Leaving for Gatwick - July 2009

It's twerley - that's all I can say. Having spent the night mostly half awake running through fictitious conundrums that my subconscious thought needed clearing up in order for me to safely reach morning.

I sometimes wonder whether I will always be tired. Always to bed too late, and always too early to rise.

Although it is yet 5.30 am my carriage on this Gatwick Express is already chocker with elderly blond (dyed) queens and Japanese girls. Where are they all going? Surely they can't all be heading to the Outer Hebrides? We'll have to see.

Oh dear Cruella De Ville has just got on - sans Dalmatians

My Addison Lee was perfect - oh how I love the certain, prompt, quiet comfort they provide. Such a good way to start a trip. So much better than Carol's Cars, where you are always on the edge of your seat waiting for the call to tell you how late your car will be.  With Addison Lee you know 5 minutes before it is due you'll receive a text telling you it is outside. Smart polite drivers who take your case for you. Anyway 20 mins door to door, so as always I was well and truly early.

Everyone is so tired, too tired even for their faces to form recognisable expressions. It is as if gravity and evolution have turned us all droopy and uncoordinated. A man just did a dance as he came through the door as it tried to claim him. He was unable to muster the required - stop -press button - wait to open - walk through.

The morning sun is beautiful over the river. How I love central London early in the day - as it is waking up.

When they say 'sorry for any delay' surely they mean 'the' delay? So all my earliness has been eaten away by their tardiness.

I see the lady with the Pashmeena is travelling EasyJet. I wonder whether she's seen my BA luggage tag - well actually it's a Concorde luggage tag. She's probably green with it - she is developing a twitch though - I wonder if it is related?

Why do buildings on industrial estates always have slanted roofs? Do they want to look all Bart Simpson stylee? Probably trying to get on the bandwagon of Lisa's 2012 Olympic fame!

The ups and downs of being different

“You're not like other boys are you William?”

I can’t now remember who said that to me, it might have been my Gran who still today in her dementia isn’t certain about me. She sometimes asks me if I’m married, and then another time will give me a wry look, and say ‘you’re not really interested in girls are you’.

But in answer - well no, as a matter of fact I’m not, and thank the Lordy Lord for that!

I don't mind being different, and if I were the same as everyone else it would probably make me want to go into a maximum security twilight home for the bewildered even more than the vagaries of everyday life does already.

My most recent experience of being different took place in a cafe on England's glorious east coast.

People were talking about me, looking, muttering, they were confused, I had confused them by being different.

What had I done?

Well I'd ordered the all day vegetarian breakfast. They'd never heard of such a thing. I was so obviously different, I was an outsider. No one had ever had the 'meatless' breakfast before. It caused a stir.  I wasn't in a mobility scooter, I wasn't wearing velour for comfort only, my legs weren't the same thickness from start to finish etc.; I was certainly and obviously different. Thank God!

As a veggie, liberal, middle class, graduate, homosexual (yes Ladies it's true) Londoner, I quite often tick the different box. I don’t want to always be the same though (apart from when you're all having bangers and mash) so am quite happy with that.

At different times in my life I have been different for different reasons, for example in primary school I had specs so I was four eyes, my Dad was a Doctor and I didn't say 'ain't' so I was posh, I was shit at football and so I was kicked.

In secondary school, I wasn't so different to everyone else, we were all laid back trendies, but perhaps if I'd been a hot blooded straight it would have made life easier - so I was a bit different, although I didn't really know. Mum always used to say that I had a long line of gorgeous girls at the door, and I did to some extent, I was only friendly with the bright and the beautiful - school allowed that. Even though never properly in lust, I was certainly in interest with some and in love (in my own way) with a couple and one in particular.

And I had some great friendships, which I am sure were facilitated by my being different. If I'd been straight I wouldn't have been able to get as close to some of the wonderful women that I did, they wouldn't have let me in. For even though I didn't quite get it right in my head until I was about 19, most of them knew from when I was 13 that I wasn't strictly the marrying type.

