The Best Time Of The Day Blog

SCHOOLS OUT!

2012-02-01T13:14:00.000-08:00

Went to see my Dad the other day and got a bit of an insight into the horrors and stresses of parenthood.

Now being a Stepfather I am supposed to be a role model for two young people: a 12 year-old boy and a 15 year-old girl. Luckily for me (and them) they have fine parents already so I am just an add on.

It is going to be a bit tricky, I think, particularly where schoolwork is concerned.

Both children are very bright but like most kids at times lack application. So DL and Barry (her ex-husband) are busy cracking the whip and I am there to help in any way that I can. Or can I?

When I arrived at my Father’s house he handed me this:

"I was clearing out the attic the other day and found this," he said, giving me a bit of a look.

I make no secret of the fact that I was a rather poor student and spent far too much time looking out of the window and not enough time hitting the books.

However, upon opening the report from my time at school between the ages of 8 and 13, the full horror of what I did (or didn't do) and the impact it had on my poor long-suffering parents became horribly apparent.

Autumn Term, 1964. Weight 3st-11. Height 3ft 11

English: Writing very weak indeed. Reading and spelling quite good

History: Fairly good. Written work spoilt by untidy writing.

Divinity: Good

Headmaster’s report: Writing will upset his chances later on if he doesn't correct his faults now before his hand is formed. Cheerful and stands up for himself very well.

Dad: This seems a pretty good start to us. We agree about his writing and he has had some writing practice in the holiday.

Things, however, didn't carry on like this once the original excitement of a new school wore off!

Summer Term, 1965

English: Writing terrible!

Divinity: Very good

Headmaster: He really needs someone to laugh at him, as I think this would do him good.

Dad: We both think that his first year has done him a great deal of good.

Autumn Term, 1965. Weight 4 st Height 4 ft

English: An average performer. His composition work is rather too far fetched, often silly.

Divinity Exam result 76% Good.

Headmaster: Lazy, uncooperative and stubborn, both in class and socially.

Dad: This is dreadful. I think he is ashamed of his performance this term. Steps will be taken during the holidays to improve his writing and to send him back in a better frame of mind next term.

Summer Term, 1966

English: Disappointing. Works just hard enough to avoid trouble.

Divinity: Good. exam mark 65%

Headmaster: Glib and eager to find excuses.

Dad: It is quite obvious he will only work under pressure. Can this be increased at all?

Autumn Term, 1966. Weight 4st 8lbs. Height 4ft 3"

English: Started well but his work has gone off recently. Rather skimped and carelessly done.

Divinity: Exam mark 52%. Fairly good.

Headmaster: A good term in which he has responded well. We are trying him in 3A next term.

Dad: We are adopting the attitude that he has merely regained lost ground and must keep up his efforts in 3A.

So how did the next couple of years pan out? Did I ever make anything of myself and what career options are open to a terminally lazy boy with appalling handwriting? The only subject he seems to excel in is…er…Divinity!

JE NE REGRETTE RIEN!

2012-01-31T12:58:00.000-08:00

Have done a few hundred miles over the last few days and so to coincide with the return of Top Gear (which, as we know from the Best Time of the Day show, is merely Last of the Summer Wine) I thought I would take a leaf out of their book.

Interestingly we've noticed that since we pointed this out a while back other shows and journalists have either had the same idea or have taken ours. Not for the first time I may add, he muttered darkly!

This week our intrepid trio end up leaving Hammo stranded in a bath somewhere on the Yorkshire Moors. (Sorry that should read Noble M600 in Italy).

So in order to repay them I have decided to act a little like the Stig. This I may add doesn't mean blurting out my identity as it is readily available to all and sundry

"DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM"?

Er…no.

Or flouncing off to write a tell-all book. Incidentally, did that one actually make it to the bookshelves? If so it had better luck than my "memoirs". They were all ready to go until the publisher pulled the plug on them as there was a "recession on" Grrrrrrrrr!

No, as he is roaring round the airfield he usually listens to something calming or improving. So I have been puttering up and down the M1 and M6 lately listening to a French course that the Dark Lady gave me for Xmas. The plan is to improve my schoolboy French so I am able to have a conversation without stammering and making wild gesticulations.

"Je peu preparer le manger!" I'll have you know!

It is a 12 CD set and so far I am halfway through the second CD. I need to travel more. Perhaps to France!

Went out to visit a journalist friend, Claire Woodward, who is a big cheese at the Sunday Express and we arranged to meet at a restaurant near London's Piccadilly Circus.

She was running a few minutes late and popped out and ushered me in to meet her lunch companion, Sandro Monetti

He lives in Beverley Hills and is a well connected man about the LA showbiz scene. He is also among other things a UN Ambassador and I can't remember if he said he had various Doctorates or if he was a Pastor for various churches. When I asked how he came upon these august titles he replied

"Simple. I buy them off the Internet"!

So that is the answer then. You can fork out about £40 and become a UN Ambassador. Wonder if that entitles you to sit in the big chamber we see on the TV with the name of your country in front of you. Looking at the members there that is a lot of £40 worth.

Maybe better still if you buy your title from the Internet you are also awarded your own country as well. This could be a useful source of income as it must be pretty tricky for the big countries to keep track of all the smaller ones. Especially as they keep changing their names.

If you've ever seen the early Woody Allen comedy, What’s up. Tiger Lily? you'll know part of the plot involves a country that is not on the map and has no land. So the population are being kept in crates until some space becomes available "Hopefully somewhere sunny".

After seeing Claire and having a grand old chinwag about the state of broadcasting and journalism generally I headed off to the gym, having ingested precisely one glass of fizzy mineral water. I have run out of the cologne that I have used off and on since I was a teenager and my Aunt gave me a bottle after a trip to Italy. I think it must be the equivalent of the great smell of Brut; I can usually only find it in small chemist shops as it is so grotesquely unfashionable that no self respecting parfumier has ever heard of it let alone stocks it.

A couple of years ago I bought some from a shop in Piccadilly so headed down there to buy some more.

"Aqua di Selva?” I asked after being buzzed in to the shop that had an electric lock on the door like a jewellers.

"No.... but we have Aqua this and Aqua that and Aqua a whole lot of things that smell pungent and begin with the word Aqua"

This wasn't the exact conversation but you get the gist.

"You used to sell it a couple of years ago".

"We are the new owners and have only been here a few months"

Looks like it’s the Internet to replenish my supply.

However: how much to buy? My old History teacher at school used to write in purple ink. When he got wind that they were going to cease to make it he wrote to the manufacturers asking how much they had left. He bought the final gallon. Shortly after that the poor bloke died leaving behind nearly a full container of the stuff that presumably his relatives are still using to this day about thirty years later.

I feel OK but then again so did he. Best get a smallish bottle just in case!

OUT ON THE WEEKEND!

2012-01-30T13:19:00.000-08:00

After another week without the booze in another attempt to "healthy-up myself" it was off to Hastings.

Various people have (rather sourly, I thought) noted that I keep attempting to lose weight and failing. This is not strictly true as I do lose weight but something happens and I put the weight back on again.

The "something happens" is finding myself in the pub with the newspapers about 5 in the evening and then going back home again and over-eating. No-one ever went out for the evening and passed the chip shop desperately looking for the greengrocers.

"I've had a few beers. Now, what I could really do with is an apple"!

This time I like to think I may have cracked it for a couple of reasons:

I have discovered nourishing soup that I have always liked and that satisfies the food craving without too many calories.

There are a couple of TV shows that I am enjoying at the moment so I get back to watch them as well as having a number of boxed sets that are crying out to be viewed.

Most importantly is trying to stay healthy for my wife.

I am probably worth more dead but she is not (she assures me) rubbing her hands at the prospect of a massive life insurance windfall should I cark it.

Also, I don't want to hear people whispering

"What's Jabba the Hutt doing with that hot woman?"

Dark Lady looks great and makes the effort to stay so. As a result I think it’s only fair, I think, to return the favour.

However, I have to lose the weight to try and look reasonable.

Friend of mine who had a bad case of rhinophym

before he had surgery to fix it was out one evening with a friend of his who just happened to be a model.

Two lairy lads sitting at the next table couldn't understand how he could be out with a woman that gorgeous.

Eventually one of them rudely leaned over and said to her

"'Ere what do you see in that bloke. He's dead ugly?"

Quick as a flash she riposted:

"He has an enormous penis and knows how to use it!”

So Friday night I was alone in the pub with the newspaper having a well-earned break from the dietary tyranny.

Woke up the next morning and felt terrible. I am out of practice obviously.

Saturday night and back with the Dark Lady again it was on with the glad rags and out to Sheen to a pub to meet up with friends. It was a 40th Birthday party and there were lots of people I knew and liked there. We had some fab food and lots of water to drink as I was driving. My mate, Steve Evans (who I have mentioned before in the blog and on the show), is a Truck driver and seems to be made entirely from boulders.

At one point he came over and as his wife, Annie, looked on said.

"Put your hand in my trouser pocket"

"Erm....I seem to remember a schoolteacher...erm"

"Go on," he said fixing me with a stare which said "remember I am made of rocks"

"Er, I work for the BBC and we do have people of all…erm..."

"GO ON"!!

I felt gingerly in his pocket out pulled out this:

"Its Uncle the Ant eater"

Steve drives a lot at night and so rarely misses a show and had homed in on the ant counting methods we were devising with your help last week. It looks more like a guinea pig to me but was I going to argue with a man who even has muscles in his hair?

We were late home that night and so Sunday proved to be a lazy day with the Dark Lady whomping up a fantastic spag bol using her slow cooker.

We left it bubbling and went off to the ice rink so she could try out the skates that Santa had brought her at Xmas but she hat had a chance to use as her injured finger hadn't healed sufficiently. Last week at the hospital the specialist told her with refreshing honesty when she asked about skating

"No worries, you can fall on it without doing it any harm"!

We were stuck in traffic and she was worrying that by the time we arrived there would only be about 40 minutes left until closing time.

Being Sunday the ice was packed and as I have found with my new skates. After about 15 minutes your arches are screaming for relief. By the time we were ushered off the rink, the DL and her dainty feet had had enough for one day. However the new skates were deemed a roaring success. The big question is when will she have enough time to get back out there and start taking lessons as I do?

Back home by about 5pm and there was just enough time for me to shovel down a bucket of the excellent Bolognese and sit slumped through another Harry Potter before it was bedtime. Two Potters down. 6 more to go. They are very long, aren't they?

In for the show and telling Janice Long about the Harry Potter saga as to why I am watching them so I will be all clued up for the themes park in Florida this summer with the DL and the children so I will "enjoy it more"

"Whats that game they play.......Chappaquiddick"?

YOU NEED HANDS!

2012-01-26T14:43:00.000-08:00

Up the hospital with the Dark Lady first thing to see how her damaged finger is healing. Would she be signed off so that she could go back to the gym and start skating?

She was adamant that I could stay in bed and not worry about fighting the traffic trying to get to the hospital and then the nightmare that is trying to find somewhere to park.

Her appointment was at 11.30 in the Hand Clinic. Just as I was walking in the entrance I lifted the phone to my ear after dialling her number and at the exact moment received a text telling me she was already there waiting.

These are the moments when you think "Wow. We are so in-tune. We think as one.We are one".

This is the moment when the cynics start to go a little green around the gills prompting one Mary Little to write

"A youth with his first cigar makes himself sick. A youth with his first girl makes everyone sick".

Made my way to the first floor and there she was reading a magazine.(DL, and not Mary Little, if you were getting confused. I have looked on the Internet and can find no details for Mary Little.)

Say what you like about the NHS. It is not perfect but I have yet to see anything that betters it and it should be protected and cherished.

11.30 on the dot and the physio arrived, ushered us in to his clinic and had a good poke around at the DL's hand.

He asked a few relevant questions and replaced the splint with a tiny bit of elasticated bandage and that was it. We were free!

She is now able to resume the gym and we are going skating together this Sunday so she can try the skates that Santa bought her at Xmas.

Her hand has healed sufficiently so she can fall down if she wants to. Although I would imagine if anyone is going to do any falling down it will be me.

She has to massage the finger regularly with cream and do various finger exercises and hopefully shortly it will be back to normal. It may take a while for the feeling to come back as the nerve was severed but they, she and I are very pleased with the result and the care and treatment. I suggested that as it was one finger she could do the massaging with my help rather than enlisting the help of a tall Scandinavian masseur called Sven.

It is a shame that only the NHS horror stories make the headlines. It must be very demoralising to all those Doctors, Nurses and ancillary workers to open a newspaper in the morning and find yet another article attacking them.

It must feel a bit like working for the BBC

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FLOATING DOWNWARDS FREE FALL FAST!

2012-01-25T13:19:00.000-08:00

Another day and another half-hour on the rink with my thighs aching and my insteps protesting as Shirelle, the Instructor, is fighting hard to improve my skating technique.

PIC 1 Mine (I will send you a load choose the ones you like)

I can go forwards pretty well once I am in the groove with a modicum of elegance. However, if you watch them on the TV they spend a lot of time going backwards at great speed.

I can now go backwards slowly and carefully and it makes my arches ache!

The best way to do it she has realised is to try and take my mind off it. So we talk about other stuff like when the Dark Lady is coming for her first lesson. Her damaged finger is healing nicely and she'll find out if she can go back to the gym and start skating once she sees the specialist this week.

"You better than her, do you think"?

"Erm, not really. Although I may be slightly better at the moment, but give the DL a couple of lessons and she'll be way ahead"

I am skating backwards quite freely now having impure thoughts about the Dark Lady in a little skating dress whizzing backwards. (Come on guys this is the only reason we watch it. Just as we watch beach volleyball and gymnastics. Just as women watch the men's diving and the athletics.)

We are simple base creatures at heart.

Normally when I go skating it is during the day and during the week which ensures the rink is nearly empty.

Today, however, it is rather busier.

"Knock-on effect from Dancing on Ice. Always happens although this year it is not as pronounced," says Shirelle.

TeeVee has a lot to answer for: Wimbledon means it’s impossible to get a municipal court for weeks after.

The "Delia Effect" means the shops sell out of cranberries when they are featured in one of her recipes.

Perhaps that is why we have so many battles going on around the world at the moment due to televisions’ preoccupation with warfare:

WW1 in Colour and HD

WW2 unseen footage in colour and in HD

Hitler's Henchmen

Weaponry

Battlefield

The list is endless. For my sins I think I have spent longer watching documentaries about WW2 then the actual conflict lasted. Luckily the only casualty was my settee which has a capacious bum print from years of sitting, snacking and gawping.

Meanwhile back on the rink…

Progress is being made but at a slow middle-aged man’s rate. Don't expect me to be doing toe loops anytime soon. I have yet to master the sudden change of direction which - if I can - will mean that I can skate forwards suddenly turn and skate backwards.

Rictus grin. Bum out. Burning arches! You go, girl!!

The annual farce that is my car insurance comes due shortly and so it was the reminder from the insurance company. Last year, you may remember, I bit the bullet, owned up and phoned the company that specialises in "older people".

As usual I had a couple of flyers from other companies begging for my business and promising a better deal than "AcmeKar".

I phoned a couple and only to be told that it was not on due to my occupational loading; being on the Radio has many advantages but also the odd disadvantage namely that insurance companies assume you are a drunken, coke-fuelled cretin about to drive your Bugatti Veyron packed to the gills with superstars the wrong way down the motorway during the rush hour.

I am more of a Reginald Molehusband sort of a guy.

Incidentally if you get that reference its probably time you phoned "AcmeKar" yourself as you are doubtless over 50!

Final stop was a well-known motoring organisation that have their own brokerage arm.

They ran my details through their computer and announced:

"Well, I'm afraid the only people who'll insure you are "Acmekar"". (The people who insure me at present).

The nice, slightly overly-familiar chap on the end of the phone then quoted me a figure which didn't make me happy.

It was identical insurance from my own insurer and somehow was £300 more expensive than my direct quote.

Something I pointed out to him politely:

"You do realise this makes a mockery of the whole insurance process, don't you"?

"Yes, Sir"

Click Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

HARD WORK!?

2012-01-24T14:50:00.000-08:00

...Of course it isn't.

You are right, but I decided it would be a good idea and only fair to attack the large pile of CD's that have arrived since the new year. Record companies are now sending me stuff that will be released in March so it can easily be the case that some gems could be lost if I didn't buckle down and get a-listening!

When faced with a huge pile of records, I know that it will be impossible to listen to everything and every track so a selection process has to take place.

This is not science, I will admit, and I will also admit to certain personal prejudices that occur when faced with a huge pile.

A quick scan of the cover and the press release that accompanies the track gives me a first inkling.

Artists I recognise and like get put on one side. Artists that I know are core Radio 2 artists also, even if I am not necessarily a huge fan of their work - ditto.

The show is not about me, it’s about playing the music you like and hopefully introducing a few more musicians and singers into your repertoire via "Lesters Library".

Does it picture smiling kids leaping in the air?

Yup? Sorry that's for the teen market, not us.

Does the press release contain the words:

"Has received airplay on the Hoppy Hopson show on 105 The Glove, West Bromwich"

PR guys: this is not a big selling point. They are probably friends and so were played as a favour

"Got a huge reaction after being played on Radio 1"

Wrong demographic again and I know from experience if I play a track and get a "huge reaction" this is an online campaign from Facebook and Twitter "friends". We know how many people are listening and the level of appreciation we get from you for new tracks.

(Unless it was Bjork in which case ignore the above and all bets are off. Only Dr Strangelove and I liked that record; we are big enough to admit we don't always get it right.)

I have had to email the record companies or the artists themselves in the past to tell them to pass the word along to their fans that all this does is ensure that any future releases go to the back of the pile.

Does the CD arrive with a gimmick such as a picture of me on the sleeve? (this has happened). Or an enclosure like a bag of sweets or a plastic whistle?

Put to one side; the music is probably poor so has to be bolstered by a "free gift". Rather like teen magazines.

Does the artists come from a TV talent show?

Back of the pile although they may end up on the Radio 2 playlist so there is no need for me to feature them as part of the Library. This is my personal prejudice showing through.

Does the artist have a "tragic back story"?

"She was crushed by a piano at Primary school and when she was recovering she took up the zither"

Back of the pile. It’s the music, stupid!

Charity records.

This is a very sensitive area. I regard this as a form of blackmail.

"You must play this record!! It’s for charity!!!!"

I have only ever heard a couple of charity songs that I liked and it can be argued that Children in Need aside (which is the official BBC charity) if you play one charity single should play them all. There are certainly enough of them going round.

