Wrong

Watching "The Inspector Lynley Mysteries" on the BBC. This should have gone straight to BSB, I know Vicus loves this one.

I do so wish directors would not take stupid liberties with locations, especially ones I know intimately. In this case it's Dungeness. So far, half an hour in, they've driven along roads in the wrong order, featured landscapes that couldn't possibly exist locally in an area the majority of which is 12' below sea level and managed to feature a chase across the largest expanse of shingle on earth that ended with the protagonists rolling down a sand dune. That chase would have had to have been for about 5 miles for that to happen and I can't even run 50 yards on shingle. And now they've given the old lighthouse a name, Eleuthera.

I know it's fiction but they've already referred to it as somewhere near Lydd on the Kent coast so fictional location it ain't. I'm too touchy for my own good.

News

Apologies to all those who don't like embedded videos but if everyone dealt with "news" like this I would be so very happy.



Next (with apologies to Chris Donald):

"It's fooer tharty-three at the Big Brother...howay and bollacks, this is shite pet, ahhm gannin' doon the pub foorra skinfull."

And as a postscript, I heard a couple of days ago that Freeview has overtaken BShiteB as the nation's favourite digital medium. Freeview's only failing is that it doesn't show religious programmes live cricket, apart from that, you can get the equipment for £20 in Tesco's and you don't have to pay £35 a month to watch stuff A) that's already on the BBC and other terrestrials, B) that's going to be on BBC in a month anyway and C)if it had been any good in the first place, already.

Nearly

There but for the grace of etc...

Most of us, I am certain, can claim to be nearly people. You took the wrong fork in the road on the spin of a coin and missed out on fame, fortune, notoriety, death or the sweet natured blonde with the comfy chest and private income. For my part, I was married to the niece of a millionaire, not the daughter of one. Not that it would have made a blind bit of difference to the eventual outcome. And 27 years ago I shared a house in Chatham for six months with a future lover of Billy Childish who wasn't Tracy Emin (and still owe her £12 for the electric). She is somewhere in this picture. I nearly went to Goldsmiths to study fine art but couldn't be arsed. Had I done so, I would have been there with some famous people I can't remember the names of anymore. Then there was the time in 1991 when I nearly got blown up by the IRA but I'd stopped to buy fags at Charing X station so missed standing in front of the van by about 50 yards (which near enough blew up - and contrary to the Grauniad report, there were no police near it at all, because I was watching it. If only I'd read that at the time). Because I'm not a hero, I grabbed the girl next to me and ran like buggery back to the station and had a cup of coffee. Actually, it was Eric Clapton's fault. I was late for work because I'd seen him the night before. Not me this time but years ago I played cricket with a bloke we knew as Ralph the Mouff, who used to boast that he was in the same team as Graham Dilley at schoolboy level (some of you will know the name of the 3rd hero of the Headingly Test) and was "only half a yard slower, honest", a boast that Ralph thought warranted him a place in any team (to be fair, he wasn't a bad bowler. I kept to him many times and he bowled a fast "heavy" ball). I could go on but I'm boring people now.

Think hard, you've all got one somewhere. Were you very nearly a contender? Did the bus of opportunity only have room for one more on top but you were second in the queue?

Fan

"I would have thought Wayne could spell his own name as well but the bloke on Ebay said it was 100% kosher" "

Crash

Let's have some music. One of the best singles from nearly 20 years ago when I looked all young and lovely. I can even remember where I first heard this, sitting in my old blue VW Passat, AOT 243V, in Picardy St, Belvedere after getting off the train. Listen, some things just stick, I'm sorry. The car before that was GGY 601N. GKN485D, that was my Dad's old Wolseley 1100. It's a curse.

Anyway, yes. Tracy Tracy. All girls looked like that in 1988. They did.



C428 BKP. That was the one after the Passat.

Scummers

Eyes right.

There is a particularly disgusting spam email going around, purporting to come from either "Kevin" or "Searle". It invites you to send a text to a UK based number or send an email to a yahoo account that will gain you access to child porn. In the last 24 hours I have received 10 of them.

Suggestions made on a google newsgroup imply that the phone number involved could be that of a UK based anti-spam organisation but I haven't got the bollocks to find out. If it is, it's a sick joke.

Report anything like this in the UK to the Internet Watch Foundation. There are instructions on how to copy the email source code on the site. You can also report to your ISP, they should be able to point you at the correct agency.

It probably is a hoax but don't even bother trying to find out.

46

Saturdays, going to work with Dad in Canterbury and playing with the petrol wash in the workshop, Kingsmead Baths, blimey is that Sandra from primary school in a bikini? Look at them! 6p for a bag of chips from the machine, petrol 34.5p a gallon, Tom at the Total garage, can I do it please? Fishing down the canal, milk bottles in the Osokool by the hedge, Radio 2 1500m long wave, Saturday Rock Show on the FM, Fluff and Tommy Vance, Kendo Nagasaki, Kent Walton, Football League Division One, Scottish results - who scored 8 this week? Chelsea boots, tank tops and turn-ups, Gerdi Muller, Peter Gordeno on a stool, The Golden Shot, Bernie the Bolt - Bobby Charlton did it from Mexico and Mooro got nicked, Anne Aston, Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased), The Persuaders, bread and jam, butter, No! Stork Margarine, Leslie Crowther, Sundays, Football practice with the Cubs, The Navy Lark, Dad falling asleep in his blue sweater after lunch, mum, Chris has fallen in the pond, can he stay for lunch (even though he smells of piss a bit)? Round The Horne and I'm Sorry I'll Read That Again, football down Carter's Field, Mark S* handing out the Kensitas, Semprini Serenade, Cheerful bloody Charlie Chester, Catweazle, electrickery, cricket out on the meadow, climbing trees, running for the sheer fun of it, Top 20 countdown, Sing Something Simple with Cliff Adams and the Adams' Singers with Jack Emblow on the accordion, Doctor in The House, Robin Nedwell, I'll get you, Butler! bathnight, leave the water in, power cuts, Jason King, Radio Caroline under the covers, oi, you love her. Goodnight.



*Would later achieve rather greater notoriety for falling asleep when he should have been performing the rather more onerous task of closing the bow doors on the Herald of Free Enterprise.

Hotter

I would like to reassure all my dear friends who may have seen or heard today's rather thrilling news about Crewe's contribution to global warming, that myself and the Eclectic Landlady are safe and sound and have not been barbecued. Had we been grilled it would have been with a nice glaze of industrial cleaners and paint strippers.

It was a trifle inconvenient though. I had an appointment with the local paper for a bit of publicity on the book (now discounted at Amazon) at 1.15. When I saw the plume of smoke from my living room window just gone midday, I reckoned I was wasting my time. I was, next week's edition now.

And if the sight of a mile high column of noxious chemicals wasn't enough for the wankers in the car next to me in Tesco's petrol station, both of them promptly lit up with their windows wide open. Both presumably blissfully ignorant of the fact that the very same process that had propelled their knackered heap of crap onto the forecourt, i.e. ignition of a volatile vapour, was the very same one that could have sent the lot of us to oblivion. I really don't object to anyone wanting a quick entry onto the Darwin Awards list, I just don't want to go with them.