Even as a young Gay man I was different. I didn't sleep around, I wasn't too wild about drugs, I had a 'strange' some said, liking for monogamy, and I didn't really like clubbing 'til dawn - I was a bit different.

The joy of finally becoming middle aged when I was allowed to just say no to nonsense and say 'this is me take it or leave it' was very liberating. I used it wisely to remind myself that it is me who decides when I am the same and when I am different, and ultimately defines what that means for me and those I love.

And I realised that we shouldn't let anyone else decry our position or try to influence what we should or should not be doing, and when it is ok for us to be the same or different. We are never going to match each other exactly and that is fine, and good – we love those close to us for who they are, our differences and our similarities, our links to the past and the joy at continuing to share the same and different paths. We understand that we will drive each other spare from time to time – that's good, that's ok.

Thank god for being different.

12 Steps

As always in life I have great blog plans. Firstly I planned a review of the year (2009), which remains in note form so you never know, and then I planned a New Year's message. My brother thought that if David Cameron was allowed to do one, then there shouldn't be any stopping me.

But what with everything else, still having to go to work for a living, and more episodes of the Archers to catch up on that you could shake a stick at, I haven't quite been able to get around to it.

However I was recently asked to ponder some simple rules for living. So as part of my ongoing desire, and in fulfilment of my life long duty, to help, I have come up with the following 12 simple rules; let's call then William's 12 Steps to better living.

1.   Why would you not rinse the suds off the washing up?  I don’t want dried detergent on my crockery for next time I eat, nor does anyone else.

2.   If you miss a call, don’t call the person back immediately – as they will probably be leaving you a voicemail. Give it a minute and then listen to their message before calling them back with the answer. They won’t then have to repeat everything they have just said in your message, and your call waiting won’t interrupt their leaving of the message.

3.   If you’re not watching the TV switch it off – save some electricity and have five minutes of peace and quiet – it won’t kill you.

4.   When abbreviating the popular phrase ‘you are’ don’t forget to get it right with ‘you’re’ rather than wasting your time by being incorrect and putting ‘your’. It’s only a little thing, but can be dangerous and extremely annoying.

5.   If you’re going to go to all the effort of asking someone a question, why not go the whole hog and take the time to listen to the answer. 

6.   Vegetarians are just like you but with less red meat rotting in their guts. If you are having a roast dinner or sausage and mash, you’ll find that they’d like that too rather than risotto or a pear salad.

7.   Don’t eat with your mouth open as it will make your friends and family feel sick and is common and disgusting.

8.   If you see two men kissing, holding hands or displaying an otherwise innocent PDOA don’t chase them down the street screaming ‘Batty Boy’ just be happy for them and then quietly get on with whatever you were doing.

9.   I know it can sometimes seem ok, but if truth be known stopping to chat to another old person in a shop doorway is never appropriate.

10. Don’t move in one direction whilst looking in another - no gain to be had and lots of potential for knocking into someone or something.

11. Don't sniff, it’s not attractive, it’s annoying and unnecessary – get a bloody hanky and ask an adult to show you how to use it.

12. And finally, don’t feel the need to constantly ramble on about drivel, and whatever you do don’t fill conversations with verbatim reports of the last conversation you had and what the other person had said. We don’t really care and you're boring us.

Please don't thank me - I don't give to receive.

You Bet Your Sweet Potatoes Honey

Back in the heady 90's I was lucky enough to get some work writing for the Independent. Here are the unsubbed results of the joyous couple of hours I spent with Margarita Pracatan published in August 1995.

“I sing Hell-or, and la Bamba, and a few more, you know. And then people say you know people really like it, you wanna send another video? I say yes, send another video, another song. And last year people they say you know they want to know something about you more, can you send a resume. So I send my resume and then after that they say, you know, they really want to know more about you do you want to have it by satellite with, Clive James? I say of course I want to do that, so they did that the last May, 1994. So they did the satellite, and everybody love it, so after that they say do you want to come here and do it, and I say yeah of course and I am here!”