A sub-genre to the above is the artist who sends you a song with the accompanying letter:

"I'll donate any proceeds from the sales of this disc to charity"

Sorry, Buster, I'm too old and cynical for this ploy. You just want to get your music played on the radio!

When all those have been weeded out there are still quite a lot left.

Thrash Metal. Gregorian Chants. Tuvan Throat Singing and Religious music.

(Talking Hymns here rather than Gospel as - despite being an atheist - I like the noise it makes.)

Again, see "not exactly science".

Back of the pile. Hey PR guys, have you actually listened to the show? Do you know the sort of music we play?

Whilst I have been typing this blog and having cups of tea, doing some laundry and generally tidying the flat, I have managed to wade through about 50 CD's and listened to just over half of them.

There are some gems coming your way over the next few days for Lesters Library.

Starting tomorrow with Strictly X Come runners-up those lovable nine year-old Orphans, "Disturbing Moppets" with their charity single, "It’s Awful But Buy It" in aid of "Feed the Hamster".

If you would like to make a suggestion of your own for Listener's Library (see, it's not all about me!) then do so here. I look forward to hearing and possibly playing your suggestions!

FRIENDS OF MINE!

2012-01-23T13:20:00.000-08:00

Step-fathering milestone on Friday evening:
Dark Lady still at work so it was up to me to ferry the brood over to see some friends and their children for Steak Night.

I have blogged about visiting the BBQ paradise at Fran and Greg's in April of last year and, with their busy lives, we have been plotting a rematch for some considerable time.

Last Friday it was on so into the car:

"We're leaving at 6.50pm sharp," said I in my best don't-mess-with-your-Victorian Stepfather voice (which normally is ignored).

However, at the appointed hour two children were in the car all strapped in and waiting for the off. They were looking forward to the evening as much as we were not only because of the excellent company but the meat feast that is provided by "Mr Steak" Greg who, once again, provided a fabulous hunk of meat for me to gnaw on. It fell apart as I brushed knife against it, exposing a juicy red centre. Cooked to perfection.

“The secret is in the sauce,” he said; the result of a marriage between a Chinese woman and a Jewish man (or maybe the other way about). The sauce is worth it for the name alone without even starting on the taste…

Soy Vay!

We were there for hours surely outstaying our welcome and headed back home in the small hours and fell into bed. (Well, in our case fell up into bed. The bed we have is rather tall and is at waist height so it has to be clambered into.)

Saturday and it was up to the Midlands to see my Dad and to catch up with mates at Halfpenny Green airfield where I learned to fly. Too windy to get airborne so spent three hours drinking tea, eating biscuits and just yarning about all things flying and a lot of stuff not concerned with flying.

Beer O'clock and into the pub for my first alcohol for a fortnight.

Dark Lady doesn't drink during January and this year I have been sort of accompanying her in that when we are together I won't drink either. I am delighted to report it is not a hardship and the bonuses in money saved and weight loss have been quite an eye-opener.

I made up for it: beer, newspaper and fish and chips ended a very pleasant but solitary evening.

The following morning I hurried back to London to the bazoom of the family

Dark Lady was out with Jamie at his football. Everyone arrived back at the same time and it was time to set to shovelling the Lasagne that she had made for us. Excellent! She is such a good cook and I am such a willing helper in terms of helping her dispose of these creations. This is what makes us the perfect team in my view.

We like a DVD or two on a Sunday afternoon at home. Part of our routine and, often if the film is right, we will watch one together all four of us which makes me feel all warm inside and very grown up as I never expected to have a family as such. So to be a Stepfather is quite an honour and a responsibility not to be taken lightly.

I have even enjoyed saying to Ella, who is a very self-assured and mature 15 year old as she was going out one day, done up to the nines for important event in her teen social calendar:

"Where do you think you are going dressed like that? Wipe that muck off yer face!”

I was ignored in the nicest way.

As she'll soon be 16 we have decided that this summer will probably be the last time we have a family holiday all 4 of us so we are going to push the boat out.

This means Dark Lady has organised 2 weeks in Florida which includes 3 days at the theme parks in Orlando. The main reason for visiting is the Harry Potter experience.

I once saw one of the films and wanted gnaw my legs off with boredom. However, I am in a minority of one in this. So in order for me to get the most from the experience it has been decided that I should watch all of the films.In order.

So we sat down to watch Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone.

It is going to be a very long time ‘til summer!

WHAT WOULD BRIAN BOITANO DO?

2012-01-19T14:31:00.000-08:00

Off up to the rink yesterday morning to meet with instructor, Shirelle. She was just finishing off a lesson with her son who was amazing. He jumps, he goes backwards, he does the whole routine and would win X Dance Come Jungle easily, in my opinion.

Still, in my role as destroyer of dreams as he exited the ice, I gave him a bit of friendly advice:-

"Watch me, kid, and I'll show you how it's really done!"

He shot me a withering glance as I wobbled out onto the ice.

Second outing for my new skates. I am now a pocket rocket in the forwards stakes. However, as the leather has yet to mould itself to my feet, they make my arches ache. Particularly when attempting backwards.

So backwards was attempted, as were some changes of direction and cross-overs. It all looks very easy when others do it. I think this is going to take some time!

Dark Lady is champing at the bit waiting to try out her skates and get some lessons in. Her damaged middle finger is recovering well. She no longer has to wear the comedy splint all the time. Just as well. Being flesh coloured it looks like she is making a "gesture" if you catch her from the wrong angle.

On the way to the bus I met the reason why Britain’s businesses are in such a poor state; a young thrusting tycoon-type strode toward me and demanded:-

"Is the London Business school along here?"

"What's the address?" I asked

"No idea" he boomed and strode off!

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BILLS BILLS BILLS AND MORE BILLS!

2012-01-18T13:28:00.000-08:00

Some, or all of the above, self-inflicted I will admit. I am not going to plead poverty but neither am I about to fly out to my private island in my personal jet.

Yesterday down to Damyns Hall Airfield for the first flight of the New Year. A glance at my log book told me I had not been up since 20th October.

If that sounded like a double entendre then shame on you. It is difficult enough to stop Producer Strangelove from turning into a sniggering adolescent whenever we decide it's time for some Willie (Nelson, that is!) without you starting.

The weather was near perfect as Keith the instructor and I took off and headed out toward the Thames. Good visibility. Calm dense air. How much had I forgotten? Not too much in truth. For those not familiar with my Biggles-ing, I have a licence but am converting to another type of aircraft so need to get enough practice in before I can go solo in this one.

We flew round for an hour practicing take offs and landings and Keith pronounced himself satisfied and if I wanted to take her up alone I could. I decided that the day had gone so well I'd wait for another day when I felt fresher.

I find my brain fries trying to remember everything and also you have concentrate rather hard as there is the ever present-danger of making a smoking crater in the ground.

Remember: I'm the guy that often plays the same record twice!

Back at home the bad news started to trickle in:

For some reason my finances are so arranged that everything arrives at once at the beginning of the year.

So the post brought the Christmas credit card bill. It also brought the car insurance. Dark Lady and I are still paying off the wedding Electricity bill. No idea what the next one’s going to look like as I noticed that Herberts had shinned over the fence and turned on the lights in my garden. Due to the odd nature of my house I can't readily see it so they could have been on for days.

Then the boiler gave up on me. It needs a new pump and that's before anything else on it needs sorting.

"pilot light won't light so there's definitely a bigger problem," beamed the engineer.

Man came round to talk to me about secondary double glazing. I have rattley sashes. (Uh-oh. Strangeo's off again!) Oo-er Missus!

"HOW MUCH?????”

Don't think that's going to be happening any time soon.

Oh nearly forgot; The Tax Bill.

I did forget it completely one year. That was the year I spent most evenings at home with the lights out and the bailiffs turned up.

When I was growing up in what would now be a deeply unfashionable middle-class household, we always knew when it was getting close to payday as biscuits and cake would disappear and more offal would arrive.

In answer to MWhite who left a comment on yesterday’s blog asking if I wash posh and of "nobility": Nah, but I was born with an EPNS spoon in my mouth!

The ever-present threat of liver, Kidney tripe and ox heart ensure that wherever possible I don't live beyond my means.

I'VE MET CAPONE AND HOOVER AND LOTS OF OTHER FAKES!

2012-01-17T13:20:00.000-08:00

We had been thinking for a while of changing the odd bit of the show. As we listen to it everyday we are acutely aware (we like to kid ourselves) that not every feature lasts forever and hopefully things change before you are fed up with them.

So at the tail end of last year Dr Strangelove and I started thinking about a replacement for the 4.15 Confusion Hareem. I like to think of content, Strangeo wants it to rhyme!

Hence we have just published the second edition of the 4.15 Buffoon magazine.

The idea was to turn out our own headlines with your help.

Over the years and many producers the show has changed. It has evolved into the monster it is now. When I first started going it 20 years ago if I had an idea I would throw it out and wait a couple of days for any reaction to arrive, if there was any at all. Not every idea is a rip-roaring success. There would be a yawning tumbleweed filled silence.

I had to wait to see what the postman would bring.

Now with the advent of social media reaction from you can be instantaneous. This can be a double-edged sword as often there are too many emails, texts, Tweets and Facebook postings to do them all justice.

So we felt that a virtual magazine would be a fun thing to try. Just like a newspaper or periodical, it would have different features: Blaring headlines, ludicrous made-up stories, showbiz gossip. In fact, it would be a mickey take of the world of publishing.

So to that end over to you. What we are looking for is original thought and ideas. Anyone can do puns and recycle old jokes. We know you are better than that as the first two issues of The Buffoon have proved.

So listen out each day for the contents page and get your submissions in. We will be delighted and grateful.
Dr Strangelove will also be beside himself with joy if the headlines rhyme!

I AIN'T NEVER SEEN A ELEPHANT FLY

2012-01-16T13:36:00.000-08:00

There was a show on Radio 4 where the usual suspects got to do stuff they have never done before.

I say the usual suspects, for if an alien arrived on earth and decided to land here rather than in the backwoods of Nebraska at midnight (and abduct the stupidest person for a thousand miles as they usually tend to do based on those satellite TV shows: "UFOs are they real? Compelling evidence" followed by blurred footage of hub caps, frisbees and witness statements from idiots and the gullible), they would - after a cursory glance at the TV - realise that the world is ruled by one man and a coterie of sycophants. Step forward the ubiquitous Stephen Fry; a hugely talented man who has cornered the market in, er, everything!

The premise of the show which, after starting on radio like so many ideas, was snatched by TV. Although he didn't present it he was a guest on one of the episodes.

I've never seen I've Never Seen... so can only guess that the "star" (from now on known as “the Fry”) gets to experience things they never have had before.

It is nice to try new things and I am a firm believer that new experiences keep us alive.

Having said that, Dr Strangelove the Producer, had Friday off as he was trying a new experience. He had been invited to the Brits. He, as you know from listening to the Shoe, is well-versed in the ways of the VIP but this was a first for him, within the narrow confines of Strangeoworld which revolves around the gym, important meetings, schmoozing celebs and the areas in nightclubs behind the coloured rope where us mere mortals are not allowed.

It must have been quite a weekend as judging by the look of him this morning he had been carousing solidly for 72 hours. (Possibly a new experience)

Dark Lady and I had had a peaceful and relaxed and tranquil weekend in comparison as we headed off to France. Oddly (certainly for me) we ate and drank sparingly; in fact not a drop of alcohol passed our lips (unlike Strangeo!).

We lit the fire and watched some DVDs, from the sublime Sherlock Holmes with Robert Downey Jr. (a Guy Ritchie film that I really enjoyed - a new experience!) to an Adam Sandler film that we hated, Billy Madison (a new experience also).

Sunday morning we woke up and peered through the window and to our delight a first for the Dark Lady and only my third sighting in 20 years a red squirrel was sitting in the tree outside.

A new experience for her and a nearly new experience for me.

What would be a totally new experience however for everyone would be to peer through the window out into a frosty Normandy morning and see Stephen Fry sitting in the tree. Although I expect he has done that already, or the TV show, Fry's Wood, is already at the pilot stage.

JUST LOOK AT THEM BOOTS!

2012-01-11T12:20:00.000-08:00

It always amazes me how long it takes before things settle down to normal after Christmas and New Year.

Every year we grumble about how Christmas is starting earlier and earlier and yet not sure we make the same distinction with the post-New Year period.

As I outlined yesterday being a bit of a curmudgeon and having suffered from curmudegeonliness for many years now, I quite like the year as it runs without any sudden changes brought on by Bank holidays and Festivities.

Before you leap down my throat at my lack of joy I may tell you that I am trying to get Curmudgeon classified as a bona fide medical condition.

"What is it Doctor"?

"Bad news....I'm afraid you are in the early stages of Curmudgeon."

"Can you do anything?”

"I'm afraid not....it’s progressive. Early symptoms include railing against Bank Holiday traffic jams, then it progresses through to how Christmas was better when you were a child and how people knew the value of things. Eventually, I am afraid, you'll be shouting at Trick or Treaters and won't find Del Boy falling through the open bar flap in Only Fools and Horses anything other than profoundly irritating."

"How long have I got?"

"Depends when the run up to Christmas starts"

If I get this off the ground there could be scope for good, honest, hard-working people to dig deep and fund the research which I would selflessly undertake in the Cayman Islands.

I would also try and get the news of this awful condition out there by getting people to retweet me on Twitter so that we get

#curecurmudgeon trending.

That and maybe a selection of Z-listers will get together to make a charity record of stunning awfulness. However, as it is for charity, radio and TV will be forced to feature it.

You can get that trending too

#terriblerecordsforgenuinegoodcauses

However, now that everything is turning to the usual post New Year drudgery it also meant that I could try out my Christmas present.

Dark Lady bought me a pair of skates.

As you are aware - if you read the blog regularly and listen to the show - I have been having secret skating lessons with instructor Shirelle at Alexandra Palace in London.

She is very long-suffering as she stopped me crashing to the ice on many occasions and still does. She also doesn't shout at me when my attempts to turn or skate backwards fail miserably. Her skills are remarkable as she has managed to get Chico sufficiently well-trained that he is now on the latest series of Strictly X Ice Come.

However, it may be beyond her to get me up to that standard.

Although having said that....I was out on the ice yesterday in my new boots having had hired ones up to that point. They are such a difference; like rocket sleds so I can fail to go backwards or turn far faster than I ever did before.

As we were skating along two teenage girls skated up and one said:

"’Ere Mister. You bin on the telly?”

"Er, well yes (puffing himself up with pride at the recognition). I've been on Eggheads and have also done two episodes of Call My Bluff among other cameo roles!”

#pompousarse

“Nah , I said 'ave you ever bin on telly?”

With that they skated off. Unaccountably my feet started to ache at that point so I went home.

#crushedcurmudgeon

MERRY XMAS EVERYBODY

2012-01-10T13:53:00.000-08:00

After the honeymoon it was headlong toward Christmas and New Year. Dark Lady is a big fan of the festive season; I am not fussed. I am more of the Grinch in that it is expensive, crowded and raises unrealistic expectations. To me Christmas day is a day like any other. This may be due to spending more than 30 years working (Yes, I know what I do isn't really work) over this period and not having children meant that it was a day when the roads were quiet and everything seemed shut and so it was impossible to go down the pub in the evening.

Having said that this year was going to be slightly different in that I had a ready-made family. Jamie, my Stepson (who you can see and hear in the video - click here - giving a bit of his speech) wanted dumb bells from me for the big day. So I had trudged down to a sports store and dragged 25kg of weights back home and wrapped them best I could. The only proviso is that he doesn't drop them on the floor of his bedroom as they will doubtless go straight through into the living room beneath. Bearing in mind I have already damaged the ceiling once by removing a troublesome smoke alarm and replacing it with a new one…in so doing tearing a strip of paper off the roof where the paint had stuck it to the unit. I am wary of causing further damage directly or indirectly.

Ella, my Stepdaughter, is artistic and so I bought her an easel and some paint and brushes. The proviso here being that she didn't try and re-paint the house (even where I had damaged it!) Nor did she try and repaint her younger brother no matter how annoying she thought he was!

Dark Lady had skates which turned out to be a tad too small so I had to take them back to the shop.

Christmas Eve dawned and it was a family evening with a groaning table. DL likes to cook nearly as much as she likes to over-cater.

After the show it was off to the Midlands to collect my Dad who - at 85 - has decided to stop driving. Other than that it was business as usual: he provided the wine, I did the cheese and biscuits, my Sister did the cooking and my Brother-in-Law did the washing up. This is the perfect division of labour, if you ask me.

I took several pictures but unfortunately this was the best of a very bad lot. My Sister is the nose on the far right. There is a little more of her in real life, otherwise she would be touring the halls in carnival or being studied by scientists.

After filling myself up with gargantuan portions of food it was into the car and back down to the Dark Lady's house.

"Are you hungry?” she asked, as I opened the door.

...I ate some more anyway.

After the show the following day I went back to bed as DL slaved in the kitchen and the children did whatever children do in their bedrooms. I think as adults we know the sort of things that they do as they are pretty much the same as we did when we were their age, but nowadays there is more electricity used.

The idea was that we were going to have a slap up buffet feed and my gorgeous wife was in over catering mood once again. She loves to cook and prepare food with attention to detail. She is also the world’s biggest fan of avocados, maybe even more than our own Alan Dedicoat who is also a huge fan. This proved to be her downfall.

You may remember the film Oh God starring George Burns as God and John Denver who he has decided is going to be his messenger on Earth. In a conversation, Denver’s character asks if he made any mistakes when creating the world.

"Avocados. Made the stones too big. Ostriches. No damn use to anybody".

About noon I was awoken from my slumbers by a scream from the kitchen. At first I thought it may be one of characters in one of Jamie's “shoot ‘em up” computer games. It wasn't; it was the Dark Lady. In attempting to remove the stone from an avocado she had sliced through her middle finger.

There was blood. She was holding a towel over her hand. There was then a car and a drive to A&E. I had to drop her off in order to find somewhere to park. When I arrived in Casualty she had already been assessed:

"Is it hanging off?”

"No"

"Wait over there."

We enjoyed our Boxing Day together. The two of us. Although there were quite a number of strangers about. Some moaning, others groaning and some - like the DL - being stoic…

We were there for four hours.

When she had been patched up it was back home for the rest of the day.

Her middle finger had suffered such a slice that it is now numb as the nerve has been severed, but luckily the tendon only suffered minor damage and the artery was unscathed. This was discovered during an operation the following Thursday where surgeons with very big glasses realigned and stitched the nerve sheath and generally tidied things up. No driving for a month and think this will put the skating on hold for a similar period as well.

