-was-a-bit-of-a-loony way I notice occasionally.
Haven't quite decided whether to remove the viciously invasive Himalayan Balsam along the towpath of the Thames near Ham next week. It's part of a voluntary conservation group thang and their itinerary for the next three months is impressively varied and I know I'd enjoy doing some of the stuff, but at the same time I know it's just another diversion tactic on my part to avoid working on my telly script. I've already washed the flower pots, for godsake, but it's progressing nicely and should be ready for submission in about a month. Decision, decisions.
Nip over to http://www.btcv.org.uk/ for details of how you too could learn the ancient art of picking up discarded crisp packets, coppicing, laying paths, clearing ponds and obtaining various diseases from rat urine, plus a host of other activities.

Well, I did it, but very nearly didn't. If someone hadn't popped over to the newsagent to buy some matches I'd have missed the mini-bus to take us over to Ham, so maybe smoking is good for me in a roundabout way. I don't smoke, you understand, my guess is it was the overweight girl who swears she doesn't get hungry since being on the Atkins diet. Anyway, there were seven of us and all of them were pleasant and friendly, though one of them looked like he might have killed a guy but probably in self-defence so that hardly counts. I like a bit of exercise, me, (why am I suddenly being stricken with Yorkshire-itis?) so I really got cracking, even to the point of heading in the wrong direction. Yanking Himalayan balsam, in case you're wondering. Very satisfying, and I think I'll do it once a week. Next week we're removing ragwort in Ham. Yes, I know it'll hardly fill a chapter in my memoirs, but it's a way of shedding a few pounds. Over lunch someone was going on about Darwin and I mentioned that I'd looked up Darwin in the local phone book and there weren't any, so presumably they're extinct. Really cracked them up. Know your audience. Eco-types dig gags about Darwin. So now you know. One of the blokes who has to do 400 hours of voluntary conservation stuff for his national diploma, and ultimately wants to be a park ranger, seemed to know a lot about rats and spiders, but I'll spare you the details. Besides, I was concentrating on eating my crisps at the time.

We were also told that if we feel nauseous over the next 48 hours we should tell the doctor that we'd been exposed to open water. For that, read rat urine. Always nice to know.
I don't mean to moan, but I felt a bit queasy about the rubber gloves that were provided. Looked liked they hadn't been washed for a while, and you know how bacteria builds up inside them. I've given my hands a good scrub, but I'm still reluctant to pick my nose.

Eco types love the Darwin. No Darwin, no evolution, and worse, creationists have no counter to there agrument and the church is therefor right. This means all the stuff that makes being an Eco warrior cool "because nature is in balance and we are ballsing the balance up with our exploitation of the planet" stuff nonsense. Simply because Darwin hasnt exisisted (in LSG`s phone book anyway) we are all made in Gods image and he has a plan for us, and it is his will and that.
Its a worry sure enough, so it is.

Today's big news from the world of voluntary conservation is that you can make soup from ants. Well that's what the would-be park ranger says. I didn't ask for the recipe. In the mini-bus on the way back he asked if anyone knew any jokes. I just sat there and cringed. And it turns out the group leader doesn't watch telly, so it's highly unlikely I shall be marrying her in the near future.

- Did you see The Dinner Party Inspectors the other night?
- No
- How about that Brian Sewell thing?
- No
- You do know who he is, do you?
- Doesn't he play for Manchester United?
- No, that's David Beckham
- Was he on it as well?
- No, David Beckham doesn't know much about French architecture.
- And this Brian Sewell bloke does?
- Yes, but that's not the point. He keeps looking over the rims of his glasses. Or if he isn't doing that, he takes them off and sucks them.
- I see.
- It's hilarious, honest.
- It doesn't sound very funny.
- Well, it is. Trust me.
- So how many times did he do these things?
- The other night? Er, none actually, but it was quite exciting waiting for him to do it.
- Which he didn't.
- Yeah.
- See? That's why I don't watch TV.
- Maybe that was just a bad example.
- Well, enough of that. Fancy a shag?
- Are you mad? Fawlty Towers is on in ten minutes.
- I think I've seen that. It's about a hotel, isn't it?
- Right, that's it. I'm afraid you're gonna have to leave.

Composed in my head during the 90 minute trudge to the bike shop in Putney to get a new rear tyre. As I was being served the phone rang and the first words the bloke said were "No, he died several years ago."

Likes to watch Brian Sewell sucking...turns down a shag...

Quiche alert !

And here's an exclusive extract from my current work in progress:-

Just as a joke, I asked my doctor which method of suicide he'd recommend, and he pressed a button on his desk and in came these two big blokes who held me down while he injected me with something. Next thing I knew, I was in a wheelchair in a big garden watching a bunch of loonies in dressing gowns playing volleyball.