If only all evolutionary theories were quite so simple! Margarita Pracatan arrived in Britain hurtling down the entertainment superhighway that was ‘The Clive James Show’. The homes of 7.5 million innocent bystanders have now been hit by this Cuban bolt of lightning, doing the strangest things to some very well known tunes.

Wild and vivacious, colourful, flamboyant, camp and capable of some very ‘individual’ signing, she was first introduced in a previous series as one of James’ satellite link ups to that strange and warped world on the other side of the Atlantic. She sang Lionel Richie’s ‘Hello’ and with one foul blow had the population humming “Hell-or, is me you look for” in a pseudo Mexican accent. Now she is back as James’ regular end piece, each song sung making it harder and harder to define what constitutes music.

If Margarita Pracatan had not existed, Clive James would have had to invent her. As it was, a lady called Ingrid got in there first. “I guess one day I was playing piano in a party, and then this lady that name is, Ingrid, so she a programme in television over there. She say, do you want to play the piano and sing one day on my programme? I say O.K because we are drinking, you know. So she called me the next day, then I went and I play.”

Following Ingrid’s cultural coup, Margarita decided to get her own Public access show, which has now been running for four years; it was here that Clive James spotted her. “People say, Margarita that is nice, so then I went to the public access, and I fill out an application to see if I can have my own programme. And then they accept it.” When Margarita was initially prompted by a friend to send her tapes to Clive James she was very relaxed about what this new horizon could offer her. ”I didn’t care, because I never think about nothing.”

Except she does. She has had to think about it all on her own for a long time. She has done all her own promotion, printing of flyers, arranging of venues. “I’ve been doing my show from my own pocket, I pay everything, whatever I do. I’ve been doing that all my life, nobody help me.” She realises of course that she is not a classical performer who will reach the top through skill and expertise, but rather through her appeal and wit. “I think that the audience like me because I am different, and I got the guts to go in front of the audience and do things you know, because sometime people they are very professional and things like that and they do things. I am very natural, like the audience I make part of my family.”

James on the one hand has presented her as a circus act. Still Watchmaker Productions seem to be pulling out all the stops. As well as interviews and the possibility of performances in clubs and even a fan club, Margarita will be performing at this year’s Edinburgh festival. The press release says simply ‘Bob Downe meets Jackie Stallone for an evening of triumphant cabaret’. I just hope that the Fringe has enough diamonds and feather boas hanging from it. She is very grateful towards Clive James and stresses that his plucking her out was the first time someone else had wanted to do anything for her. “I’ve been doing that all these years, and no one has said, come on we’re going to do this seriously, you know, we’re going to do something for you and I am happy that I have been with Clive James, he takes me seriously, and I am so happy that I want to do my hundred percent, yes.”

Margarita regards fame in much the same way she regards sex; She may have had her fifteen minutes, but it’s what happens after that counts. “It’s only a hobby, you don’t have to have sex, because sex will be like ten, fifteen minutes, O.K you fool around maybe you get thirty minutes, maybe you do it one hour, maybe all night long, but the essence of sex is when it is stopped.”

For now Margarita is happy to sit back and enjoy the ride. She says she loves performing for her audience as much as she hopes they enjoy her performance. She has a special place in her heart for God, children, Gay men and everybody at Saks 5th Avenue, but is open to receive and give love to everybody. “I think they like me because I am natural and I talk to people like they are part of my family, like a human being. Come on! I am here, accept me. I am here to have a good time. I like it to be a big party, you know, when I am with my audience, not like to be there to adore me, want me. I want to be reciprocated.” I’m not sure whether the Windsor’s will have booked their seats for the festival yet, but they need fear not. “I wish they would invite me there, I would love to go there to see the Queen Elizabeth, and Diana, and the husband, to see Prince Charles. Oh that would be good. To be normal, don’t be too much ceremony, to like a family reunion, a private party, not too many people. And then to film it, and then put it on television, with their permission, that would be beautiful”

Only time will tell if Margarita Pracatan sparkles for as long and as bright as her diamonds and eyes, but at the moment there is no way of avoiding her. Her energy and charisma are her strongest cards, both being played to full effect. “I don’t have sex” she confides, “I am celibate, I mean it I am celibate.” Then pointing to her crotch says, “This thing is closed forever. I have a more good time, and have more energy. People say how come you’re so happy all the time, I say it’s because I have everything inside of me.”