Just so that they knew which hand to operate on they marked her forearm. I am not a surgeon but would think any medic worth his/her salt would tend to go for the hand with the bandage, that generally being a clue as to where the injury lay.

When we got home we threw the avocado away.

Don't forget you can now follow me on my Facebook page, with new content being added regularly, by visiting here, and follow me on Twitter here.

Plus, get your requests in for Listener's Library by visiting here and don't forget to subscribe to the weekly Oddcast by visiting here.

ONE AND ONE IS TWO

2012-01-09T13:26:00.000-08:00

Here we are back with the daily(ish) blog after the Xmas and New Year festivities so I will quickly (for me) wrap up the last bits of the weeding and the honeymoon and then it will be headlong into 2012 and all that it may bring.

After the wedding and the reception, which was the most amazing day (You can see a montage of events on the link which the fabulous photographer Neale James has done for us by clicking here. Hankies ready though, it does it for us every time). When Edwina Hayes started to sing it finished everyone off so Glenda the registrar had to hand out tissues to the assemble throng.

After what seemed a decent interval we retired to bed (a fancy four-poster!) and had about three hours before we had to get up and set off for the airport. As we lay there mulling over the days events (filthy-minded readers may use this is a euphemism), we were aware that our room was directly above the bar area. So we listened to Clive, Matthew and Hirsty, among others, pontificating about life, the universe and everything from beneath our bed which was rather an unnerving experience. It was almost as if they were in the room with us! Had any of them uttered the words "left 'and dahn a bit" we would have called the cops.

A very early start and off to Heathrow. When we arrived and we walked towards the check-in desk, the Dark Lady grabbed me by the shoulders and steered me towards the Upper Class check-in; she had been saving all year to spring this surprise on me.

CLANG! This was the sound my jaw made as it hit the ground. I have only really been economy before. This was a whole different experience and one that I doubt I will experience again but it has spoiled me for air travel from now on.

We rented the same apartment in New York where we had been the previous year and DL had been wondering why I was so concerned that the rain stayed away. The following day dawned bright and sunny so I suggested a walk in Central Park. A few minutes and we were at the Wollman outdoor ice rink.

She has always wanted to skate in Central Park and little did she know I had been having secret skating lessons. (You can see the results on my Facebook page).

"Shall I have go"?

"If you want to, but don't worry! I don't want you falling and hurting yourself!"

"Oh alright. I'll give it a go. You go on ahead and I'll just hang around the edge clutching the barrier"

"OMG"!!

It was scarcely a Robin Cousins moment but I wobbled around reasonably proficiently much to the Dark Lady’s surprise

We were only in New York for a week but we had the best time.

DL bought tickets for Jersey Boys which was wonderful and spectacularly sweary which I wasn't expecting but was delighted by. A notice in the foyer warned:

"Genuine New Jersey Language is used at this performance"

We walked all over the place in the wind and the rain. We walked the High Line. Visited Katz's Deli where "that scene" from the film When Harry met Sally was shot and was delighted that it wasn't a tourist trap. Visited the Tenement Museum and was horrified at the conditions people lived under. Skated a few more times. Went to the Radio City Music Hall Christmas Spectacular. Which it was.

Then on the penultimate night I surprised "the wife" with tickets to The Book of Mormon, a show which has won 9 Tony awards and is sold out for months. We saw it mid-December and I bought the tickets the previous July. It was howlingly funny. The songs were brilliant and it was one of the rudest shows in the most dubious taste I think I have ever witnessed. Not entirely sure of the accuracy of some of the religious statements but from what little I know, the sight of one of the Elders kneeling in front of Adolf Hitler performing a (Tabloid euphemism coming up) "sex act" on him whilst surrounded by dancing coffee cups in a number entitled "Mormon Hell Dream", I think it would give any self-respecting member of the Church of Jesus Christ and Latter Day Saints pause to consider their belief. However, having said that no one ever said "Faith" was logical.

We had the most wonderful time and it all went so wonderfully well we thought it would be nice to get married again every so often. Same person I hasten to point out. If she'd have me. I fancy a Las Vegas Elvis job next time!

MAKE SOMEONE HAPPY

2011-12-14T12:57:00.000-08:00

After breakfast and once I had returned from taking the car home, Simon (one of my Groomsmen) and I went for a walk along the riverbank and we chatted about this and that; mainly how we had been friends for such a long time and how pleased he was to see me so happy after all these years. I also started to feel a little odd.

The ceremony wasn't until about 4pm so we had plenty of time to kill. However, Best Men were needed to do Best Men-related things. This meant lanterns and candles and battery powered candles and their placing, so I was left to fend for myself

I had checked out of my garret from the previous night so took up residence in Simon's room where I tried to avoid seeing the Dark Lady who was only next door as I gather it is bad luck.

The time dragged. I began to feel weirder. Up to this point (apart from the stress of the day before, trying to get everything and everybody in the right place) I had been very relaxed about the whole wedding thing.

I was beginning to get all emotional. I have always been a big weeper. Music can reduce me to tears very easily, as can film and TV. Being a contrary wise character I am generally unmoved by the mawkish and sentimental. However, if I have had a couple of drinks and start to read the obituaries in the local paper where well-meaning folk have ordered up one of those off-the-peg verses to illustrate the loss of a loved one, you know the sort of thing:

"I sit and wonder every day
Why the Lord chose to call you away
I think he saw you needed rest
He only takes the very best"

…I do start to wobble. Yet along with many I also find myself wanting to snigger. This apparently is a common thing at funerals where emotions are heightened.

This, however, was to be a day of celebration and I - at the grand old age of 55 - had found my soul mate; the woman of my dreams, the person I wanted to spend the rest of my days with.

I still felt very odd. Sitting in the hotel room listening to people scurrying back and forth wondering at what time I should change. The time hung heavy.

Luckily guests started to arrive from further afield. Nerd Night DJ's began to arrive from the north of England. Janice Long arrived with partner Paul and Dr Strangelove looking sharp in a new suit (the elegantly-tailored whistle hiding the full horror of his terrible legs!) We stood in the bar and I drank water. If I was going to weep I didn't want it to be made worse by having had a drink or two. Also I may get dehydrated so it seemed sensible to top up.

I was looking forward to being a husband and a Stepfather. I had no doubts about that but I still felt a bit like a condemned man. Maybe it was the waiting?

Neale James, the photographer, provided a welcome respite as he had been rushing around photographing all and sundry and arrived to take a few pictures of me as I squeezed myself into my finery. He also expertly pinned my buttonhole to my jacket as my sausage fingers had ceased to work.

At last it was time and in the gathering gloom we made the short walk to Rye Town Hall. I now began to panic as one very important guest had still to arrive. Without her this would blow a massive hole in the proceedings. I hoped the Dark Lady hadn't got wind of this. Simon hadn't seen them nor had Clive. As is the law I had to go and meet the Registrar and Glenda, who was going to conduct the ceremony in an anteroom.

I was now feeling very, very weird.

At first there seemed to be a problem with my names. I have rather a lot and not all of them are "Christian" or "given" names. I have an extra one: "Phillips". It isn't a double-barrelled name. it is a name my paternal Grandfather took as a thanks to the parents of a friend of his whom he lived with after falling out with his Dad. We pretty nearly have all have it including my Father and my Sister. Registrar, who was American, was finding it hard to grasp due to the paperwork that had come from the Hastings office. When I had applied for the licence months ago they weren't sure what to do with the name or where to place it on the forms. This was foxing them. So not only was I feeling very strange, a vital component of the ceremony was still in transit and I feared the thing wouldn't go ahead because of an intractable problem with one of my names.

All was eventually agreed and as I was doing a bit of signing off official documents I saw a smiling Simon give me the thumbs up from the doorway: the missing member had arrived.

With a few minutes to kill before the start and whilst the DL was being grilled in the antechamber I sauntered into the hall. It was packed with our friends and relatives. I began to fill up. We had spent weeks deciding on some background music for the event to be played before and after the ceremony and every song meant something to us. Every so often, when there was a lull in the conversation, I would just make out a few bars of a tune or song. This made me fill up even more! My Sister came over to buck me up a bit and our Witness, Susan the Finance (don't hate her she's not a banker), who introduced us in the first place also came over and told me in no uncertain terms to "hold it together".

This was awful. I was going to breakdown and howl all the way through my own wedding. If things got much worse I would start moaning and gnashing and wailing. It wouldn't be a day of joy, it would look like a Middle Eastern funeral!

We took our positions. Glenda, me, standing at the front, everyone else stood up and then Jimmy Durante struck up "Make Someone happy".

My eyes began to mist up...oh no, I was going...where was my hankie?....."MAN UP!" I can hear you screaming at your screen. This was terrible! How was I going to get through the next thirty minutes???? Perhaps now was the time for strategic fainting as we have discussed on the show so many times over the years.

Then the doors opened and I saw her...The Dark Lady

O....M.....G!!!!!!!!!!!!!

She stood taking in the scene. She looked fantastic and the dress was amazing and perfect; I was the world’s luckiest man without a doubt. An audible gasp was heard around the room as she walked slowly down the aisle behind her beautiful daughter, Ella, who was the prefect bridesmaid. On the arm of her, son Jamie, who was doing "giving away" duty as her Father was sadly long gone. I suddenly felt very calm and immensely proud. Everything was going to be just fine.

Glenda was brilliant and put everyone at their ease and we didn't have to worry about remembering what to say at what time. I was obviously so keen to make DL mine that I leapt in with "I do" slightly earlier than I should have and the DL got her own name wrong! We were relaxing into now and enjoying it as we stood at the front. There were a few damp eyes but everyone seemed to be having a good time. During the vows the emotion hit me again so the ones we had written for each other came out in a strangled gasp from me. And the official ones had me doing the laughing at funeral bit. One particularly long one and I had to ask Glenda to repeat as I said, "I'm sorry I have short term memory problems"!

We had had laughter and love and the serious side and then it was time for our special guest. The one who I worried wouldn't arrive in time.

When the Dark Lady and I first met, one of the many things we found in common was our love of music. Riffling through her iPod I found a song that I loved and had featured on the show before as part of "Lester’s Library" some time ago, as well as other tunes performed or written by this artist.

She had come to the song and the singer via the soundtrack to the film, My Sister’s Keeper, starring Cameron Diaz.

I refer, of course, to Randy Newman's "Feels Like Home" performed by Edwina Hayes.

A few months back I had contacted Edwina and asked if she would do us the honour of singing at our wedding. To our delight, she agreed.

The effect was astonishing, the whole atmosphere changed as she began to sing. We were suddenly aware that as the lyrics and the melody hit home every single person in that room burst into tears! (You can see a video, not from the wedding, here).

We mopped up and when the sniffling had halted we carried on with Annie, DL's "Best Woman", doing a terrific job of reading the lyrics of "I Want To Grow Old With You" by Adam Sandler from the film, The Wedding Singer. Google it, it’s lovely.

With that we were married. I suddenly had a wonderful wife and two lovely step children. I was a very lucky man. We left to the applause and cheers of the audience to the strains of "Bring me Sunshine" by Morecombe and Wise. It suddenly occurred to me: I didn't feel weird any longer!

"HERE COMES THE BRIDE"

2011-12-13T09:06:00.000-08:00

Dark Lady and the friends who had arrived the day before and had been enjoying things on sticks and drinks gradually one by one drifted off to bed, leaving me with my Groomsmen, Clive and Simon. Eventually they too flagged and I was left on my own. What to do. To have another drink? Followed by another and eventually be found face down on the bar at 6am?

No. I headed for my hotel which was a few streets away. I had booked months ago and when I arrived had been greeted with the words, "Do you want the good or the bad news"? Considering the stresses of the previous few hours I opted for the bad news first with the warning that I had had a day of bad news so bad had actually better mean good rather than bad and the good should be a lot gooder than good!

The hotelier looked at me baffled.

"We've double booked your room"

"?!"

"The good news is we have upgraded you"

He proceeded to grab a candle (artistic licence here) and we began to climb the stairs.

Up and up we went treads creaking followed after several flights by joints creaking until eventually we arrived in the attic. Helpful pieces of rope hung from the rafters so you didn’t hit your head on the beams, although if a gust of wind had blown out your candle you would think you were being attacked by very heavy cobwebs. Just think of the size of the spider that could knit that, arachnophobes!!

I was shown into my "upgraded" room. It was clean and comfortable and had a double bed. It was also very small. Not all the bulbs worked and they had had to create a shower room by boxing off the corner of the room. There was a bewildering array of switches, some of which worked the shower. others did the hot water and some even did the lights.

Still wide awake I tried the TV. The satellite reception was poor and so channels kept freezing of pixellating. In the end I managed to find a documentary on Lionel Richie and watched that until about 2am. Then thinking of my friends and family struggling to sleep in a haunted hotel I switched off the light at the fifteenth attempt after starting the shower and boiling the kettle accidentally and readied myself for a calm and dreamless sleep to awake refreshed ready for the big day.

BOY WAS I WRONG...

A storm had sprung up sometime between "Hello" and "Dancing on the Ceiling". I was in the attic. The rain drummed on the roof. It lashed the tiny draughty window, the building groaned and shuddered and in between heroic gusts it had woken people all over the hotel. So what do people who wake up in the middle of the night do? They go to the loo. They may opt for a relaxing bath and they certainly want to avail themselves of the complimentary tea and coffee making facilities.

This all requires water. Where does that come from? Yes, well done amateur plumbers; it comes from the cold water tank which generally is placed in the, er, attic - in this case directly outside my room with the pipes embedded in the wall behind the bed.

“This is rather noisy”, he said. Ever the champion of understatement.

A few short hours later and a lengthy cramped shower I met my friends for breakfast at the Mermaid who were also hosting the reception. They had done a fine job laying a large table for a dozen or so. This also enabled the guests from various sides of the aisle to get to know each other. There were a lot of mutual friends there but apart from the Dark Lady who of course for wedding etiquette reasons was nowhere to be seen before the ceremony, no one had met my Best Men: Simon from school and Clive from college. General pleasantries were exchanged until someone asked Clive what he did for a living....

There then followed the most surreal breakfast conversation with the two ushers, Theo and Hannah’s eyes getting rounder and rounder as the tales began to tumble out.

Clive is the mastermind behind Bill Shipton creater of SPLOSH. This is probably best described as “erotic slapstick”, a sexual genre which has become so well known over the years that it has many websites which are worldwide in their reach. It was even featured in an episode of Belle de Jour: Diary of a Call Girl starring Billie Piper and film maker John Waters is a fan.

The waitresses hurried in and out bringing fabulous fry-ups and more coffee as tales flew back and forth across the table in front of a rapt audience.

"The Americans call it WAM which stands for Wet and Messy. We, however, invented it all 20 or so years ago.”

"More coffee, Sir?"

"Thank you"

"Custard in the knickers is fine but jelly chafes"

"Who's for the full English with two poached eggs?"

"Over here"

"So the TV company said to me at this point is this where we'll get the punter to have sex with the cake? I told them in no uncertain terms; it’s not like that. We don't have intercourse with foodstuffs. It is erotic. It is funny. It is slapstick. It isn't hard core pornography!"

"Orange juice?"

"Our audience regularly vote the cake fight in the film The Great Race the best example of Sploshing.”

Nicola - who is a very big cheese in the advertising world - was rapt. She is also a businesswoman and was quizzing him about download statistics and prices. It was heartwarming to see both sides get on so well and a testament to our friends that they were so easy with one another.

After breakfast I had time to kill which actually meant taking my car back to Hastings to stick it in the garage and check on my family who had been there overnight.

Clive, Simon and Nisha then started on the arduous task of getting ready to dress the Town Hall and add various important bits (mainly lanterns candles and electric candles) to the Tudor Room where the reception was going to be held.

I was then left .....to wait.......

THAT'S MATRIMONEEE!

2011-12-12T09:52:00.000-08:00

Just back from the Honeymoon and a fabulous time has been had with my new wife. When I say "new" I also mean "first". Never been in this position before. Somehow despite having been in relationships with some terrific women over the years never really felt that they were "the one". When the Dark Lady came along I was toast very quickly so just over a year ago whilst watching the skating at Bryant Park in New York I popped the question. Thankfully she said yes burst into tears and spilled coffee down her front.

The plans had been made the day was nearly upon us just a few last minute things to do before the very very big day. Was I nervous? No. Was I tense? No...ACTUALLY THAT IS A LIE YES VERY TENSE!!!!!!

Would we manage to get it all done and would it go smoothly?

On the Friday there was to be a lot of too-ing and fro-ing from London and Hastings with guests arriving from as far afield as Chicago to take part in the happy event.

DL had been organising with some help from me seating plans. Menu. Decorations with all the colours matching and a lengthy document explaining who had to be doing what where with whom at a particular time. A bit like "Cluedo" but with hopefully fewer murders.

The idea behind the list was to smooth the path of the day so that Bride and Groom could enjoy it without enormous worry that things wouldn't happen when they were supposed to. As one of my Best Men remarked upon receiving the sealed orders.

"This is excellent I don't have to worry too much about my part in proceedings as most of the information seems to be about the placing of the candles. Traditional and battery powered. We'd hired a lot of artificial candles as the Town Hall in Rye is a spectacular old building and if it burned down we'd never be able to show our faces in town again.

One Bride was so concerned about her big day and things going wrong that she forgot one vital thing: To enjoy it and had a horrible wedding as a result.

Little problems began to surface. My family was going to be crammed in to my house so beds had to be made up including a sofa bed that I had bought. My poor Auntie Daphne drew that particular short straw. I rushed around the house on the Thursday afternoon and the Friday tidying and making up beds. When I say making up beds that is when the first brain failure occurred. I can't put Duvet's on without crawling inside the cover. Purple faced and sweating I looked around for pillows. Erm I had the pillow cases and the sheets and the duvet covers and the beds but not nearly enough pillows so had to rush up to ASDA to buy some more. Just as the first members of my family arrived.

Another and rather more important problem had occurred as well. Being greedy and having so many lovely friends that in many cases go back to school and College days I was unable to choose a single Best Man. So I was lucky in that two friends agreed to do the job. Clive who I have known since about 1975 and Simon AKA "Libido Boy" who has been a wonderful friends since we were 14. He drives Clive doesn't so he agreed to hurry down from his home in Leicester in order to help me move stuff to and from the venue the ancient Mermaid Inn in Rye. East Sussex.