Andrew the quiche amnesty finished at 5pm.

enough already.

Nobody tells me anything.
Kumquats.

tonight Channel 4 9pm
the Rod Hull thing,I'm only going to be able to watch the first half but looks pretty good.

Pay your TV licence and you can watch the second half.

Some of us have to work for a living you know.

Ooooh!

I travelled to Cheam today.... from Banbury, not as interesting as I thought it would be. Didn`t pass Railway Cuttings, though I passed the Railway station. Do you suppose its anything like driving to Leeds?

At least I don`t have to do it every day.

Thought I'd treat my buttocks to a new saddle filled with gel. I'd like to say it's more comfortable but I think I've put the bracket in upside down so it's higher than my old one and I can't budge the stem so I feel like Kermit stretching for the pedals. I knew the answer, of course, but I had to ask the bloke what the difference was between the men's and women's saddles. He said the women's one was shorter but broader to accommodate the female anatomy, which is a rather eloquent way of saying women tend to have bigger arses. Not what I was expecting, but he probably thought it was a more polite response than asking me if I was aware men have a scrotum.
Had an odd phone call from an old customer of mine asking if I had any Laugh-In shows on tape. So why do you think he wanted to know, eh? I'll give you twelve thousand guesses. Goldie Hawn dancing? Henry Gibson's poems? Nope, nope, nope. He wanted to see Ruth Buzzi in a mini-skirt. Ruth Buzzi, you might recall, used to wear a hairnet and hit Arte Johnson with her handbag. Did I mention he's a bit of a perv? Oh, you figured that out already. Anyway, I said I might have a couple but in the end he chose the first season of KYTV as he fancies Helen Atkinson-Wood. It's all rather disturbing really.

I'm either dehydrated or drunk, or possibly both, as I've been toiling in the sun for six hours and knocked back a couple of beers, so this is going to be a bit sloppy. (consults furtively made notes) Ah yes, you'll like this. Well, I did. One of the volunteers, who calls herself Phoenix but I'm not so sure that's her real name, is a psychologist, although she calls her technique positive solution therapy, and she set up a weekly therapy group in a local branch of Cafe Rouge. One person showed up for the first session, and he was a friend of hers, which hardly constitutes a group session but there you go. Second session she gets twice as many patients or whatever they're called, the aforementioned bloke and a girlfriend of hers who's come to check out the platonic friend as Phoenix described him as being hunky. Sorry, I don't know the outcome of the situation. Let's just assume they shagged but it was a rather hollow experience. Someone else, who sported a three inch wooden crucifix on his chest, maintained that despite there being quite a lot of nice people who were non-believers, they still wouldn't get into heaven and live for eternity. I just sucked my humbug and chucked his remark in my short-term memory bank.
As we were being driven to Hatherop Park to clear it of the impertinently invasive Japanese knotweed (a member of the bamboo family, or at least a distant cousin) and scythe our way through an overgrown footpath that'll probably continue to be neglected by the locals, saw a flat whose balcony had enough wood on it to make a small shed. There was also talk of a spiritual workshop which might have been interesting to earwig but I was sitting next to the damn speaker and couldn't hear much over the musical pap.
Before starting work we told to look out for naked men. Seems the group leader saw a nude man strolling through the grass when doing a recce last Saturday. The highlight for me, apart from being on the verge of getting sunstroke despite wearing my Hewlett Packard baseball cap (the Dreher cap still hasn't made a public appearance, and frankly I'm beginning to doubt it ever will) was seeing eight frogs in the pond.
Glad I turned down an offer to go to the pub as I bumped into Rob Brydon in Waitrose. Had a fair old chat as we hadn't seen each other for about 18 months, and he gave me the address of his production company to send my soon-to-be-completed script and idea for another project to star himself and Steve Coogan. And that's about it, really. I'm going to lie down.

He's on Radio 4 tomorrow, at 6:30. Rob Brydon that is, not LSG.

I might get a mention, though.
(This post has been entered for the Montreux Golden Swank Award)

Next time you see him, let him know the GLW and I are going to see him during the Edinburgh Festival. I'm the gawky, skinny, balding bloke. The GLW is the stunning blonde. Unless she dyes her hair again. We'll clap extra loud knowing he is talking to us.

I forgot to mention that the Bible-basher's mother will soon be going to Czechoslavakia to look at wolves and bears and my arms resemble those of a wrist-slasher. Either I'm gonna have to wear long-sleeved shirts for a week or parade around like Audrey Hepburn in a pair of long gloves. It's simply too marvellous, darling, mwah.