Margarita Pracatan will be performing her one woman show at The Palladium, Broughton Place, Edinburgh.(venue 26) On Tuesday 22nd August at 7.00 pm. Booking information: 0131 556 6969 10 am - 6 pm.

At the end of the interview Margarita looked at me and said 'What is your name?' I told her, and she said 'William - I love you!' A very special day.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D39UIYiTMPo

Christmas Stops Here

So no Ambridge panto this year then!

Whatever next, no pillar box? no pavement ?

However having fully reviewed the information currently available I have reached the decision that all seasonal activity, not just the Ambridge Panto, including merriment, gift exchange, peace and good will to all (wo)men, bread sauce making and consuming and Wassailing should cease with immediate affect anyway.

The reason for this ardent decision is to give the inhabitants of this fair city some distraction free, focused 'them time' to spend doing all they can to get a better handle on:

1. Use and otherwise of another person's personal space
2. The downside to dawdling - how to simply keep moving and not get in my, I mean other people's way
3. Use of ears and eyes to constantly monitor one's immediate surroundings and to take evasive action as and when required for the safety and comfort of others (me).

It would seem to me that as most of the population will need to have intensive behavioural and attitudinal retuning, henceforth referred to as BAR™, in order to meet the required standards, quite a considerable amount of time will need to be earmarked and Christmas will only get in the way and sway focus due to eggnog and mistletoe related distractions.

I know a lot of you have already put a lot of love and effort into lubricating the path of enjoyment, both for yourself and those close to you, and I am sorry if this new ruling comes as a blow. But don't worry as most gifts and yuletide accessories will keep, and everything is returnable with a 'gift receipt' at this time of the year.

So there you go. Can you imagine how fresh the New Year will feel with all peoples 'retuned', moving, looking and listening, getting on with it and utilising a range of consideration based common sense skills. Oh joy!

Do have a lovely Christmas.

And finally from the old jokes home:

Q - Why do Mary and Joseph really like mini babybel so much?
A - Because they love the baby Cheeses

 

 

 

NINE 2 FIVE

It’s been a busy few days, I am practically strangers with my sofa, but there seems to have been so much to do. However I don’t know how I get anything done at the moment what with it being night time from about 4pm in the afternoon.

Here are some notes from the last two weeks, and I offer them by way of a chronicle for your amusement and interest.

TOO TIRED TO WORK, TOO YOUNG TO RETIRE

I seem to be too tired to think today. I have reached brain overload, and achievement burn out. It is only Thursday but I feel like I've squeezed two weeks’ worth of work into 4 days. It is only 5 pm but it feels like midnight. It has been a very busy week, and these early dark evenings don't help, but I think that perhaps the truth is that I am now too old to work and should be given early retirement and or 25 years gardening leave. At least that would mean that the grass would finally get cut, and the gates painted. I have started to obsess a little recently about the spine tingling horror, knowing that early retirement is at least 15 years away and probably more like 20 years away, induces! To think I'm going to have to work for as long as I've already been working is a concept too far. There's always marrying up, but I'm very happy on my own at the moment. There's a lottery win, but that requires guessing the correct numbers - harder than it sounds. So I don't know, but I am reviewing my options and hope to have my master plan fully functioning and risk assessed sometime within the next 10 years. I can't begin to think how tired I'll feel by the time I'm 65.