Everything had to be in place as a few of the guests were turning up for things on sticks and a few drinks about 7pm on the Friday.

The plan was Simon would help me deliver everything to the Mermaid. Drop my suitcase off at the hotel where I was staying that night. Park his car in the car park next to that of the Dark Lady. My car would be left at home so on the Sunday bright and early DL would drive me in her car to the airport for the Honeymoon. Leaving Simon, Clive and the DL's friend and helper Nisha to clear up.

As the Friday wore on I began to receive increasingly agitated phone calls from Simon. He was still more than 100 miles away and it was approaching 5pm. He had bought a new Sat Nav which had decided to show him the scenic route with the most congestion on the pretext of removing him from the motorways and main roads and its allied congestion.

I then had to leave my family at home whilst I made several journey's to and from Rye in my car containing lanterns and candles and jackets and suitcases and gifts for the Groomsmen. The Bridesmaid and others.

I was a husk by the time I arrived for the drinks at the Mermaid just as Simon arrived with a worried look on his face after a journey that had taken him nearly 7 hours.

By the time we had had a couple of pints and some chips in the Lounge that had been reserved for us. Everything seemed a lot rosier. Although the Dark Ladys' daughter Ella wasn't quite so keen when she discovered that the Mermaid has the reputation of being one of the most haunted buildings in the UK. Still this wasn't going to bother me as I was staying some place else. It would be a quiet untroubled night for me.

Or would it????

THE FINAL COUNTDOWN

2011-11-30T13:51:00.000-08:00

Another day of fetching and carrying. Dark Lady has been buzzing around doing last minutes bits of paperwork. Various administrative tasks have been completed including the final draft of our vows.

"What is mine is mine and what is yours is also mine" was rejected by the DL at an early stage.

"Yow oyes am loike limpid poowels"

This too was rejected for some reason. I was only trying to get back to my Black Country roots.

Vows are tricky as they have to mean something without making you want to hoot with derisive laughter. Or gnaw an arm off with embarrassment. Hopefully we will have avoided that.

Whilst I understand the sentiments behind "I Will Always Love You" or "Angels" being played at weddings and funerals my battle-hardened cynicism would have me on my knees slapping the floor with the flat of my hand whilst howling with uncontrollable mirth.

We are both big weepers so we may just sit there snivelling like babies.

I have not thought about my speech yet. I have a list of people to thank so have had a few thoughts that I need to process before I sit down and make a few notes.

Much advice has been given about speeches. Books have been written and people offer speech-writing services. I think the best way to go is to formulate in your head and have the odd note to point you in the right direction. Writing every word down it will sound rather false and halting and not sound natural at all, rather like those harrowing, trembling and emotional statements to the press that are made by the victim’s family after the verdict has been handed down in the trial of the alleged murderer.

As we have mentioned on the show many times over the years, "Strategic fainting" is always a last ditch option. When all else fails and things are crowding in on you…

LET THAT HEAD SWIM!

Best story came from a lovely friend of ours who, at her wedding, the groom was so overcome with emotion that when he rose to his feet to make his speech no words would come out. He wept tears of happiness for himself and his lovely new bride and sat down again to thunderous applause without managing to utter a single syllable.

Now that could be a cunning plan!

May I just add my thanks to you for all your good wishes. Dark Lady and I are genuinely very touched by all the warmth and kindness you have shown, particularly with your long-suffering selves having had to endure me banging on about it every morning for weeks on end.

Tim Smith in charge for the next 6 shows and I'll be back on Monday 12th. Incidentally, he is now engaged as well! Better remind him that he should be setting a date!

You will still be able to follow me on Twitter (go here) and on Facebook (here). Plus, if it all gets too much and you are craving the sound of my voice, then why not treat yourself to an Oddcast (visit here).

ON THE ROAD AGAIN

2011-11-29T12:31:00.000-08:00

Had the car cleaned yesterday by a nice Nepalese chap. It is now pristine as he waxed it and vacuumed inside and out as well as doing the "shuts"!

I think they mean the edges of the doors etc. Every occupation has its jargon to give it a professional air and to make the person feel part of an exclusive club. I know how this feels every morning as I send “tone” and “prefade” my “jingles” on “OS2”.

This is about as far as I get with radio jargon. Dr Strangelove, with his more recent commercial radio background than mine, can talk at length about "dry sweepers”, “donuts" and "rolling crunches". No idea what this means but a casual ear on the opposition tells me these terms serve to suck the life out of it and render it bland and anodyne.

Now the car was pristine (apart from the stone chips, the kerbed alloys and the big scratch on the door where my Dad’s old bike fell against it) it was time to load it up with weddingy stuff and head out. I was so busy thinking about my speech I realised that I had forgotten to turn onto the M25. So by the time I had retraced my steps I had added an extra 20 miles to my journey. I was also very tired so stopped at the Services for a snooze.

An hour and a stiff neck later I was on my way once more.

Destination reached and car unloaded, I turned round and headed back. This time in daylight.

Rich pickings for the 2011/12 Truckwriting season. In a few miles I saw two RTNH's and one "Ride the Night Horse" on trucks. The word is out and I drove rest of the way with a broad grin on my face.

Then more chores. Although the Dark Lady is doing the lion’s share, I have a few things to do which included buying and delivering a train ticket to a friend who works in a swanky advertising agency.

I even got to have a quick look round. There were all sorts of creative types hard at work, every one of them on a laptop. There were other parts to their office including a room full of amps and guitars (maybe to make jingles) and a pool table (no idea why that was there). However, my favourite room was small and dimly lit and the Walls were papered with pictures of camels. Apparently they help the creative process. I am going to insist that Dr Strangelove sources one. Alive, dead and stuffed or a cardboard cut-out. Check out the programme and see if we sound more creative,

THREE LIONS

2011-11-28T11:33:00.000-08:00

Travelling weekend and one of cold and disappointments.

Drove from London to the Midlands in order to catch up with my Dad for the final time before the wedding. He was in fine form and a lot more relaxed than when I saw him last as - after a lot of soul searching - he has decided to pack in driving. At 85 he thought his reflexes were getting a little slow and frankly didn't want to run anyone over.

His Bus pass, his legs, his hot squeeze, June, and my sister will take up the slack.

He now walks down the supermarket with a rucksack and strides back with it full of groceries so he is getting plenty of exercise and saving money into the bargain.

Went to collect the jackets that I have had made for the wedding and the waistcoat.

The first jacket was made and is excellent. The waistcoat didn't have any pockets for my watch so had to be altered. There was a problem with the lining on the second jacket which is a bright colour to match the waistcoat. It didn't sit right to they had to send it back to be re-made. Then there was a flood at the sorting office as they tried to post it too me and so it was lost for over a week.

They then found it and offered to drive to London to deliver it. “No need,” I said, as I was going to be in the vicinity at the weekend.

When I arrived at the shop the smiling man told me there was a "problem".

Seems they had been pressing the jacket and the new lining had torn so they had replaced it with a black one!

"If I wanted a black lining I would have asked for one" I raged.

"Why didn't you phone and tell me?"

"We didn't want you to go ballistic whilst you were driving here"

Nice of them to think of my safety!!

They now have until this Wednesday to deliver the jacket with a new red lining to London or they will be in terrible trouble. Not sure what I will do but it will be bad tempered.

Then it was to the NEC in Birmingham for the Flying Show. Entrance was £6 but parking was £8. Grrrrrr!

In the ticket queue, middle-aged blokes were discussing flying and their experiences.

"What do you fly?" asked the chap behind me to another guy

"RANS Microlight"

"Nasty noisy smelly things. I’m A GLIDER PILOT!" he smugged.

WHAT DOES IT MATTER? IT’S ALL AVIATION FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!

I loathe this one-upmanship and us-against-them type "banter", just as the Group A pilots refer to "rag and tube" and lawnmower engines on flex-wing microlights; Microlight pilots often refer to the Cessna's etc that the Group A guys fly as "Spamcans"

I gave him the full force of my Paddington Bear 'Hard stare'. However, he was so busy enjoying his rapier-like put down that it bounced of his thick self-satisfied hide.

The flying show was really a chance to catch up with my former instructor, Steve Wilkes, and various flying chums and they were out in force. Just as well really as the show itself was very sparse indeed with only a few planes on show. Plenty of leaflets to be had, but very little hardware to ogle.

Then off home to discover the boiler had failed. Brrrrrrrr!

With my impending nuptials there comes responsibility so Sunday it was up early and drove to London to watch the Dark Stepson play football. It was held on a windswept icy pitch in Enfield along with other teams playing round and about. Important match as his team which was second from bottom of the league were playing the bottom of the league team.

Dark Lady was already there and we bumped into Nicola whose lad was on the other team. So we huddled for warmth and tried to remember which side to cheer on.

The Dark Stepson played very well, I thought, with some excellent headers. However, when the final whistle went they lost 1-0. This meant that despite some great chances they left the field the losers in more ways than one. They then swapped places with the team they had just lost to at the bottom of the league. Never understood sport and this whole competitive thing. All that effort in the freezing cold and you go home dejected.

Still, a hot bath and restorative Fajita's and he was restored to his normal sunny self.

Just before bedtime we decided to check on the second of the two large lanterns we had bought for the ceremony. We wanted candles on sticks but the only ones we could find were too small and so I pointed out to the Dark Lady they would look like the "Henge" in the film, This is Spinal Tap.

So we ordered a couple of huge lanterns off the internet. First one arrived, the second one was "still on the van". Just as well we checked it as it was broken. Left DL frantically trying to sort it out and went to bed.

Everything is nearly sorted for the big day. We both have lists of things to do.

Hers is down to about 60 items, she tells me.

My list has one item on it. It reads:

"JUST TURN UP"!

PUTTING ON THE STYLE

2011-11-24T13:19:00.000-08:00

The countdown has started in earnest to the big day. Chris Evans kindly wished us well on his breakfast show the other morning.

We've ordered the flowers. The cake has been tasted and ordered. The room is booked. The invitations have been sent out and the replies have arrived. The seating plan has been done. The legal bits have been done. Vows written and rehearsed without sniggering or nausea. We have run through the order of service and are now praying the weather is kind and everything goes according to the plans.

All this for a very low key and informal wedding. Am I nervous? No. I am slightly tense as I want everything to go according to plan as I want to see the Dark Lady's face as she enters the room and sees me in my finery. I have been teasing her that I'll be wearing a suit of lights like a matador. However after "discussions" that idea has been shelved.

Instead I have ordered two jackets in different styles and a waistcoat. The fitting took place some weeks ago and the first jacket arrived without problem.

The second one had to be sent back as the lining wasn't fitted to the tailor’s satisfaction. The waistcoat was a perfect fit but unfortunately they had omitted the pockets as requested for my watch!

All has now been rectified and I was told they would be arriving last week. The deadline came and went. As I mentioned in a previous blog, seems there was a flood in the sorting office and the label was washed off the parcel.

A call to the shop and they promised it would arrive on Monday.

This became Thursday of last week. By Monday patience was wearing rather thin and seems they had lost the parcel at the Post office once more. So the manager of the store had to go and find it.

Wednesday and I was assured they had found it and had returned it to the shop to press it once more before the manager offered to drive from Birmingham to London to personally deliver it. I am up in the Midlands this weekend so I'll be stopping by the Tailors so I can try it on and pick it up in person.

If there’s a further cock-up I shall probably be rather testy with them!

Dark Lady is busy doing the Wedding favours and had run out of ribbon so I was dispatched to a haberdashers to buy metres of the stuff which had to be a certain colour and a certain width. Not sure what it is all about but I'm sure the end result will look like her fabulous!

There is a big file at her house which contains all the vital information including swatches of fabric for her dress. I have been avoiding it like the plague for two reasons. There are a load of bills in there which we are splitting 50/50 as is only fair. So far she has paid for most things. At the last tally it seems she has shelled out several thousand quid and my share had been the insurance which worked out at £55.

The other and more important reason for me staying away is that there are pictures in there and fabric from the dress. If I were to see that before the event there would be hell to pay: massive disappointment and the inevitable superstitions would kick in.

If the file is ever opened I retreat to the far end of the room in case my eye falls upon something it shouldn't.

I am sure this aversion therapy could be used either in defence or medicine. Just how, I am puzzling.

I LIKE A PARTY WITH AN ATMOSPHERE

2011-11-23T13:23:00.000-08:00

Called to a central London venue Tuesday evening for a glass of wine and some things on sticks, this was the annual Radio 2 austerity beano. In this day and age we don't do parties like we did years ago.

It consisted of a pep talk by The Controller, a review of the year gone by including a fleeting glimpse of yours truly on stage in Hyde Park for our festival in a day bellowing, er, "BELLOWHEAD".

Fleeting maybe but this is a distinct improvement on last year when I didn't feature at all. This is a remarkable improvement on the view the then controller held when I first arrived at 2 24 years ago. There used to be a presenters lunch which I wasn't invited to as night time guys weren't deemed important enough.

Lewis, the Head of Talent (love that title, my ego is swelling as I type), gave a run down of some of the main events of the year and announced David Jacobs is now back at work after a spell in hospital. This got a rousing cheer as he is not only a legendary broadcaster but one of the nicest and most genuine people it has been my good fortune to meet in this business which can be peppered with back stabbing and two facedness ( if that is a word).

Lewis also announced my impending nuptials which also raised a cheer which was heart-warming.

Robert was up next who, as Head of station sound, is a very senior figure who used to be my assistant years ago when I was a producer. He gave a run down of some of the events and specials you will be hearing in 2012. I can't tell you as the info is top secret, but I will say you are in for a treat next year.

Then a team photo. Being the shortest apart from Jamie Cullum (who unfortunately couldn't make it),Janice Long, Craig Charles and Trevor Nelson, we worked our way to the front.

After that we mingled and chatted for about an hour until we all dispersed.

Due to the hours we keep this is about the only time we get to meet and chat. So it was good to catch up with Ken Bruce and Chris Evans as well as Claudia Winkleman, Lynn parsons and meet Ryan Tubridy for the first time as well as Zoe Ball. She's very tall!

Hailed a cab and driver asked me if I had been to a party. The season has started apparently for the Christmas parties. He had just been ferrying doormen to a mobile phone company party in south London.

"They need bouncers at an office party?"

"Yeah. Last year, apparently, the Slough branch had a fight with the staff from the Lewisham branch!”

FOLKS USED TO CALL ME PATCHES

2011-11-22T09:57:00.000-08:00

As I mentioned on the show this morning, it has been a few days of sweet destruction.

Not entirely sure why this happens. Perhaps if I was a scientist I would be involved in enormous in-depth costly research as to why it happens.

Everything can be going along seemingly swimmingly and then one damp Thursday afternoon it can all come suddenly crashing down.

The first inkling I had was last week when I fished my underwear from the washing machine and noticed two or three pairs of undercrackers had holes in them. They had seemed perfectly OK when I wore them, then suddenly they were dusters.

One day the draw was full of perfectly serviceable pants. The next they were rags.

There is the urban myth of the perfect car which you have probably heard.

If you have ever owned a car you will know they can be massively temperamental. Just as one bit has been replaced, another part wears out. The story goes that a boffin…

…realising that the company that builds the perfect car would clean up in the cut throat motor market, set to design just such a machine. Just imagine what this would do to TOP GEAR and Jeremy Clarkson?

"I'm driving the PERRFEECTT CAARR. I can't think of anything to complain about at AALLLL".

In fact if the car was designed by a gay, vegetarian, non-smoking Frenchman, poor old Jezza would just explode as all his prejudices came home to roost.

So the story went that having identified which bits wore out and at what rate. They strengthened this bit. They shaved a few microns off that bit. They re-routed that bit and twiddled some other parts until they had created the perfect car.

Off they drove for months of intensive road testing. Up hill and down dale they sped. Over bumpy surfaces in freezing conditions. Across baking deserts in sand storms. Hell they even braved the M25 in the rush hour.

All worked perfectly and the boffins were pleased.

One damp Thursday afternoon one of the boffins decided to take the prototype for a spin.

Just outside Mansfield he hit a small bump in the road and heard an ominous sound as every single part on the car wore out simultaneously and he found himself sitting the road clutching a steering wheel as all around him lay the remains of the perfect car.

Back to my story. So, after the great underpants failure I decided it would be a good idea to listen to some tunes ready for "Lester's Library". Clutching an armful of likely CD's I headed for the CD player. Every single one I inserted it refused to play. There would be some rattling some whirring the odd clonk and then the display would declare triumphantly.

"NO DISC"

So looks like Santa is going to have to get me a new one or it could be a rather silent household and it would make my job rather harder.

So that's two bad things in the falling apart area. What was going to be the third?

Sudden unexpected and catastrophic trouser failure.

I was at the Dark Lady's house doing a few "Man chores", which generally means eating the contents of the fridge and watching TV. I had been to visit her elderly mother to collect her old and rather overcomplicated microwave oven to replace it with a simpler easier to understand one. I carried the box into the house intending to put it in the shed for safe keeping. As I crouched down (not bent) to undo the bottom bolt on the back door, there was an horrendous rending sound and a draught.

A few months ago in the sales I had espied a pair of "designer" jeans reduced to the price of an ordinary pair so they were tried on and snapped up. DL really liked them and told me how good they looked on me. (I have told you before: this woman is a total saint).

THEY HAD ONLY GONE AND RIPPED, AND AT THE FRONT TOO!!!

So much for that "bargain". With no replacements handy I had to shuffle like a bent and elderly person onto a bus full of schoolchildren whilst trying to keep everything out of sight and scuttle back to my place to change into a replacement pair.

I may have to steer clear of bargain "designer" clothing. Still had my "wardrobe malfunction" occurred on US TV I would doubtless have had an angry mob marching on my house with lighted torches. Having said that, splitting his trousers on stage in Luton and subsequently being banned from TV and a theatre chain as a result didn't do a lot for P.J Proby's career either.

THE HEART OF A SATURDAY NIGHT

2011-11-21T13:16:00.000-08:00

Back in Hastings for the weekend and frantic house-tidying and towel-counting.

Towel counting? Come the big day, a host of relatives are descending on my house and they all kindly offered to bring towels and sheets to save me doing a lot of laundry. However, the "small man" in me won't let them.

If I stay at theirs they don't expect me to bring my own bedding, probably as I am the youngest of this branch of the family and for many years lived a rather nomadic existence. My housing was always rather student-like, although not quite so studenty as student friends of mine when I was a student. (Lot of uses of the word "student" there, sorry).

