Dabbling in the Occult. Down with this kind of thing!

On the notice board in the green room, there is a hand-written poster offering the services of a tarot reader. '£5 per reading - see Such-a-body in Wardrobe Dept'. It's 2009; surely we're passed all that. What happened to the age of enlightenment?

I toyed with putting a supposedly unrelated poster quite near it saying, 'If you're keen to give away £5 pounds, and want literally nothing in return, give it to your favourite charity'. But instead, I've decided to offer my own services as an oracle. I have a coin, and write, 'nice' on one side, and, 'nasty' on the other, then offer to toss the coin to see what kind of life the customer will have.

And charge £4.50.

- Undercut the bitch.

Yes, so, I've got some pictures that I have drawn in a gallery as part of an exhibition.

There are other makers/artists, and the exhibition has a Fairytale theme - which gave lots of scope really, but the work I've done for it does makes me look a bit hippy-ish; elves and fauns and the like, but people have made encouraging noises, so I'm happy.

Anyway, they're in The Craft Shop inside the Royal Exchange Theatre. Call in if your passing with a wad of cash and no idea what to buy your hippy-ish, Mr. Tumnus fantasist for Christmas.

Big love.

Right, I woke up at some awful hour the other night and couldn't get back sleep, so put the TV on, like you do, and this Public Info film came on.

I was still really quite dreamy and half asleepy, but at the end of the film, after one nostril says to the other that he looks like a 'butthole', I swear I thought the stuffed dog then says, 'or cunt'.

I've had to Youtube it, and I still don't know that he says. But it would have been a great gag if he had said 'or cunt'.



[Edit] Oh, he says, 'awkward'. My sleepyhead version's funnier.

Now with added pictures

There are photos now over at KT2.

Pop in, won't you. X

How Very Dare You?

So yeah, Housemate 'P' and I were bored enough to go to The Big Shopping Mall near Manchester for a browse. Don't ask me, it was Housemate 'P''s idea.

Anyway, we were in the furniture bit; we were looking for an occasional table for the living room, and lets face it, we couldn't have looked more like a gay couple if we were asking directions to Sitges with my winky in his mouth. And what's more, Housemate 'P' is twenty years younger than me; I must have looked loaded.

An assistant approached us. He was a tall, handsome, attractive man, and he knew it.

I happened to glance at a sofa priced in the thousands.

"So, you like this do you?"
"Well..." shrug. It was all chrome and leather, the sort of thing Mike Baldwin would have had a tumbler of scotch on after a hard day.

Then he said, and I swear this is true, he said, "Let me show you what this baby can do." Who says that?

"What this baby can do"?? it's a settee, not a fricking Ferrari!

So he slid into this settee as if it was a fricking Ferrari, and do you know what that baby did? It reclined. It was a recliner. All fizz and no bang that lad.

"No, it's not really me."
"Oh, why?"
As if the thousands of pounds price tag was no barrier - "Well, it's leather. It's too 'sticky'"
"Oh I see, you want something to sink into, do you." flirty flirty.

He was using his manly whiles! Well, trying.

Housemate 'P' and I had a comedy mock row as we left.

"Look. I wasn't flirting with him! He was just trying to sell me that fucking awful settee!"

You always thought it, didn't you,

MyHeritage: Celebrity Morph - Geneology - Blank family tree

"Excuse me, but don't I know you from somewhere?" I get it all the time.
"Have you ever seen His Girl Friday?" I would say, and you see it dawn on them,
"Oh my God, yes, you're Rosalind Russell!!"
"Yes. Yes I am."

That's what my life's like.

Hello everyone.

Can you believe that this is the first chance I’ve had to write since the Great Run?

And I left you with a will-he-won’t-he cliff-hanger with my bad knee. If it had been a documentary, the bit about me knee would have been just before the adverts.

So anyway, I strapped my leg up for the whole of Saturday, but on Sunday morning, it was still really twingey. I still didn’t know if I’d be able to run. I was really depressed. Those of you who know me will know that I’d really dedicated myself to the whole thing, and to have to bum out at the last minute would be a real downer (man).

I thought I’d better turn up though, even if I had to walk round.

But by the time I’d got there and done some warming up, the pain began to subside. All was going to be well.

At the start line, local opera singer Russell Watson, sang an uplifting song, which turned out to be one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. He was on one of those elivatey platform things so the crowd could see him, and as he sang, “You raise me u-u-u-u-u-p”, the platform, well, raised him up.

I can’t write a post about running round in a big circle and make it sound interesting, (actually, I bet I can, loads of comedy things happened, but I’ve not got the time) but enough to say, my knees more or less held out until the end, I finished in 51 minutes, which I’m pleased about.

Now my knee is completely fooked and I have an appointment to see the doctor on Thursday.

And I can’t tell you how amazed and grateful I am for your generosity with sponsorship. Really, thank you. X

Oh Lordy Frick.

My knee has gone. Went for my last training run yesterday before the race tomorrow, and had to walk back the last couple of kilometers.

I've had trouble with this knee on and off for years, and I've been wearing a support on it during training, hoping that would be enough. It usually is, but I've been pushing myself a bit for this.

In the past, when it's hurt like this, all I've had to do is strap it up for a day, and all is fine again. I'm hoping that this is all that's needed now.

I'm still going to do the run though, even if I have to hop. But I am worried about the cash-for-minutes-under-an-hour money.

But why today? The day after would be fine, even if I couldn't walk for a week.

Stay tuned.

And now my housemate has pledged £2.50 for every minute under an hour.

Pressure's on!

So, all this running, has tightened my muscles. I feel twenty-six again.

Lying in bed, watching TV or reading, I keep finding my own hand feeling my own newly firmed-up buttocks. Is that so wrong?