LEAVE THE BOTTLE

Thursday saw Robbyn and I going to a wonderful wine tasting class, yes I know, horse, stable door etc, but it was excellent. We had to do, swirling round the glass, smelling and some ‘yes I’m definitely getting some driving gloves here, and maybe a spot of roasted duck’ we did swilling round the mouth and gauging how the wine worked on different taste buds, we did holding the wine in the bottom of our mouths whilst drawing air in to make sure all our receptors got a good blast. Absolutely wonderful.

EVERYONE NEEDS GOOD NEIGHBOURS

I met one of my neighbours last night. He came round to share some sad news about another neighbour who has been taken unwell, perhaps terminally. Now my elderly neighbour, who is ill, I have known her for the 10 years I've been in my flat, and we chat and share the time of day and swap ailment stories etc, like a pair of gooduns. But this man who came round I didn't know him from Adam. I said 'have you just moved in next door?' he said' No I've lived there for 10 years' How can someone have lived next door to me for ten years and I didn't know, let alone have never said hello and introduced myself. I felt very bad about that, so shook his hand extra sincerely and told him to keep me posted, and let me know if there was anything I could do to help.

Sadly my neighbour died a couple of days later – end of a mini era for me and very sad.

LIKE OLD FRIENDS DO

I got a wonderful message from a blast from the past, someone who I haven’t seen for at least 10 years. Anyway when I first met ‘Alice’ he was just 19 and now he is 30, which made me feel terribly old myself. He came round and it was wonderful to catch up, laugh about the past, remember silly things from long ago, and to hear how lives have moved on, grown and the ups and downs of in between. So my top life advice today is say hello to someone you haven’t said hello to for years and spend a bit of time laughing and catching up.

HOT CLOTHING

I had a long and intense sms extravaganza with Adrian mid week; let’s just say he’s not overly happy with my stain control, laundry temperature and general adherence to strict, but basic principles. He’s put me down for retraining. Hotter, longer, stronger, more powder! No it’s not an 80’s porn remake it’s a way of life!

COSTA RICAN TRAGEDY

Well all I can say is what a week for me to return to the Archies. Who would have thought that a radio drama based around people saying things like......

‘Have you seen Shula?’
‘You mean Kenton’s sister? No sorry, why?’
‘Oh it’s just that Ian..’
‘Adam’s civil partner?’
‘Yes, it’s just that Ian wanted to ask her where Susan was’
‘Why, is it about the lambing?’
‘No it’s just he wants to crush her skull and burn down the fucking shop so she stops her incessant whining!’

.......could be so wonderful and so compelling. Have another large gin and tonic tiger, that’s all I have to say on the matter.

MAKING ALCOHOLISM ACCEPTABLE

I wondered this morning at about 10.30 whether it was too early to have a cocktail. I called my Sommelier immediately and she said yes, unless you added tomato juice to it and called it a bloody Mary. Then it’s all kosher and guardian reader and even children can have them.

AND THE WINNER IS....

So on Wednesday night I rehashed one of my old roles, no not Diamante Alas, but rather as international master of ceremonies and glamorous compére for the world renowned Community Education Student Awards ceremony. It is a very popular evening, a little more Argos than BAFTA perhaps, with some church heating fund jumble thrown in for good measure, but it went mostly smoothly. I announced student after student and stumbled through some very tricky surnames, but we all got there in the end and everyone had a fantastic evening. Apparently in the event feedback, some people had commented on how good the Compére had been. It actually said Compeer though.

WHEN ALL IS SAID AND DONE

Well that’s me; I’m just splashing a bit of bleach around now a bit like a priest with the holy water at the blessing of the boats. I’m also roasting some almonds, and then before I go to see the gurlz and my goddaughter I'll try and pen down some ideas for my new rock opera/concept album.

I learnt some important life lessons tonight.