I lived at home with my Mum and Dad and caught the bus every day to go and be a student. Sex and drugs and rock n’ roll were not high on the agenda as a result, mores the pity. Other friends were away from home for the first time living in appalling accommodation which probably would not be allowed in this day and age.

One such house had no hot water and the loo was actually behind a half door off the kitchen; sometimes it was difficult to tell where the cooking smells ended and the....well, you get the picture. The carpet in the living room was made from a stolen carpet sample book from which the individual leaves had been torn and nailed to the floor. No letter box and the wind howled down the hallway. It was dire. Filthy. Freezing…and to me impossibly exciting!

So now I am enjoying a more comfortable existence I refuse to revert to those student days and – as I have a perfectly good washing machine and tumble drier - if people come to stay, they shouldn't have to bring a sleeping bag!

Dark Lady had been working very hard all week at her office in London so grabbed a train down and I met her at the station. The winter light seemed nice so I took a short video clip of her train arriving which is now on my Facebook page. (Click here to see it).

Saturday morning and it was up to St John’s church for their annual visit from "Alex Lester's short but cheerful speech 12A".

Everyone is terribly kind and indulges me. They fussed over the DL and we had excellent cake which is a terrific draw. Seemed an excellent turnout, too.

Judge for yourself via the two other short video clips on Facebook.

Managed to pick up a couple of stocking-filler presents for family members whilst I was about it and we headed off to the pub that evening to meet with our friend, Clive, who is going to be one of my two "Best Men". Two because I am unable to choose and both Clive and Simon both have unique abilities and talents that will help make things go well with fun and efficiency. Odd that it must be an age related thing that the moment I type the word "Efficiency" I am thinking of naked people playing volleyball in old black and white movies!

Saturday afternoon we had been down to Jonny Swanns seafood stall in the old town to pick up some bits for a Paella. I have the dish which I bought in Spain in about 1982 and DL has the ability to do the cooking. However, we stayed rather longer in the pub than we expected to so somehow never got round to making it and ended up at the Chinese takeaway instead.

Sunday it was back to London with a car smelling vaguely of squid and other sea-related foodstuffs and into the kitchen for the makings.

When I say "the makings", I organised the DVD player and inserted Woody Allen's Deconstructing Harry and got the table ready whilst the Dark Lady did the work.

Even though I say so myself I think this is an ideal division of labour.

Only two more weekends to go until the big day. Everything seems to be on track although due to a flood my jacket hasn't arrived from the tailor. I hope it didn't get wet or it may have shrunk! She may march down the aisle to join her intended Norman Pitkin at the front of the hall.

CLUB TROPICANA

2011-11-16T13:38:00.000-08:00

Out yesterday, stocking up on a few DVDs for the weekend. Dark Lady and I do like to chill on the sofa with a good film after a tiring week (she has tiring weeks, I just get tired due to the unsociable hours, as I'm sure you do).

We are trying to build up a collection of the Woody Allen catalogue. So I was delighted when I found another three of his that I'd not seen.

Are also big fans of romance so the other week we sobbed all the way through The Lake House with Sandra Bullock. Have lent the DVD to producer Dr Strangelove who is also a big weeper. Expect to see his crumpled red-eyed face first thing Monday after he's wept through the weekend, although he did say yesterday morning that he wished it was Christmas, so much so he had Gremlins and Home Alone ready for Friday night.

Whilst in the shop I also had a peruse of the CD shelves in case there was something I missed.

At last I found a Kevin Fowler album containing the track "£ sign" This is a fun tune I heard on my last US road trip and seemed to go down pretty well when I played it yesterday on the show. One of the other tracks on the album was called "Don't Touch my Willie"; this reduced some members of the programme team (there are only the two of us: Strangeo and I) to sniggering adolescents. It is about a first date and a guy’s record collection: Willie being Willie Nelson. OK, you were ahead of me on that one.

Whilst on my way back home I passed one of those “boys shops” that sell computer parts, radio controlled cars and, for me, an aluminium CD carrying case, ideal for transporting the Lester’s Library tracks to and from the studio.

This - in my mind’s eye - is "professional DJ equipment”. I was transported to a life on the road. Heading from one exotic location to another to DJ in front of thousands of excited young people at clubs festivals and raves. I am Fat Boy Fat. I am DJ Ludicrous. I am Lethal Drizzle!

I trudged home knowing after a couple of days the box will be full of odd bits of paper, the odd CD and sweet wrappers. Hey, I can dream.

See you in Ibiza!

ZOMBIES ATE HER BRAIN!

2011-11-15T10:31:00.000-08:00

As I've mentioned on the blog before, it is a curious time of year where one festival rolls into another all the way to Christmas.

As we live in a multicultural society there are far more events in the British calendar.

So the Divali fireworks gave way to the Guy Fawkes ones and there was Halloween too. My neighbours, who are Sikh, got into the spirit of things with a fine display of corpses in their front garden.

Amidst all this there is Remembrance Day. It is heartening to see it is being given a little more respect than it has been. It is a shame it takes sacrifices by our troops to bring it to public attention.

Dark Lady had been furious about lack of poppy purchasing opportunities last year. She claimed she had to hunt high and low until she found a vendor. So this year I bought one for both of us. (By that I mean one each, by the way!) The moment I arrived home beaming with my purchase I noticed she already had one.

"What has happened this year? The poppy sellers are everywhere!"

I am glad they were as my first one only lasted a couple of days before it vanished. The second one lasted the course. DL being a girl attached hers with a safety pin so it wouldn't work loose.

However, those harrumphing at declining standards may recall as I do a ‘Til Death Us Do Part episode where Alf’s wife admits to repairing Alf’s poppy each year so he doesn't have to buy another.

Now Christmas is upon us, with a pop up Christmas shop opening a few doors away, the TV ads for the big stores are being discussed in print and on Internet forums. Wonder if we will start to think about it's meaning in the same way we have reassessed Remembrance Day?

A Jamie Oliver pudding to your M&S Turkey says NO!

And speaking of Christmas, start thinking of your Christmas Listener's Library records now; think of those festive tracks that you don't always hear every year and let us know here.

LIVING FOR THE WEEKEND

2011-11-14T13:25:00.000-08:00

Revenge of the Nerds. As you know, if you are a regular, every three months DJs get together in a bore-a-thon. We eat and drink too much and talk about jingles and playout systems (the technology that gets the tunes to you now that we don't do 78s vinyl or CDs any longer. Well. rarely).

Friday and we met in a pub in London. Then went to a pizza place which apparently - according to author Louis Barfe - was the home of recorded sound in the UK.

It was also the home of indifferent Italian food, sadly. Mine arrived lukewarm and last. A bit like the fifth Osmond.

After eating we headed out to find a pub for a couple more hours of yarning, boasting and grumbling. We managed a swift couple in two pubs before they shut up shop. London, what are you doing? "The city on the Thames. The city that never sleeps". It was shameful. Still, come the Olympic games no athletes are going to be in danger of ruining their form or getting front page headlines due to bad behaviour if everyone is tucked up by midnight.

Some of the Nerds had travelled a long way to be with us. Now due to the fact the signals have stopped working on the trains due to cable theft, some of them didn't arrive until gone ten as a result of the delays. Need act really our together we get to!

Seethe!

HOLD THE PHONE!

2011-11-10T14:14:00.000-08:00

The other day I sat down and realised it was time I grasped the nettle: it was high time I collated a whole lot of "fabulous" ideas that I had stored in the voice memo section of various phones that I have owned over the years.

Years ago (before the invention of mobile phones) I used to carry a small notebook with me which, as time went on, turned into a Filofax. This contained an annual insert which at the end of the year would carefully be removed and placed in the plastic wrapper that the new year’s insert arrived in. This valuable document of the programme was then placed very carefully.....somewhere.

I still find them from time to time as I am clearing stuff and they prove a fascinating record of the way the show has developed the years….

When I started it some twenty years ago there was no Internet and no text, so the show operated a couple or three days later. Out would go an idea and some time later back it would come.

So the programme would throw out ideas and then sit back and wait. Often nothing happened so we had to do the responses as well. By that I don't mean we made up letters, we just had to run both sides of the idea. More like a stand-up comedian. Although with less swearing and sweating.

Looking at some of those old notebooks I'm surprised anything ever made it to the show as my handwriting is so appalling I can scarcely make out what I wrote. Plus, as I often did a lot of my preparation in the pub, they are rather beer-stained with a reek of old stale tobacco.

Time and technology changed and now with text, email, Twitter and Facebook, as well as this Blog and the Oddcast, we are probably one of the most interactive shows on the radio. This gives you a far greater say in that you can instantly respond or not. Or, if you like, change the topic by introducing a tangent which we call "Fred Slippage".

As far as the way the show arrives at its ideas, the voice memos are a different thing altogether. They consist of random thoughts, usually whispered into them at odd moments. Not wanting to appear a loon, I tend to whisper due to the subject matter. Imagine - if you will - sitting on the bus and the rather dishevelled bloke sitting next to you suddenly pulls out his phone and declares loudly:

"IMAGINE A WORLD WHERE ALL POLITICIANS WERE AXELOTLS"!

Or:

"STRING INFLATION"! (Coming soon, incidentally).

So the other day I sat at my computer with a number of phones trying to write down what I had said.

Many were too garbled. Some the background noise was too loud. Some my voice was unaccountably slurred. Think this may have been a phone fault. Some I had no idea what idea I was trying to convey.

"NICOTINE DOGS" anyone?

So, I compiled a list and sent them to producer, Dr Strangelove.

"Did you get my ideas?" I asked this morning when I arrived.

He looked at me for a moment and then very quietly said

"…yes"

Don't forget you can now follow me on the aforementioned Facebook by visiting here, and follow me on Twitter here.

Plus, get your requests in for Listener's Library by visiting here. Now taking Christmas suggestions too!

LONG TALL GLASSES

2011-11-09T11:20:00.000-08:00

It is a truism that the best things in life are free.

Think of the joy that is to be had from the crisps that are proffered in the pub and, likewise, the drink that is bought for you.

You are the millionth customer so you get a free tank of petrol at the garage.

You sign up to one of those "you'll soon be dead" offers on daytime TV advertised by Parky or that bloke who used to be on Dr in the House and you get a pen just for calling and a clock, a DVD player or a satnav if you agree to shell out.

Yes, we love something for nothing or the appearance of nothing.

The other night I was invited to the Groucho club in London's Soho for a showcase. I have been a few times but am not a member. It is rammed with Meeja types and Celebs. So it is a bit like a zoo full of self-absorbed people.

"Look at me, I'm a Lemur". "Look at me, I was on QI once". I suppose the famous cram in there to avoid being bothered by the rest of us.

The reason for my visit was the aforementioned showcase. This is where a record company get an artist to play a few tunes in the hope that we will go away and write about them or play their records on the radio.

They are useful exercises as they bring artists you may not have heard otherwise to your attention and there is the unadulterated joy of free food and drink.

This particular nights offering was singer songwriter Laura Comfort. An American with an LA tan and a gym-toned body: tall, willowy and very blonde.

She has a pleasant voice and a good band and - for the single - a string section. However, for some reason she left me cold. I didn't connect with the material at all which was a shame as she worked very hard and Jeff, the plugger, who organised the do is a top bloke.

You can watch a few seconds of her act on my Facebook page. Just click on "videos".

Karma, however, was only a thing on a stick away. First off, I nearly choked to death on a prawn at the start of the evening. Then upon exiting the venue - having had my photograph taken with the artist I noticed - I had somehow spilled Soy Sauce down the front of my shirt! As I was also clutching a carrier bag from a little CD shopping trip I had undertaken earlier, the end result made me look like I had just arrived hot foot from a local bench.

I'M NOT IN LOVE WITH YOUR HAIR

2011-11-08T15:20:00.000-08:00

We're having some pre-wedding photos taken in the park later this week so it seemed a good idea to get my hair cut.

I have mentioned in the past, one of the reasons I wear my hair long is to irritate my more successful colleagues. What they may gain in fame acclaim and riches, they lose in tonsorial ability. I have hair. Lots of it. It is not a rinse: no artificial colourings have been applied to this bonce. If you tug it, it won't come off!

So off to a branch of a well-known hairdressing chain in London's fashionable West End. It is the one near the betting shop.

It is also staffed by rather young women so I feel like a dirty old man when I am in a vibrating chair having my mane washed followed by a head massage. I expect people to shout "sex tourist" at me as I scuttle out.

"What can we do for you today?" asks the 17 year-old stylist before handing me to her 16 year-old assistant.

"haircut, please" beams the raddled old bloke in the chair as he surveys the pile of teen-and-twenty style magazines.

"Do you want a drink of 'HIC' something?"

"No, thanks"

"If I take a HIC bit off the sides it'll be more bigger"

"Just trim it, tidy it and stop it becoming a mullet, please"

"No HIC worries. Sorry I've got HIC hiccups for some reason."

"As long as you don't cut my ear accidentally" I beam.

"Do you use any products?"

"Not really"

"You should try this. Massage it in to wet hair. Then your hair will be less frizzier. It smells nice too. Smell it?"

"Mmm yes it does. What is the smell?"

"I don't know. Smells like summer to HIC me".

After a few more snips I was placed under a gentle heat to dry.

"There. I'll show you the back"

"Er, jolly good."

It did look good too!

"It is better this length and with the stuff on it, it is more bouncier".

With that, and armed with the lotion, I was back on the street. One more weddingy thing crossed off the list.

Hope the Dark Lady likes my new "More bigger. Less frizzier. More bouncier" look!

FIXING HER HAIR

2011-11-07T14:47:00.000-08:00

As the nuptial countdown continues we set off early on Friday morning to a "Hair rehearsal". Dark Lady needed us to have a final chat with the reception venue. Also, a final check of the place where the ceremony is going to be held.

All seems to be in hand for our nicely low key day. As I was saying on the show only this morning we are just sourcing the Whalebone and Panda skin Thrones then we are good to go.

Having done my bit - which involves nodding and agreeing mainly, but occasionally offering a thought - DL repaired to a swanky spa type place for the "hair rehearsal. As Hair along with shoes and dress is a deep dark secret, I was sent home in case I saw something I shouldn't.

As I was leaving I passed a shelf of exotic unguents designed for various parts of the body. One labelled "Hand relief". This caused a certain amount of adolescent snurking from yours truly.

I was dispatched home in DL's car. She must love me; she entrusts me to drive her car. All the way home I was trying to work out how to open the windows. It took several miles before I succeeded and fresh air flooded in to the superheated interior. Maybe the time would have been better spent trying to work out how to switch the heater off!

Sunday and the DL had to go see her Mum while I had been invited to a lunch in memory of Roy Tucker, a man who was instrumental in getting me involved in the St Michael's Hospice in St Leonards and was one of the people who set up S.A.F.E., which is an organisation that provides respite care beds.

There was a nice speech of introduction from Chairman, Brion Purdey, and the grace was said by Bishop Roger Jupp. As the event was not only a memorial for a pillar of the local community and well-loved family man but also was a fundraiser, I was tasked with drawing the raffle and running various games designed to make the event go with a swing and extract maximum cash from the guests.

The Church had a field day with the Bishop having a lucky hand indeed when it came to the raffle. He won seemingly loads of prizes including a tube of hand cream. He had let it slip during an earlier conversation over lunch that earlier in his career, whilst in Papua New Guinea, he had confirmed nearly 300 people in one day.

This was the ideal opportunity to try out the "laying on of hands and the hand relief" gag from earlier in the weekend.

Worst moment was when I offered up a few thoughts on the Late Roy who was a whirlwind and had been a much liked and respected public servant over the years. He was a bloke who just wanted to help people and for all the right reasons, not for reasons of personal aggrandisement or ego. This is what I tried to convey in my rather gushing and rambling speech. Mid-way through, pacing the room and sweating like a bull in front of an increasingly bewildered and probably uncomfortable audience, I had a flash back to the Santana gig that the Dark Lady and I went to a year ago where mid-way through, Carlos stopped and gave a fifteen minute speech on "love and light".

Roy's Widow, Ann, very kindly said I "spoke from the heart". This was true but perhaps I should stick to the drawing the raffle in future!

I LOVE THIS BAR

2011-11-03T15:57:00.000-07:00

In this job (that isn't really a job) it is a very pleasant way of passing the time to be occasionally invited to a hot ticket event. A couple of years back Country Superstar Toby Keith hit town and I got to see him in concert had a "meet and greet" beforehand. This is a rather American thing where a rather baffled and slightly jet-lagged/drunk/stoned or all three musician is paraded in front of a variety of úber fans and slightly cynical members of the media.

Last time I had my picture taken with him - a big burly man - he appeared to find the whole thing as baffling as I felt embarrassed. A little small talk, a flash pops and up steps, the next candidate to stand next to the performing bear.

This time he had returned in triumph to appear at Wembley as well as other huge venues around the UK.

As a sort of extra he decided to play a small pub in London's Covent Garden as a sort of "thanks" to uber fans and cynical media types.

He sauntered onto the makeshift stage in the corner with his friend and co-writer, Scotty Emerick.

Two blokes with guitars filling themselves nicely with beer; it was going to be something special.

Toby set the scene by telling us that the pub had been turned into a redneck US bar for the evening. It had and speaking from experience of many mid-Western redneck bars, they had done a fine job. It is quite easy really. All you need is the Stars and Stripes tacked up somewhere a neon sign reading "Bar" and NASCAR or similar on all the TV screens. That and bottles of Budweiser which - to Scotty Emerick’s horror - ran out halfway through the gig.

Oh, also scantily clad women/waitresses are a bonus. They were there in abundance.

They then proceeded to kick back and work there way through a few bottles of beer and a load of great country songs, most of which would not make it to radio due to their subject matter.

If you are very PC look away now.

"As Good as I Once Was", a favourite of mine about the ageing process.

"Beer For My Horses", a song he had done with Willie Nelson

So far, so Redneck.

Then they were away just shooting the breeze and out came the songs

"Runnin’ Block" about double-dating and sex with fat girl.

"They showed up in a pick up
They were right on time.
His was kinda hefty
But not half as big as mine"

"Weed with Willie", smoking marijuana with Willie Nelson

"In the foetal position with drool on my chin
We broke down and smoked weed with Willie again".

"Get Out of My Car", a tender song of ever more urgent demands for sex in his truck.

“What would it hurt?
Pull off that shirt
Babe, we've already come this far
Get out of your clothes
Or get out of my car"

Then a surprise novelty song which had the crowd roaring and apparently the video is a huge hit on YouTube and I expect it to be the single from his latest album, Clancy's Tavern.