Yesterday Amazon informed me that ten of my listings at the Marketplace had expired. Over the course of the next two and a half hours they sent around six hundred messages notifying me about just those ten books. Filled the box, of course, so I was frantically deleting them as they continued to pour in. Thought I had a virus but the grisoft thang says none are present and no other emails have been duplicated. It's a good job I don't believe in migraines otherwise the episode would have brought one on.

Apologies if you've already read this on ananova, but my two-year-old buddleia cutting has turned out to be white, and it's rather pretty. And one of my brothers is going to marry a girl from Rwanda twenty years younger than him. He met her on the internet and she barely speaks English. I'll say no more as it would be discourteous.

The day didn't start spectacularly well when we assembled in the office and I said that what with the predicted storm it might be wise to wear rubber soled shoes or a gimp outfit, and it didn't get so much as a smile. Either they didn't know what I was talking about or thought I might actually have one. Anyway, it fell flat, but it doesn't matter because last Thursday they found a dead transvestite on Barnes Common. It's not fair, I miss all the good stuff. Still haven't decided whether I'd like to have been the guy who found the corpse as it would have been something to tell the grandchildren.

Me: Say kids, come here and I'll tell you a story.
G1: Oh no, not again. It's not about that time you found a dead pervert in the bushes, is it?
Me: How do you know about that? Have I already told you?
G1: Yeah, and we had to read all 3748 pages of your bloody What I Did Today thread as well.
Me: You've read that?
G2: Read it? We had to study it for our GCSE.

In other news, one of those wheelchair racers was done for speeding in Richmond Park, and Ham House is apparently haunted by three ghosts, one of whom is a dog.

After the shock of todays sad death of a long standing thread,I thought I would just bump this to the top just in case some nasty hitman sneaks in with a pair of cyber scissors again.

Asked what I'd been up to lately by a friend, I told him I'd nearly found a dead transvestite and he showed me the report in the local paper. Seems he was 74 but no mention was made about his unusual outfit. Most peculiar, Julia. Lent him a copy of my script and will get a verdict on Sunday. He's been a comic and teaches comedy writing so I should get a rough idea if it's any good. Can't reveal too much, natch, but it's called "I Don't Feel Too Good" and is inspired by some of my previous obsessions at the Treehouse. Longtime readers will know what I mean so I'd better shut up before I blab the whole bloody thing.

It could have been one of those 'Why me?' days but overall it wasn't too bad. Yesterday I came home to find a card from Parcelforce so I rang them and said I'd collect it from their sorting office the following day. So this morning I cycled over to Acton only to be told that it was on the effing van. If this were a sitcom I'd have returned home to find another card, of course, but happily there wasn't. But as I was pedalling home like a demon I spotted a sign outside a newsagent that read: FRESH SANDWICH SOLD HERE. The clock was ticking, so there wasn't time to investigate. However...
Me: Is it still here?
Assistant: What?
M: The sandwich. Have you sold it yet?
A: No. You want it?
M: Could I take a look?
A: Are you serious?
M: Definitely.
A: Only we get a lot of timewasters.
M: No, I'm really hungry, and I feel like a sandwich.
A: It's over there.
M: Oh, right. Quite nice. How much is it?
A: Three quid.
M: Three quid for a sandwich?!
A: It's fresh.
M: Yeah, so I understand from the board outside.
A: So do you want it or not?
M: Three quid's a bit steep.
A: It's got lettuce in it.
M: Round my way lettuce isn't exactly considered an item of luxury, and it doesn't cost much either.
A: Well piss off then.
M: Right, I will. Y'know, with your attitude it's no wonder you don't sell many sandwiches. Or even one.

If you've a hankering for blackberries shoot over to Ham common, it's covered in brambles. Or rather it was until a certain band of misfits thrashed our way along the paths. But you don't want to hear about all that nature crap so I'll skip to the snide remarks. There's this guy who's apparently a regular, but since I normally go on Wednesdays we hadn't met before. Anyway, let's call him Spazzmo 'cos he's a bit of a spaz. As we were being given the Health & Safety spiel I asked if the leader had the nearest hospital on his speed dial, and this led to Spazzmo revealing that Kingston hospital still had a psychiatric unit. He knew this as he'd been a patient there. It later turned out that he'd seen the ghost of his granny's cat and used to sleep in the attic but found the nesting birds up there rather irritating as they snored. He had a huge hole in one of his knees and had a habit of dipping his hand inside to rub his shins. It depends on my workload, but I might ask him if I can write his biography.
Right, who else? Oh yeah. There's this black dude who was born on the same day as Mike Tyson, smokes roll-ups the size of matchsticks, and keeps asking me if I'm all right. Not just me, of course, and I know he means well, but it's a bit