1. It’s not so bad going to concerts on your own.

2. The city is a bitch to traverse and trying to get across it just following your nose isn’t always the best option.

3. I can no longer read tiny print in half light – problematic when one is relying on the A-Z when lost in the city.

So I have been to a wonderful wonderful concert at the Barbican. Whenever I say the word Barbican I remember a rant, I think by Alexi Sale, about the Barb-e-can! I heard Diamanda Galás, Arthur H, Momus, Camille O'Sullivan, Arno and Marc Almond singing Jacques Brel songs – beautifully. An amazing venue and lots of hair on the back of the neck moments.

I’ve returned, finally, to see Question Time with Nick Griffin which seems to be the political story of the week. People have been making reference to the rise of the NF in the 70’s which made me remember discussions at primary school during the 1979 elections. None of us knew anything about politics, obviously, we were 10! I don’t know if we even knew what the NF stood for. I don’t remember being aware of what racism was. But I clearly remember someone telling me that that if the NF got in, they would abolish schools, so we wouldn’t have to go any more. Milk Snatcher got in anyway, and the rest, is, unfortunately, history. Maggie Maggie Maggie – out out out!

Someone asked me today whether I wanted to donate to the postal worker’s support fund. I said that I would if it went towards getting my fucking letters through the door. I’m sure the CWU has a very extensive strike fund, so I won’t be donating.

Getting back to the TV, which I seem to have started watching again after several months of none/very little. I have mostly been enjoying Escape to the Country, Ru Paul's Drag Race, Newsnight and This Week, but last night I caught Secret Millionaire. I haven’t blubbed so much for ages, apart from the breast cancer care QVC special last week, you’ll have to excuse me for that one. And talking of Breast Cancer Care - please do send them some money this Christmas - they are an amazing charity. I know many people give charitable donations at this time of year so once you've sent a few quid to the Albert Kennedy trust at https://rsm2.rsmsecure.com/cpterminal/cpweb.php please send some money to BCC at www.breastcancercare.org.uk/donate/

Oh well, Friday tomorrow – thank frig!

PS: as always - better to view this at the website - then you'll see any video links http://www.wgodwinesq.blogspot.com/

Are you comprehending my definition?

So, yes I know I'm as street as the next honcho, or is it poncho - oh it's all so confusing these days.

But anyway thems of you what wish to hipity hop in a batty boy stylkee now have a get out of jail free card with new 'no homo'.

This allows one to go jigggy jiggedy wid it, but not to actually be a batty boy. So you suck, then you say 'no homo' then you fuck and you say 'no homo'.

Simples.

From the urban dictionary:

Phrase used after one inadvertently says something that sounds gay.

His ass is mine. No homo.

As this is quite a complex concept, some americans have produced an instructional video.

Enjoy and learn.

No Homo!

(PS: you'll need to actually go to the blog website to see the video http://www.wgodwinesq.blogspot.com/)

The Joy of Reading

My Mother’s bedside table was always piled high with books, like the walls of a great castle. There was strength in those literary walls, and she certainly obtained a great deal of strength from her literary life. She loved books of all kinds, but in particular poetry. Her favourite author was Thomas Hardy, and from her love for him she developed a love of Wessex. We used to decide what books to buy her based on their weight rather than necessarily the content. At each birthday and Christmas I would scour book shops and the internet to try and find a new take on an old favourite, or a new collection of poetry, or an otherwise hidden literary or historical gem.

When she died earlier this year Dad invited me to take some of her books if I liked. So over the past few months I have brought a handful back each time I have gone to visit him. I have now amassed what is known as the Zena Godwin memorial library. I have tried to take books which I remember as having significance for her, and one day hope to get through them all. There is Betjeman, Hardy, Byron, Woolf, Seamus Heaney, Vera Britain, Tennyson and Brooke to name a few.

Growing up in our house one would often hear or ask the question ‘Where’s mum?’ this would usually be answered with ‘upstairs, reading’. It’s where she went to get away from us I suppose, and to revel in a fantasy world a million miles away from family life in Leamington Spa (Royal).