"Red Solo Cup", a mans elegy to disposable drinking vessels

"No red solo cup is the best receptacle
For barbecues, tailgates, fairs and festivals
And you, Sir, do not have a pair of testicles
If you prefer drinking from glass”

Don't think anyone took offence. Even the rather large woman who was standing in front of me.

The mid-West may appear a different planet to us over here. However, Country music like this is only voicing the drives all feel.

IN AND OUT

2011-11-02T16:47:00.000-07:00

A day on the road off to visit my Dad for his birthday; 85 this year (not last as I thought. Started off early from London with a couple of stops en route. One was to collect my wedding suit. Well, jacket. Just as well we have left a few weeks as the lining was deemed incorrectly sewn by the tailor’s nark, so back to the seamstress it went. Also my waistcoat fitted perfectly apart from one fatal flaw: no pocket for my watch. So back that went as well. Otherwise they were both a perfect fit!

Stopped off at a suburban shop whose sign boasted "Drinks and Groceries" in order to buy a loaf of bread and, to our amusement, it did contain a couple of loaves of bread and some sweets, but apart from that it was stacked from floor to ceiling with booze. If you wanted "slabs" of lager this was your Aladdin’s cave. You couldn't move for flagons of cider and huge bottles of cheap wine.

Then it was off to the hotel where we had agreed to meet for lunch.

Dad, his partner, June, and my Sister and Brother-in-law, plus the Dark Lady. Guess who was the designated driver? Still, I had had my fill of hooch due to standing in a shop surrounded by gallons of it a few minutes earlier. So it was no great hardship. Plus I am not a lunchtime drinker as after just one glass I fall asleep and wake up feeling rotten a couple of hours later.

We had a drink in the bar and ordered our food and were shown into the dining room. We hear talking coming from somewhere in the room. Was it haunted? It sounded odd. In fact…it sounded like David Cameron.

Nothing is guaranteed to put you off your food than to hear a politician pontificating. No matter what political hue, they all seem to speak in the same way. If you examine what they are saying they are not answering the questions put to them and just fill the air with empty phrases and buzzwords. In the run up to an election just keep a count of the times an MP uses the phrase "Hardworking families" and you will see what I mean.

I eventually found the culprit hiding behind the curtains. A rather battered radio/CD player. I switched it off and peace reigned.

The food was excellent. There was something on the menu for all of us and - to John, my Brother-in-law's delight - there were desserts which put me in mind of one of contributions to National Fridge Freezer Week on the show; Ian from Bournemouth told us in 1964, his late Mother spent her £14 winnings from Zetters Pools on a fridge freezer, so they were the only family in their street who didn't OD on custard at the end of the week as they tried to use up all the milk before it went off.

Then it was into the car and all the way back to London with the DL snoozing, waking with a start, making some business calls and emailing clients then going back to sleep again.

A good day.

I AM A CAMERA

2011-11-01T10:49:00.000-07:00

Decided to get a head start with the Christmas shopping as I had some time to spare, plus the weather meant my proposed trip out to Upminster to do a bit of flying was postponed yet again.

Dark Lady had been trying to get a certain camera for a close relative (who if he is reading this will have to be extra good and tidy his room or Santa ain't making another appearance this side of the next Millennium).

She had tried on the Internet and the particular one in the right colour was out of stock.

I offered to wander down London's Tottenham Court Road which is a mecca for gadget seekers and electrical nerds. It would give me a chance to look at all the stuff that was on offer. Although I must admit, at my time of life, windows full of shiny objects have lost their pull. I now have all the shiny objects I need. I still have a couple of VHS machines at home and several DVD machines which are practically being given away with petrol these days.

A walk in the park and headed for the shops. Competition is fierce with a certain level of "make me an offer". It is a sort of electrical Souk.

"Have you the Acme Pixy pix 545K?"

"No but we do have the 546"

"No. Need the 545"

"546 is better"

"No, it’s just the one you have in stock"

Shop 2

"Have you the Acme Pixy pix 545K?"

"We've got one for the same price which is a different make and model but is better"

"I want the Pixy Pix 545K"

"Why?"

"Because it’s for a child"

Shop 3

"Have you the Acme Pixy Pix 545K?"

"We've got the 546"

"That's not the 545 is it!"

"No"

Shop 4

"Have you the Acme Pixy Pix 545k?"

"Let me have a look on the computer..........we've got the 546 but not the 545. Not seen a 545 in a while. Have you tried Kozykameras down the street?"

Shop 5

"Have you the Acme Pixy Pix 545K?"

"We've got the 546. Don't think they make the 545 any longer".

Defeated I went back to the flat and logged on to the Internet. Was it back in stock?

"Acme Pixy Pix 545K. 7 in stock. Black"

I have ordered one. I have paid for it. I have a reference number for it

Let us hope it arrives from Lapland in time. Go Elves go!

ONE MORE SATURDAY NIGHT

2011-10-31T13:40:00.000-07:00

Friday and it was off to Hastings to do house tidying. With the wedding of the century (in my eyes, certainly) only a few weeks away and the family descending en masse it is vital that the house is tidy and clean. Having lived alone for most of my life it is amazing just how much clutter a body can put up with and how easily the human being gets used to unfinished stuff.

When I moved into this house more than ten years ago, the stair carpet was held in place by stair rods. It still is but there has always been one missing. This has been fine and something on my ever growing "to do" list. The principle of the "to do" list is that you have a list of things you need to accomplish and you tick them off as they are achieved. Although we both know that in reality every time you tick off one item it reminds you of several more. This way the list grows even longer and you would have to live to be a thousand years olfdor have no life outside the home in order to tick then all off.

So I have been searching the Internet and came across "Acme Stair Rods". A few key strokes later and "brass stair rod for the use of" was winging its way to my house.

I had been home but a few minutes on Friday when there was a knock at the door and a uniformed courier stood there with a slim cardboard tube.

"I came yesterday but you weren't in"

Could you not just post it through the letter box. It’s thin enough?

"No mate, have to get a signature"

He proffered an electronic signing machine.

"Can't find yer details. Can I just say you signed it?"

Er, yeah. With that he was gone. Leaving me wondering if that was the case why he didn't just post it through the letter box.

One down.

Next, the tiled floor in the kitchen. I have mopped and scrubbed them but they never seem to get clean. Having seen all the ads on early morning satellite TV channels - when not advertising step exercisers, support bras and funeral plans (with introductory free gift mental clock; count down your declining years to oblivion with our thoughtful present) - steam cleaners seem to be the new magic bullet. So off I went to Acme Electrical and bought one. Up and down the kitchen floor I chuffed like the Puffing Billy. Clean? Well, not really, but it’s nice to have another gadget in the cupboard.

As usual due to a combination of inertia and, erm, more inertia, I haven't been filing the CD's as I should. One excuse was that bottlenecks had occurred where I had too many of one letter which meant that the shelf was crammed and there was no room for more due to the proximity of the next letter of the alphabet. Bite the bullet, Lester, and sort this out. So I moved things around. Eventually after an hour or two I was done. Dusty and sweaty, I stood back to admire my handiwork. A letter pretty much to a shelf.

A. B. D. C.....eh?

My mind must have wandered and so there then followed another ten minutes or huffing and puffing before order was restored once more.

All this hard work called for beer. Into the newsagent and armed with the paper into the pub.

I should have noticed something odd about it when I was served by a woman with fangs wearing a rubber dress.

Finding a safe seat in the corner I regarded my fellow customers. When everyone is dressed for Halloween and you are not, you are the person who looks like they are in fancy dress.

Still as we know from any number of Zombie and assorted horror movies: darkness is the friend of the undead. They tend not to be seen sunning themselves on the Costa Brava and going to bed at 9pm after a couple of Sambucas. So I had barely taken a sip of my pint and scanned the headlines before the room was plunged in to darkness by the landlord; a scary man at the best of time, now rendered more terrifying as he was dressed as FranknFurter from The Rocky Horror Show.

No one even glanced as the creepy looking guy in jeans and a shirt tiptoed out of the pub with his unread paper under his arm.

PAINT MY WAGON

2011-10-27T16:03:00.000-07:00

It is getting close to that moment. The moment where the new Truckwriting Season is upon us.

Can't remember how it originally started. Like many ideas on the show I think it may have been a spontaneous reaction to something that was said on the programme one morning a few years back. Then reports starting coming in from people up and down the UK of odd slogans written in the dirt on the back of lorries.

We have had a variety of slogans over the years pretty nearly all of them meaning nothing at all. Which bearing in mind the nature of the show that has evolved over the last twenty years is pretty much what we aimed for.

SLAP MY TOP

This was the first and arrived as a result of requiring a slogan that meant nothing at all.

SCOF appeared as the result of an off-the-cuff remark when I was sitting in for Ken Bruce one morning which so enraged one listener that they sent me a very lengthy email detailing my shortcomings and referring to me as a : Swirling Cesspool of filth!

A while later a similar thing happened after I had been away and Tim Smith had been sitting in for me.

One thing this business has taught me over the years is that some people like you, some people don't like you, and most don't care either way. This is a thought many "celebs" should hold close. Their fragile egos may find it difficult to grasp but they are not indispensable and a short time after they have stopped appearing on the TV they will have been largely forgotten.

This particular listener much preferred Tim doing the show and he is not alone in that I am sure. So he wrote a lengthy email praising him which was nice and sounding off at how awful I am referring to me as a "buffoon". Trouble was he accidentally sent me the email rather than Tim. To compound the felony he sent the email to me twice. Buffoon was such a fun word that it was too good to lose. Thus that years Truck writing season slogan was BAG. Standing for "Buffoons are go!"

Last year we thought we would turn the slogan selection over to you. We had hundreds and decided on the acronym WALLOP! This stood for "We are Alex Lester's lovely overnight people."

Unfortunately one person took exception to this and complained that had there been an accident and the word was written on the back of the vehicle concerned people would be offended.

Unfortunately for us the BBC agreed and so we had to back-pedal slightly which meant we didn't get the season off to the best start.

This year the slogan arrived like the best ones do via a chance remark from you.

We have to hope that if someone complains this time the BBC will back us up and dismiss the objection.

Have a great weekend and standby for the big reveal on Monday morning.

HOODOO MAN

2011-10-26T12:30:00.000-07:00

Sauntering around as I often do - although sometimes I trudge, if careworn - in determined mode, I march and approaching Friday and our regular date with the feminine side when we "Ramp up the Camp"; I have even been known to sashay!!!

I have noticed that from about now it is one long festive season. Our Sikh, Hindu, Buddhist and Jain friends are enjoying Diwali. This will soon give way to Halloween which in turn tips over into Guy Fawkes’ Night which then passes the celebratory baton to Christmas.

I have been noticing the Diwali Fireworks for a few days now and all the shops are crammed with overpriced pumpkins.

I still think that it is difficult to maintain the level of bonhomie necessary to take us through the whole festive season with this many events going on. Religious ones are selective, I do admit, although you may remember on the show some years ago we tried to start our own religion which would adopt all the holidays of existing Theologies, so that we could have as much time off as possible.

Unfortunately when we got a little bit deeper into our plans for the world’s slackest religion we realised that many of the festivals that the other more orthodox and significantly older beliefs systems had adopted involved having a fairly unpleasant time. Faced with months of fasting, scourging and walking on hot coals and sticking skewers through our cheeks we chickened out. Although in some religions even the chicken comes to a sticky end.

It seems to me that we are adopting more and more festivals from around the world. This may be in part to the ethnic melting pot that is modern Britain but there is also the financial imperative. Is it me or is Halloween and Trick or Treating (where you have to give spotty Herbert's sweets when they knock on your door or they pelt you with eggs) merely an American import? If it is, do we really need it and shouldn't we be thinking of exporting some of our festivals across the pond?

Such as Guy Fawkes night.

Just think of the fun the Yanks can have dreaming up new ways to blow up Congress or the House of Representatives. We have to prove to them that we have a history of being down on politicians. After all when it came to assassinating Premiers we were ahead of the U.S by half a century with Spencer Percival being gunned down in the House of Commons in 1812, whereas Abe Lincoln didn't buy the farm until 1865!

Just think of the fun our friends in the New World can have with "Stir up Sunday" on November 22nd when we make the Christmas pudding. Or Morris Dancing on May Day, which is dafter than a whole bunch of Arapaho or Sioux doing their traditional dances. At least ours is more inclusive and tend to end with fewer fatalities. (I have seen the films. Seems they always end up fighting the "Palefaces")

I am sure a revival of Kissing Friday (which was the Friday after Ash Wednesday) would go down a storm with all but the most PC. After all, had it not died out in the 1940's I would have loved the chance as a schoolboy to kiss girls without fear of punishment or rejection. Apparently - according to a website I stole this info from - in Leicestershire, Kissing Friday was also called Nippy Hug Day. If the bloke asked for a kiss and he was denied he could pinch the girl’s bum instead. Hmmm, I think I am beginning to see why this died out. No one seems to have any recollection of "Severe Bruising Saturday" that followed the day after.

Or could we export the audience from the "Last night of the Proms" on September 12th? Where highly trained musicians perform beautiful music whilst the audience of chinless wonders try and be "outrageous" with fancy dress and mock exaggerated weeping into enormous hankies? Wonder what the Americans would make of that?

Lock and load!

WOKE UP THIS MORNIN'

2011-10-25T15:59:00.000-07:00

After all the talk of slumber in my previous blog, I think I may have "auto-suggested".

Went to bed at the usual time having phoned - and failed - to get my mate, Wilksee, the flying instructor. He works pilot hours. Which, like boatmans’ time, means you call people as and when necessary and you work until the job is finished. So just in case he called back around 11pm, I turned the ringer off on my phone.

If I am staying with the Dark Lady I always try and wake before the first of the 3 alarms set on my mobile and then cancel any remaining so that I don't disturb her or the rest of the family as I ablute and tiptoe downstairs out into the fresh clear morning

On this occasion I had omitted to reset them.

Most days I awake with a song in my heart. Very often "Does your chewing gum lose it's flavour on the bedpost overnight?" is a favourite. This morning for some reason I awoke to the strains of "Uptown uptempo woman" by Randy Edelman playing in my head jukebox

I glanced watch expecting it to be around 12.45 as is usually the case.

It was 1.20!

I flew into my clothes and into a passing cab, texting Strangelove as I did. It is important that everyone knew what was going on in case I didn't make it in time. Janice Long could carry on and I would then take over when I arrived. After this happens there is the round of grovelling apologies to Janice. Then Mick, her producer. Management. You. Even Strangeo!

I have failed to make it for the start of a show three times over the years. Twice by oversleeping. Once when I overslept and missed the start of a show that began at 10am! Another time at Radio 2, when Katrina (of “and the Waves" fame) was doing the slot which Janice now occupies. They noticed my studio was empty but didn't think to call as I was "never late". Also for some reason no one could find my phone number until 15 minutes after I was due to start. The other time I was late arriving for a 6am start and station opening. I rushed in. Started the station’s opening theme. Got into the news which came from London (I was at a radio station in Leeds). Went to retrieve my bag from outside the front door and heard the door click behind me! I had to wake the landlord of the local pub and borrow a screwdriver to force the lock.

Huge grovelling to bluff northern Programme Director who dismissed the whole sorry episode in one word:

"Pillock!"

"BY THE TIME I GET TO..."

2011-10-24T12:37:00.000-07:00

Friday after the show, had a bit of a sleep and then it was time to head up to the Midlands to see my Dad. I say "A bit of a sleep"; working these hours as I have done for more than 20 years now my sleep patterns have changed a bit. Time was that I would just close my eyes and I would be out for the count until the alarm went in the small hours and off I would go again. As I have always divided my sleep into two parts - pre and post-show - the pre-show was always the easiest and most restful time and the post show would be rather intermittent and broken rest. These days it seems to have swapped so now even if I go to bed at the same time of around 8pm I can be awake an hour or two later. This must be the effect of aging and it is only a matter of time before I need a nap after lunch. Hang on a second, I DO need a nap after lunch and on a Friday I can be asleep in my armchair the moment I turn the TV on.

It is generally accepted that older people don't require as much sleep so in some ways this occupation should be getting easier.

First stop was Halfpenny Green Airport to see my friends in the aviation world, perhaps if there was a moment to hire the C42 and half-an-hour or so flying in the local area. With flying as with many hobbies that require "stuff to be tinkered with", the ratio of time spent tinkering or talking about it and the amount spent actually doing it are hugely disparate. I was there most of the afternoon chatting and drinking cups of tea and at no point did I leave the ground. It really doesn't matter as I can watch aeroplanes taking off and landing for hours.

Then it was to the pub for a relaxing couple of pints and the newspaper and maybe even a bag of pork scratchings. (See video of previous visit on my Facebook page.)

Had just settled myself in the quiet lounge at the back of the boozer when two young women arrived with their two young children. The kids then proceeded to run riot squealing with delight and being encouraged by their Mothers. Peace shattered, I retreated to the front bar. Now at the risk of appearing a Victor Meldrew character, I have never understood when people have to make such a lot of noise and if they are children why they are not kept in check by their doting parents. Is it me? I expect it is. If the words “grumpy old man” spring to your lips, let me tell you: I have always been a curmudgeon, even as a teenager.

I was obviously missing the Dark Lady who was out on her Hen Night. She was having a right old time she told me later, although there were no fat suits, no L plates and no Strippergrams. She did have to take part in a Mr and Mrs type quiz. Weeks ago one of her friends had contacted me and asked me to supply answers to a variety of intensely personal questions.

Delighted to note that she got them all right apart from one which was:

"Who was Alex's best childhood friend"?

How could she have not remembered my imaginary mate when I was 5: Mrs Helmet!!??

Dad was as usual particularly busy when I dropped by his house on Saturday morning. He has been doing Winter gardening which seems to involve huge quantities of brushwood and leaves and his industrial-strength shredder. He has bought a new suit for the wedding. Judging by his description this will be the first suit he has ever had that fits him properly. He has always been thin and his suits have always been baggy. If he ran upstairs the trousers would bounce up and down on his braces like he was a human Slinky.

Back to London to meet up with the DL as we due at the Royal Festival Hall to see Glen Campbell on his farewell tour. You may have read that he is now tragically suffering the early stages of Alzheimer's so it was with some trepidation that we took our seats. I had noticed something slightly amiss a couple of years ago when he did Friday Night is Music Night for Radio 2 and some of his introductions were a little wayward and repetitive.