I'm with her on that one though, as I too have used reading to create a little bit of time out and personal space when sharing a home. And there is nothing worse than the noise of someone else’s TV viewing when all you want is a bit of peace and quiet and time on your own. The bed and the book can therefore be a wonderful refuge, a place of quiet escape.

So I do love reading, and have become a bit like mum with several books piled high on the bedside table. Some I have given up on, some I am reading, some I will come back to, some are good for little bits of dipping into, and some are sitting their enticing me to finish my latest so I quickly move on and start to enjoy them. Some I may never pick up and will move back to the shelves or be given away as presents. I am usually focused on one, but like to keep my options open. You'll see from the pic that I am starting to build my own castle walls and have plenty to choose from.

Hey Mr Postman - post a fucking letter!

I decided to write to the Deputy General Secretary of the Communication Worker's Union (CWU) this evening as I've reached the end of my patience with this 'action'.

Just fucking deliver our letters for fuck's sake why don't you!


Dear Mr Ward

Can you please tell me why all these weeks of disrupting my post is supposed to make me support your claims? Won’t it simply make customers and companies choose other post distribution options?

You really are pissing the nation off now - so when are you going get a grip and start thinking about the customers. Yes I am a union member, and yes I understand the issues, but ultimately the delivery of services is about the service user/customer’s needs primarily.

I work with a lot of social workers for example, and yes if they had an industrial grievance I would support them, but ultimately I would be more concerned for the old ladies who were going without a service, and would put their needs above an industrial disagreement.

You are digging your own grave which is a shame as the royal mail used to be a good service when your members went to work. But someone else will come along soon who will deliver the post – face it you aren’t.

You will win or lose the people’s hearts based on whether you deliver their post on time or not. If Christmas stuff sits in sorting offices, and isn’t delivered like last year, you’ll find plenty of labour voters hoping that Mr Cameron, when he gets in next May, will get another company to manage the nation's post.

William Godwin

Too Much Service

Don't get me wrong I like a good service as much as the next man, and I know I would be quick off the mark to complain should I receive a bit of your actual usual standard British customer service. But you can go too far I says.

Having ordered some music from the www.interwap.com the other day I perchanced upon this email in my inbox this morning.

'Your CD has been gently taken from our CD Baby shelves with sterilized contamination-free gloves and placed onto a satin pillow.

A team of 50 employees inspected your CD and polished it to make sure it was in the best possible condition before mailing.

Our packing specialist from Japan lit a candle and a hush fell over the crowd as he put your CD into the finest gold-lined box that money can buy.

We all had a wonderful celebration afterwards and the whole party marched down the street to the post office where the entire town of Portland waved "Bon Voyage!" to your package, on its way to you, in our private CD Baby jet on this day, October 5, 2009.

We hope you had a wonderful time shopping at CD Baby. In commemoration, we have placed your picture on our wall as "Customer of the Year." We're all exhausted but can't wait for you to come back to CDBABY.COM!!'

Do you think they are taking the piss?

Give, Give, Give - Run, Run, Run

After a hard week in the office ensuring the infirm of South London are smiled at, the Rozzers are up to speed with the hoodlums, and enough Library books have been checked out I don’t know about you, but I like to relax with a marathon. In fact I’ve just finished my cool down session pre typing.

It does feel good though, and I am so pleased with myself. Today’s first marathon, my second of the weekend, was actually a slightly shorter than marathon fun run in aid of Breast Cancer Care. It started at 11.30 am and the first place winner came through the tape about 17 mins later. It was sometime later that I finished, but still.

My first marathon of the weekend took place last night on the Southbank and took 3 and a half hours. Some of it was really tough going, but I think once I’d reached the halfway stage the adrenalin started to kick in and by the end I was really enjoying it.

My third marathon, well snickers actually, is waiting in the fridge and I shall be running into the kitchen to get that just as soon as I’m able to crank the winch up!