His band contained 3 of his children and - with their help and an autocue - he could read the words from the screen. He was magnificent and apart from the odd hiccup you wouldn't have noticed anything amiss at all. The love and affection for their father was evident. They were willing him on as much as we were.

Producer Dr Strangelove was there with a Senior Radio Industry figure. He does move in exalted circles these days. After the gig, Strangelove headed off to a club to see X Factor winner, Matt Cardle. However, as he was immediately shown to the VIP area where he chatted with a variety of luminaries,including Matt Lucas, he did so conveniently forgetting to remember to mention the excellent comedy show that Matt and I had done a few months ago for "2 DAY" where Radio 2 threw the schedules out of the window and we all ended up doing different stuff. As for Matt Cardle. Strangeo blew him out as he was on in another part of the club. Obviously not important enough!

Dark Lady and I made our way home on the tube and encountered a group of very gay Geordie's singing lustily. As they left the carriage one of them told the DL something that I already knew and delights me every day when he said to her "You are very pretty". Then an unwelcome deafening busker got on with a guitar and proceeded to murder a selection of Johnny Cash and Elvis classics. Talk about the "Million Dollar Quartet"? Let’s not. DL gave him some money.

Bearing in mind what I have said about intrusive noise earlier, I naturally didn't'!

I'M LIGHTER THAN AIR

2011-10-20T12:27:00.000-07:00

Been a pretty quick week, all in all. The wedding is a few weeks away and the Dark Lady is in organisational overdrive.
There are lists. There are suppliers to contact. There is music to sign off. There are speeches to prepare. There are clothes to fit. There are vows to write.

VOWS?

Apparently so. We are going for the secular option, so no churches for us. However, it seems vows are something that need to be thought about. Being a cynical old Hector, I hadn't thought about any in case they are so cheesy I fall to the floor weeping with mirth. The promissory equivalent of having "Angels " or "I Will Always Love You" played at your funeral.

So far I haven't been able to think of anything other than "Your eyes are like limpid pools". That and maybe I should promise to obey.

All this for what is going to be a very low key affair with mainly family. No children (well, with the exception of The Dark Lady's children, ofcourse!) No dancing and an early night. We are off to New York the following morning about 3 so not sure we'll be propping up the bar until the taxi arrives.

People are asking if I am getting cold feet. Not a bit. Can't wait in fact. It will be a fabulous day. Just how we wanted it. However, even a relatively simple ceremony like ours takes a lot of organisation. How the Beckhams or the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge arranged theirs I have no idea. They must have used a party planner. What they both had in common was thrones. Cut the throne and that's a whole heap of trouble sorted.

What has this got to do with the blog title? It's all about constraints of time.

I have been trying to keep up with my flying. Am currently converting from the German made Ikarus C42 (who said the Germans have no sense of humour?) to the Australian Jabiru.

Have had several lessons with instructor Keith in Upminster. All going well but just waiting for a run of decent weather that coincides with our diaries.

Last couple of weeks wind has been too strong. Got an hour in yesterday but still a little gusty to be allowed up by myself.

Dark Lady has said she wants to be my first passenger. Odd but am in no hurry. I am ok flying alone. I have a very strong self preservation instinct so have no desire to make a smoking crater in the earth. However, it seems a lot more serious when there are two of you. Especially someone as precious!

Hmm. "You will always be my precious"

How does that sound for a vow?

NIGHT MOVES

2011-10-19T13:14:00.000-07:00

After the success of the breakfast party yesterday, I was awake rather earlier than normal so went home and got stuck into the post. The post was like any other post: comprising bills, circulars, pizza parlour fliers and letters for other people.

I have an excellent post lady. However, when she is on a day off that is when the problems can occur.

My address is fairly straightforward but it is similar to some of the streets around which means there can be the odd bit of confusion. So I frequently get mail for houses from surrounding streets and this morning I actually received a bank statement for the previous occupier of my house. Bearing in mind I have lived here since 1999, I am surprised the bank have not realised that the guy has long since departed.

One day I spied the Estate Agents Nark putting a “For Sale” sign up on the house next door. So I did what I am sure most people do (I hope you do anyway!). I phoned the estate agent to ask how much the house was worth as it was very similar to mine.

"Er, that is not the address of the house for sale," said the agent.

"Well your guy is putting the sign up next door and he is leaning on the street name sign as he does it!"

The council get confused as well. And it’s their street.

One day the street lamp failed. So up popped the council and put another one up next to it. This didn't work either. They eventually turned up, removed the original one and fired up the new one. A week or two later they came back and removed it and replaced it with an older looking one in the same place. Maybe it was all a cunning plan. People criticise the BBC for inefficiencies but we are not alone.

Pizza fliers you just have to live with, but on one day I heard an almighty thump and spotted a young lad dumping several dozen pamphlets for a nearby hairdressers’ through my letter box.

I wasn't having this so gathered them all up and popped round the corner to the shop and handed them to the barber, thinking he must have paid a company to deliver them for him.

I was wrong. As I left I heard the man shout "Erriiiiccccc!!!" as he called to his son. I think we can guess what was going on there and who wasn't going to get any pocket money ever again.

My Dad once noticed a kid dumping a bale of free sheet newspapers over his garden wall and wrote to the distribution company suggesting they weren't getting their money’s worth.

Two sides to every story though. I was once told the story of a leaflet distributor who was leafleting cars in a multi-storey park by putting one under the windscreen wipers of the parked vehicles. He was grabbed by the scruff of the neck by a furious man and informed that if he went anywhere near his car he would be dismembered and the various bits would be ground up and sold for dog food. Discretion being the better part of valour he dumped the remaining paper in a nearby stream and headed for home.

What has this to do with the title of the blog today: "Night Moves"? Well, after my early start it was an early night. That for me is round about 7.30pm. This always make 8 year-olds laugh as they stay up way past my bedtime. I like to think that having a child's bedtime keeps me young (although I do draw the line at wearing a school cap and shorts!) Having said that, it never seems to have harmed the careers Angus Young of AC/DC or Ruxton Hayward for that matter.

About 11pm and in a deep sleep I was rudely awakened by a high pitched "peeping" sound. The smoke alarm had decided that it was low on battery power. Along with chiming clocks - which you forget to silence - or a full bladder, there are certain things that you can try and ignore but in the end they will defeat you.

The alarm did just that. I stood it for about half an hour but in the end I realised that it was no use and had to take the battery out.

Accomplished and back in bed and I heard a distinct "peep"!

I have two alarms and had removed the battery from the wrong one.

DOH!

By the way. Hope you are enjoying the new style blog and thank you for the advice on the € symbol which I was unable to access before due to computer ignorance.

€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€€ Ha! I Sooo can do this!

PARTY PARTY

2011-10-18T13:25:00.000-07:00

With Christmas approaching, Guy Fawkes night and the American festival of Halloween, there is a lot of whooping to be done.

This year even more so with Dark Lady wedding her Dark Lord (AKA Dark Dork, Duff Fader, Tub of the Pub and also "//:;(())!!!" all being used to describe me from time to time). There are of course other events to be held; rather against our will I refer, of course, to Hen and Stag parties.

More on them shortly. First to this morning and a 60th birthday breakfast bash for Barry. DL used to be married to Baz and they still get along famously and, as the father of her two children, he is very hands-on.

So as he was 60 there was a re-run of his 50th in a cafe in London's Soho.

This involved gifts, cake, a glass of champagne and a fry-up as it was breakfast time. All very civilised as people had to go to work and children had to go to school.

The cafe owner was a jolly man although bent low with arthritis. If we reconvene for Baz's 70th the poor chap’s nose will be touching his shoes!

The Dark Lady who, like me, is the shy retiring type has just discovered that on Friday some friends and colleagues are throwing her a Hen party.

She is very touched but a little concerned that it may be a tabloid TV tale of drunken excess.

Not for her a fat suit, bridal veil, fairy wings and L-plates. Perhaps a well oiled strippergram briefly dressed as a traffic warden, plus a selection of sparkly sex toys, each gift accompanied by drunken shrieking. All of this before the evening ends with her being arrested for kissing a policeman after being sick in a flowerpot outside an Essex nightclub.

So far luckily no one has mentioned the dreaded "S" word. Not sure I am the right guy to go off to Amsterdam or Prague for the weekend with lairy mates in rugby shirts with "Al's European Tour" printed on the back. The lagers flowing at the airport at 6am and culminating 22 hours later in a urine-soaked back-alley with vague recollections of bars. Hooting. Fighting and unprotected sex with a large hooker called Hildegarde with a suspiciously deep voice and a Swastika tattooed on her left buttock!

However there is another DJ Nerd night coming up on 11th November so to head off any thoughts of it deviating from its intended purpose, which is to ensure that anyone within earshot will lose the will to live more or less instantly. To that end, everyone is under the strictest instructions that any conversation other than jingles and who was on Drivetime at 108 "The Grate" in 1987 is strictly Verboten!

Verboten!!!! Oops! Hildegarde is that you?

LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE

2011-10-17T12:39:00.000-07:00

Went off to France at the weekend, as I often do, to see friends and generally bask in the tranquillity. Blissful silence, save for something in the roof marching up and down and creating a terrible smell at times. These are Stone Martens, apparently. They take up residence. Chew through everything. Make a terrible racket and are protected species. There are a lot of them. Think they may be in league with the roofing profession!

As the Dark Lady was unable to come with me this time, I decided to do the ferry there and back from Portsmouth. Normally we will leg it after the show and take the tunnel. However, it’s a 300 mile drive in all, so we keep each other awake. Really we should share the driving as she is a far better driver than me. However, I am a bad passenger so we haven't reached an elegant compromise yet, other than I have no qualms about her driving my car providing I am not in it at the time!

The six hour crossing enables me to grab some breakfast, read the paper, then retire to my cabin for a snooze. The only bugbears with this are occasionally during school holidays hordes of excited kids running up and down the corridors. They fling you out of the cabin half-an-hour before you arrive. Night-crossings are even worse as they play an irritating "morning" folk tune an hour before landing which - no matter what controls you fiddle with on the in-cabin sound-system - you cannot shut off and it goes on for ages. Bit like a Matt Cardle record!

In the last year the French have opened a new stretch of motorway which lops about twenty minutes off the journey. However, for the first few trips it added about thirty minutes to the excursion as my sat nav is rather out of date, and so it would go berserk and tell me I was driving across ploughed fields and heading anywhere but the right direction. Now I have the hang of it, although I am still using the old sat nav but now just ignoring it at certain points.

The motorway is also a toll road, a "Peage". As a result, after a few miles you pull up at a tollbooth to fork out 3 Euros 50. (I have a Euro symbol on my computer but don't know how to activate it).

Therein lies a small problem: alone in a car driving on the wrong side of the road, how do you hand over the money to the attendant without getting out and walking round?

Simple. The attendant pokes a shrimping net through the window. You pop the cash in and away you go.

On the way back Sunday afternoon the ferry was blissfully un-crowded. Sleep would be no problem and with the ferry arriving at 10.15pm; I would be up in London in time for a few minutes bed rest before the show.

Into the cabin, clothes off and lie down.

"RRRRR donka donka donka RRRRRR donka donka donka RRRRR"!

There was a terrible vibration from somewhere nearby.

Clothes on and to the information desk.

"There is a terrible vibration. Can you give me another cabin, please"

"We have no more 2 berth inside cabeeens" (Perfect English but with a French accent, you understand)

"That is not really my problem. The cabin you have allocated is not suitable for purpose," I retorted pompously. No wonder we have marched around the world making enemies over the centuries!

So without a further murmur I was upgraded to a 4 berth, which frankly was little different but two decks higher. Quiet with a hint of muzak playing in the corridor.

Slumber ensued. Then instead of half-an-hour before arrival 45 minutes ahead of time, the PA announcement told us we were going to be late arriving by 15 "Minewts". Again perfect English with a French accent.

As I drove up to the passport control I realised I was on the right of the booth so would have to get out of the car to walk round and hand it in. Unless they had a shrimping net, of course.

They didn't. However, the lady officer looked at my three year-old passport complete with "convict" photo. (I had pulled my hair back in case it fell out during the life of the passport or I was venturing into some of the less sophisticated U.S States by direct flight at any point).

"You look a lot younger than you do on your photo," she beamed.

I preened and then realised it was dark and I now had a beard covering a multitude of age-related sins.

I'M A STRANGER HERE

2011-10-13T14:11:00.000-07:00

Success: the tiles arrived. So with that triumph at the forefront of my mind I skipped lightly to the bus stop in order to go to a meeting with other BBC Presenters and Senior Production staff which was to be chaired by Director General, Mark Thompson.

The way these things work is that the famous TV Stars stick together and I talk to Ken Bruce whilst sipping a glass of usually-not-very-nice wine.

There is usually a short-ish pep talk about the state of the BBC, then a couple of people we don't recognise ask a whole slew of questions which usually veer off the subject until everyone wishes they would shut up so that we can get back to the wine, as there is only usually enough for two glasses and in between the first and the second we have forgotten how rank it was

"Weris Hngrlane"?

Asked the foreign-looking gentleman also waiting at the bus stop.

"Hanger Lane"?

"Ys. Hngrlane"

He responded.

"You definitely mean Hanger Lane"?

"Ys" He assured me.

"Well" (using the old punchline popularised by Black Country comedy duo Aynuk and Ayli years ago)

"I wouldn't be starting from here"!

"WherHngrLane"? He entreated.

I have been a stranger in a strange land where my language was not the one spoken so I knew how he felt. Bearing in mind we Brits have a reputation for being kind to foreigners (providing they don't actually try and settle here!) it was my duty to help.

Firing up the GPS in my phone I showed him that at the very least he needed to be at the bus stop over the road as this was going in the opposite direction towards central London.

The wild pointing then started. This way, that way the other way and some directions that would take a rocket or a mole as a means of transportation or certainly as a guide.

"Hngr" he repeated for the umpteenth time. There is only so much help a body can give and patience was beginning to wear thin.

I was tracing the directions for him on the phones screen when I became aware of something: the bus had tip-toed up to us and at the moment I noticed it. It slammed its doors and drove off.

Well I now had another 20 minutes to wait so there was plenty of time to sort this chap out.

Trying to stifle my impatience I went for broke.

"H.A.N.G.E.R"?

"Ys: H.E.N.D.O.N"!

He spelled with obvious satisfaction at this command of an unfamiliar language and the reaction of his new found friend.

"£$%^&*("! I spelled out slowly and carefully in my mind.

I pointed him up the street to the turning. He would be able to walk it and would be there before my bus arrived.

I was late. Half-an-hour late. However, not as late as a woman who also arrived late and to make up for lost time launched into a diatribe about staff quotas. No idea who she was. Obviously important.

So glad I am but a simple Disc Jockey!

SPLISH! SPLASH!

2011-10-12T12:43:00.000-07:00

We have been sorting out a new bathroom. Or should that be updating a little. New shower and taps, towel radiator and some tiling.

Simple? Er…no!

Went to the big orange DIY warehouse and bought a shower we liked. Unfortunately they didn't have matching taps in stock. Went online and found them at another store. Reserved a pair and rushed off to collect. Then another simple job: tiles. Er…no!

Went to Acme Tiles and selected the ones and the amount we required. None in stock; however, the way this operation worked was that they would phone from head office and take the money, then they would deliver the tiles to the store.

"We've received your order if we could just have your credit card details" chirped the cheery chap on the phone.

After this portion of the transaction he asked, as so many companies do these days:

"Can I ask you on a scale of 0 to 10 what you think of the service for Acme tiles?"

"Erm…can't really give you an answer as so far you have only taken the money. When I receive the tiles and check they are the ones I ordered then I will be in a position to give an opinion.”

"Erm…oh yes," he said, sounding a little chastened.

As I was arranging the taps and the shower in the boot of the car ready to take them home from the Dark Lady's house, I noticed some handwriting on the box which had been sealed with a security tag at the shop: "Parts missing"

Feverish hands opened the container to find only half the bits and no instructions. Grrrrrrr!

Back to the store.

None in stock. However, Andy (for that was his name) offered to collect a replacement from a nearby branch the following day.

So now I had the right shower. The right taps and the phone has just rung and the tiles have arrived.

Now to get them fitted!

ROCK LOBSTER

2011-10-11T13:57:00.000-07:00

Today is the day I must conclude our exciting cliff-hanger about the Dark Ladys' charm bracelet. I bought her a bracelet and a selection of charms. The idea was to take it to the jewellers to get the charms attached. I put it in a safe place and now can't find it. What to do?
The excellent Eleanor McEvoy tweeted to suggest I replace the charms then 'fess up saying "she'll be blown away by the effort you've gone to".

Before we hit the final instalment, we were at the Classic Car Show last weekend (as featured on yesterday’s blog) as part of Hastings Week.

After I'd finished the judging and the Austin/Nash Metropolitan had been awarded the prize, Nigel - who along with a string of enthusiasts and volunteers makes these events happen - asked the DL and myself what we were going to do for the rest of the day.

"Buy a Crab"

I must point out at this juncture that this was for eating purposes and hopefully would be quite dead by the time it was purchased. People are welcome to pets and some folk have very unusual ones which strike me as having no "play" value at all. i.e. you can't take them for walks, they won't curl up on your lap whilst you watch TV and you can't teach them to do tricks. When was the last time you saw someone in the park clearing up after their Stick Insect or taking their Lobster for a walk on a lead?

When I lived in the North-East during the 80's I learned how to dress crab. I was taught by the landlady of a pub conveniently and coincidentally called "The Cod and Lobster".

Dark Lady seems quite impressed by my one culinary skill and suggested, as we were by the seaside, I should hone these skills further. If you get it wrong and don't remove the "Dead men fingers" you can cause a stomach upset. This is not quite in the same league as removing poison sacs from Puffer Fish but it gives me a bit of a thrill when guests have eaten and are still alive the following morning.

Nigel told us "Johnny Swann is the man for crab". We went to find his stall and were introduced. This is a man who knows the meaning of hard work. He is up at 1am six days a week. Drives up to Billingsgate fish market in London buys and sells, and then drives all the way back and then delivers his fish to shops and restaurants around the area before knocking off in the late afternoon before he starts all over again that night. The man not only has excellent stock but also excellent taste in music and entertainment as he listens to the "BTOTD Show" on his way to and from London each morning.

We selected and purchased fine specimen when Nigel asked Johnny if we could have a look inside his shed. This is where his live Crab and Lobster are kept awaiting cooking. Thousands of gallons of fresh seawater are pumped through huge concrete baths. Stirring with a net revealed the most enormous specimens which had they grasped you would have pulled you screaming into the murky depths never to be seen again.