Ok so I haven’t just become a super fit Lycra wearing bond girl/beardy boy conglomeration (although I think it is good to have something to aim for in life) Last night’s marathon was Brecht at the National - Mother Courage and her Children. It had its ‘drama workshop’ moments and there were a couple of songs which we could all have done without, but it was a vibrant and interesting production with great live music throughout. At the interval it seemed that nearly everyone in the audience needed to do a big elephant wee. There are never usually queues for the men’s loo. But I suppose everyone has a drink before they go in and the interval wasn’t until we had already ploughed through 2 ¼ hours of the great man’s work.

The fun run was real though, but I was treasurer and marshal not actual runner. I gave all the runners the clap they so richly deserved - handing out the ‘taking part’ medals (you all know my views as to whether it is actually the taking part that counts or not) No silver blankets as it wasn’t that hard. All I can say is ‘Vada the omee-palone bona lallies’. But as well as having to carry around all the entrance fee money, so being a key mafia target – we did make a lot of money for breast cancer care, I also had a walkie talkie. The thing about me is, that at heart I am a boy, so boy’s stuff is great, and a walkie talkie is in the top 10 of boy’s stuff all time greats. Now I didn’t use it for a lot more than asking for more tea, and asking for lost property announcements to be made over the tannoy. Next year I’m hoping I can be promoted so I can whizz round the place in a golf buggy. In fact I might even get myself a golf buggy for personal use anyway (more like a mobility scooter).

So that’s me - all culture and good works. Now all I’ve got to do is get through all the weekend papers, finish last weekend’s papers, read Time Out, finish Attitude and Intelligent Life, finish The Hours, start Michael Palin's new dairies, then it will be bedtime and another week will start. The circle of life is a heady one. Only another 15 years until I can retire!!!

Keep warm, as it is Autumn/Winter now. I’ve heard scarves are in this winter as are warm jumpers – so get knitting and look out for your neighbours.

News Just In

So apart from my clever brother being 3rd story on BBC entertainment news today a few other stories have caught my ears and eyes.

Firstly Delroy Smellie - now how does one get through school with a surname like that? I ask you - near on impossible. It surely has to be the worst possible of all monicas. Anyway whatever pain he felt at school it all seems to have been worthwhile as his bully boy tactics were caught by the hippies on camera - and he is going down. I mean you can't just go around hitting ladies with sticks just because they look a bit pikey. It makes me want to cancel my application to be a special constable.

Worry not dear friends I am not really up to be a bobby, but at work we are all being encouraged to sign up to be special constables. What is the world coming to? Now I look as good as the next man in a uniform - (for pictures please send an SAE and a 47p postal order to the usual address) but I can think of better ways to support my community other than by being a hippy beating traffic warden. Don't get me started on kettling! although I do love a nice cup of tea.

Now there was nothing about tea in the news today - more's the pity but can I please get some thoughts from you as to Roman Polanski. Have I entered an alternate reality, has society's views on sex with minors changed overnight?

It seems so strange - no one is calling him a Paedophile and there is no baying for his blood. People whose babies have pierced ears aren't marching on wapping - no homeless people have been burnt for accidently looking a bit shifty. Am I missing something here? He seems to be in receipt of world wide support. I am sure there is a perfectly good explanation, and it'll simply be that I am not paying enough attention.

Cage fighting - now I've heard of dog fighting and chicken fighting - but cage fighting? But even better to be known as a  former cage fighter. It does have a certain ring about it. Anyway him wot i refer to is one of the securitas robbers and he's been banged up courtesy of the Morroccans. The answer is, of course, that if you don't want to do the time - don't do the crime. Aparently we have good extradition arrangements with Morrocco - Polanski better not go there for his hols should he ever be freed!

Oh yes and now over to our health expert.

I wouldn't have the flu jab if I was you, probably do you more harm than the flu.

And on that note I shall leave you, apologise for being so irregular with my ponderings and then only coming up with this drivel.

Food for thought, if nothing else.

Over and out.