Back at the house DL curled up on the sofa to watch a bit of TV before we went out to see some friends and I dressed the Crab. I decided to do it before we went as the last time I was not as manually dexterous as normal upon my return from the pub and lacerated my hand with a sharp bit of shell.

It may be a boy thing but it’s all about having the right equipment. If you tinker with cars you need tools; spanners and the like. If you do woodwork you need drills and the like. If you dress crab you need Crab craw crackers and crab hooks to scoop the flesh out of the legs and other hard to reach places.

In my kitchen I have a whole selection of stuff I inherited from my Mum. She liked to have all the gadgets. Like me, she rarely used them. That is not the point. They are there if you do suddenly decide to make your own pasta and Ravioli. The pasta machine and the ravioli moulds are to hand. As are the egg coddlers and the Fish Kettle just in case.

Reached into the draw to locate the crab equipment and what did I find?

The envelope with the silver charm bracelet!

LITTLE DEUCE COUPE

2011-10-10T13:10:00.000-07:00

Dark Lady turned up on Friday after a punishing week at work and - so being a warm, kind, gentle attentive etc. - when she suggested we went out for a curry rather than her cooking, I generously agreed!

I have a curious relationship with curry. I can still smell and taste those 70s meals in flock-wallpapered restaurants. When the eating wasn't about the food it was about proving your manhood. When a selection of drunken blokes would order the hottest thing on the menu (all in a comedy Indian accent straight out of It Ain't 'alf Hot Mum. So un-PC was it that I shudder at the thought of how those poor waiters must have felt).

No wonder we were poisoned on a fairly regular basis. What acts of germicidal or chemical revenge went on in the kitchens is anyone’s guess. I used to eat them on a fairly frequent basis when money allowed. Impressing women with your ability to sup at the lava flow that was a Vindaloo whilst discussing the merits or de-merits of Emerson Lake and Palmer whilst airily dismissing the whole of the Motown catalogue as "pop fluff"! This was the height of sophistication in Walsall back in '74.

It may also explain why, with breath that could stun an ox, why I rarely got kissed.

One such evening upon dropping off my date (nope, no kiss, not even a peck) I drove home in my recently-purchased, very second-hand Fiat 500. (Terminal halitosis and a car that was scarcely a motor vehicle, let alone a babe magnet). I felt a little strange in the stomach area. Hmm…what was this. Was it sexual frustration? Possibly. Was it the realisation that I had struck out yet again? Probably. As I pulled up outside my parents’ house the truth hit me.

"WWWWHHHOOAOOOOAOAAAAARRRRGGGGHHHHH"!!

That’s better..."WWWEHHHHHOOOOOOAAARRRGGGGUUUUGGGHHHHH"

Oh god....how one stomach could hold so much rice!

And so it went on for quite some time until I heard the front door open and my Dad was standing there ready to go out on a night call. As he was a Doctor you would have thought one of his first jobs would be to minister to his ailing 18 year-old.

Sizing up the situation with an expert and practiced eye he said:

"You don't look very well. I'd go to bed if I were you"

With that he was gone as his Peugeot 504 swept around the corner into the night.

You notice that I have been mentioning old cars in this blog. This is to set the scene for last Saturday when I was kindly invited to judge the Classic Car Show as part of Hastings Week.

Each year, a fine selection of cars - old and not-quite-so-old - gather in the Old Town to be polished and cherished by their proud owners. What I like about the show and also what makes me terribly nostalgic is that the vast majority of these vehicles are, dare I describe them as, ordinary, mass produced cars. Not a single E-Type nor Aston Martin did I see. There was one Rolls Royce, but mainly we were talking Fords, Reliants, Vauxhalls etc. All daily drivers from the 50's to the 80's. All buffed by their proud owners. Every one a winner. However, my job was to choose just one from the 60 or so on show.

With passing age I note that cars that people now consider "Classic" are in fact ones that family members drove. A Vauxhall Magnum. The Viva version being the car I was taught to drive in back in 1973. A seemingly ancient Vauxhall being one like my father had. Several Austin Minis, which my Dad and my Mum used complete with the starter button on the floor and a rubber covered chord that acted as a door handle. It could have been a car park from a photograph taken in 1980 anywhere in the UK.

So congratulations to Carolyn Bates, proud owner of an Austin Metropolitan.

You can see her car and a selection of others on my Facebook page (visit here) as I have posted a couple of short "films" of the event on there.

I have also realised that the Jewellery related cliffhanger from yesterday’s blog has still not been resolved and I have run out of time.

Until tomorrow’s un-missable instalment. Safe driving and remember "NEVER MIX RADIAL AND CROSSPLY ON THE SAME AXLE"!

I'M A LITTLE BIT DRUNK AND I NEED YOU RIGHT NOW

2011-10-09T16:00:00.000-07:00

Thursday evening and another one in a great series of BBC Radio 2 Concerts: Lady Antebellum. Was hoping that the Dark Lady was going to be able to make it but major tycooning took her to Doncaster so she wasn't able to get back in time which was a bit of a shame. So popped into the pub round the corner from the BBC to find the usual suspects priming themselves!

Lady Antebellum were just fab and you can hear the concert this coming Thursday at 8pm here on Radio 2.

Earlier I had been to the gym to be generally forced to stretch. Pull. Hop. Twist and pant. Not entirely sure why I do this, apart from my total lack of will power. So as a last ditch attempt to stop myself turning into Jabba the Hutt and expire with a massive coronary, I place myself in the rather less than tender hands of Wes. He is a nice young man, but like most trainers, I think has a cruel streak. He enjoys making people suffer. Or maybe just me. He is very good at it. Lots of undignified exercises and I can certainly appreciate the difference, as can the DL. The downside of this is that there is always a bit of me that aches or twinges. This is a similar argument to the one we had with "National String Week" on the show: what is the difference between string and twine.? So what is the difference between an ache and a twinge?

Friday came and I hauled my twinge-ridden and aching carcass onto the train and headed to Hastings. Time to tidy the house before the Dark Lady arrived. I moved a few bits and pieces around before the draw of the TV. I have been slightly in the doghouse lately as I bought her a little charm bracelet and some charms. Promising to have the charms affixed at the jewellers had placed the envelope containing them somewhere safe. After my week clearing the garage I had removed vast piles of paper from all sorts of surfaces and taken them to the recycling bin.

A cold horror slowly crept over me when I realised that the last place I had seen the envelope was on the kitchen table amid a pile of newspapers. Maybe the safe place hadn't been so safe after all. Maybe I had accidentally "recycled" them! I couldn't find them so was going to have to own up. I wasn't sure I could stand to see her little disappointed face.

What was the best thing to do?

Rush out and buy some more and try and pretend they were the same ones? Hmmm. I bought them off the market and so they wouldn't match ones from jewellers which would also cost an arm and a leg.

Own up?

Own up and fall to the floor weeping hoping for sympathy?

As I have intimated on the programme before maybe the answer was to faint "strategically"!

Find out in the next thrilling instalment of…

ALEX LESTER'S DAILY BLOG.

"AND SOMEONE SNEAKIN' ROUND THE CORNER..."

2011-10-06T14:26:00.000-07:00

Another day and another phone call from the hardware shop.

"Your knives are ready"

Dark Lady loves cooking and so over the years has amassed a formidable array of weaponry. Yet years of constant use mean they have become somewhat blunt. Like many things in life. Eyesight. Gum recession. Walking pace. This has been a gradual process until you realise that cutting a tomato means sawing away to little or no effect or squashing it on the work surface.

Something had to be done. So last week I took 9 of the not-so-lethal weapons to a local hardware shop to have them sharpened. Due to an intervention by the DL I didn't take them all to be fixed at the same time. Blunt they may have been but a blunt knife is better at cutting than no knife.

So the final four were ready and I slunk back to the shop to collect them.

"You a Chef?" asked the guy behind the counter.

Suppose it must have looked a little odd. Same bloke comes in with a load of knives. Goes away and comes back the next day with a load more to be serviced.

To begin with I was a little concerned to be wandering around a populous area laden with lethal weaponry. However, in the end you just forget about it and get on with it.

This was the undoing of a rather ditsy friend of mine who had linked up with a few mates in the pub one night before heading off to Germany to following morning early.

Well the evening wore on and much drink was consumed and she accepted a little gift from her friends and weaved her weary way home.

The following morning the alarm shook her noisily awake and, realising that she would be late if she didn't hurry and had - in her inebriated state - forgotten to pack for her weekend away, grabbed the bag she had been given by her friends the night before and flung a few things in, being careful to not include her ticket and passport. After all there are fewer dumber things to do that turn up for a flight without the right paperwork.

With minutes to spare she rushed to the check-in.

"Is this bag yours?"

Asked the rather stern unsmiling airline employee.

"Yes"

"Did you pack it yourself"?

"Yes"

"I SUPPOSE YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY?!!!!!"

…barked the official who had now been joined by the Police.

She was hustled into a side room and every item was removed from her bag as questions were hurled at my hung-over, bewildered and increasingly frightened friend.

Eventually her belongings were handed back to her with a lecture on how, in this day and age, chances could not be taken with anyone and she should have thought of that before she played such a terrible trick on the hard working front line staff.

As she tottered out to catch her plane (although by now that had gone so she had to get a seat on the next one) she wondered what on earth she had done to elicit this terrible response.

As she sat down and prepared to put her bag in the overhead locker, she got the first sober chance to look at it since she had received it in the pub the evening before....

It was a novelty case. Written on the side in large black letters was one word:

BOMB!

"FINGER ON YOUR EYEBROW..?"

2011-10-05T18:37:00.000-07:00

Day two of the daily blog and I have been forced to confront the awful shocking truth that stares back at me every morning at 1am. MY FACE!

Yes, I have long grown used to the "great face for radio" jibes (this often happens after one of my fleeting TV appearances). In other words, every ten years or so. So make a date with me some time in 2020 for my next scintillating cameo.

The hooting can often occur upon entering a pub and encountering several lairy blokes who are even less well grouped than myself. Think of the famous chart of Evolution and think of some of the creatures at the start. Yup, you get the picture.

At some point over the last 15 years my eyebrows appear to have vanished. One moment they were there…the next gone!

Hair still grows normally where it should except there.

I am trying to put a gloss on it but I think it now precludes me from a number of roles.

For example, being a Ross Kemp/Vinnie Jones type hard man. Shaven heads are fine but you have to be able to cultivate that “don't mess with me.....SHUT IT!!!” persona if you can't do the facial expressions. Although in truth, with Vin in particular, there aren't that many facial expressions to begin with.

Dark Lady drew them in for a lark with an eyebrow pencil. She laughed.

I am aware there is another of those epidemic type films out soon: "Contagion". I am going to try and frighten people by saying that only people with no or severely reduced eyebrows will survive the coming horror. Although like most films of this type, a small child and a dog will also survive.

Or then again maybe I can have it registered as a disability and so I can get on "The Week’s Good Cause" on Radio 4. Failing that a selection of musicians and "celebs" down on their luck who think that a charity record could put them back on top
Who needs to be on there to make it credible

Uh oh....here comes Bono!

WELCOME BACK MY FRIENDS!

2011-10-04T15:00:00.000-07:00

So to the first in a new venture for the blog: I am turning it from a lengthy weekly/bi-weekly dissertation to a daily diary. We shall try it and see if you like it.

What I have learned after 34 years in this industry on both sides of the fence - not only the BBC but also in the Commercial sector – is that change is difficult and not always welcome.

In my experience change occurs in two forms:

1) Changes are made it is a success. Senior management take the credit

2) " " " " " " failure. You take the blame.

In commercial radio I was once told by the boss:

"If it works I'll say it was my idea. If it fails it’s your fault."

Then a few years later at the BBC, the then-Boss said to me:-

"Don't like what you are doing"

Me: "What do you want me to do?"

"As soon as I hear it, I'll tell you!"

There is another side to this in that people end up being paralysed by fear of change so nothing is ever tried which leads everything to stagnate. Or there is a sudden rush to change just for the sake of it. This leads to terrible blunders and catastrophic failures. If this happens at the BBC the response is usually: "A bold experiment" and then it is quietly forgotten.

All this is a very long winded way of saying I am trying to do something a little different to that which I have been doing since 2007.

Out with some friends down the pub on Friday night, Dark Lady woke up Saturday morning and discovered that she had lost her charm bracelet. When I say it was a charm bracelet it was a tiny silver chain with a small silver star on it engraved with the letter "R". This was a clumsy attempt by me to reinforce the difference between left and right. Very early on in our relationship it became obvious that this was her one blind spot and so I thought this would help her differentiate between the two hands, particularly useful when driving.

Before I get too smug I must point out that she is a far, far better driver than myself and it was only last weekend as we drove across a mini roundabout in Hastings en route to buy pie that her cry of "STTTTOOOOOOOOOPPPPPPPPPP!!!!" alerted me to the fact that I hadn't seen the car speeding from the right straight towards us.

Saturday and it was up to the Midlands to see my Dad who was busy digging out his compost heap. (We Lester's are just built for a good time) and up to Halfpenny Green Airfield to do a little flying. Nice headwind which meant I was airborne in about twenty feet...or so it seemed and headed south to Kidderminster. Looped round the town and headed back to the field. With the wind at my back it only seemed to take about ten minutes before I was back on the ground again with that novice pilot feeling

"Yessss I cheated death again"!

Sunday back down to the DL who had whomped up (Nerd Note: Granny in the Beverley Hillbillies regularly "Whomped up" a mess of vittles) a whole host of food. From Chilli through to a fantastic potato, bacon and cheese pie. As a result, I sat otter -like on the sofa until bedtime.

Then a new week started and arrived at the studio in time to see the remains of Strangelove.

As you have pointed out for a man who spends such a lot of time in the gym he gets a lot of colds etc. He now has a spectacular one which is pure comedy. Well, from where I was sitting it was: red-faced, eyes streaming, spectacular sneezing. It was a hoot. Although I have a suspicion that he will have the last laugh. Vanessa Feltz pops in to say good morning most days. Monday she opened the door, got halfway in, saw what was left of Strangeo and was off again. Never seen her move so fast!

SAME OLD USED TO BE!

2011-09-28T17:00:00.000-07:00

Due to a combination of other commitments (inertia and not leading a glittery showbiz lifestyle) I thought it may be good opportunity to change the way I do the blog.

I have been writing these since 2007 including three "American Adventure" road trip blogs; these in particular have been a lot of fun to do as I sat in any one of 100 often grim motel rooms in the Mid-West tapping out my thoughts and impressions of the day whilst filling myself up with fizzy beer. Had I been Ernest Hemingway, in the morning I would have doubtless woken to a destroyed room with a waste basket full of empty bottles and the floor littered with crumpled pieces of paper, all failed furious first drafts. Oh, also utilising my limited knowledge of Hemingway there would probably one or more of the following in the bed: 1) Hooker. 2) A big fish like a Tuna. 3) A "Death in the Afternoon" Bull corpse.

Dark Lady - whilst not being a vegetarian - would probably draw the line at at least one of these!

(Yes, you guessed. Sorry. No blokes’ porn film fantasies in this blog).

What I would like to try is to write a shorter daily blog rather than a weekly/bi weekly longer one.

Research shows we now have the average attention span of a....

(Some hours pass)

Sorry, went to make myself a cup of tea and got roped into a couple of episodes of Camper Van Crisis.

Where was I? Ah yes. I thought it would be fun to try the blog as a sort of daily diary and see how that goes down.

However, just to bring us up to date before we try this new way of operating:

Since I last wrote a number of things have been going on. First off a triumph for chest-beating, Testosterone-fuelled man-stuff. You may remember that the DL had accidentally dropped a bunch of keys down the back of her kitchen units. How was I to retrieve them? You came up with several bright ideas which mainly involved, as I recall, wanton destruction of what is essentially a brand new kitchen. Tearing panels off was a popular choice as was poking around with sharp objects and - failing that - Dynamite.

I had a brainwave. Magnets! Just attach a magnet to a piece of string and let it down the back of the cabinet and then to use one of our favourite phrases: "hey presto" - up will come the keys!

So to the hardware shop to buy a magnet. This is no longer as easy at it sounds. Long gone are the days of magnets of the red variety with the steel "keeper" as used in cartoons to suck out heavy objects like irons that had been hidden in opponents’ boxing gloves for unfair advantage purposes.

Also, I don't remember the last time I saw a card of iron filings which with the aid of a small pencil-type magnet you could put eyebrows or a beard on a man’s face with.

Each shop I entered answered "yes" to the question, "do you stock magnets?" and duly pointed me in the direction of the fridge novelties. How the world operates now if they are the only magnets on offer, I have no idea.

I have not seen pictures of the Hadron Collider but in my mind’s eye it is a huge cylindrical apparatus covered in tiny smiling pigs, top hats and views of Salt Lake City.

My Dad is the "go to guy" for in his "man cave" he has everything you need to do anything. This has been built up and developed over half a century and now if anyone requires a differential for a 1942 Vauxhall or that little thingy that made Concorde's snoot droop: my Dad has it in his garage.

"Magnets"

"Hmm…what sort"?

He only had about half a dozen varieties including the comedy half hairpin version with the "keeper".

Now nothing I attempt is ever simple. Would I manage to find string, attach it and haul up the keys?

YESSSSS!!!

Friday before last we went of to the Festival Hall in London to see Brian Wilson of Beach Boys fame. Last year he "re-imagined" the work of George Gershwin. DL and I are huge Gershwin and Beach Boys fans so this was going to be great.

It was. Brian Wilson has had well documented mental troubles over the years but the musician is still there, even if the voice is a little wayward and he has a rather odd demeanour as he sits behind a keyboard which he rarely touches.

First half was the Gershwin part and the second was Beach Boys; hit after hit after hit. As is the case with all concerts the artist you are watching never does your favourite track. So "In My Room" was notable by its absence. DL nudged me at one point and pointed out, "How can you hear this and not be happy?"

She was quite right, of course, as we beamed our way through a fantastic evening.

Last week with the wedding now barely two months away it seemed a good idea to try and tidy up my house, as relatives will be staying, and it is rather a tip.

So I had a week off in order to clear it up and also to get rid of tons of rubbish in the garage.

First was the table in what I laughingly refer to as my "study". It is covered in bits of paper as well as being home to my computer and a printer and to give it that full "tycoon" ambience; a rather old Anglepoise lamp. I am not sure that Lord Sugar or Donald Trump have six year-old utility bills on their desks. I have. I also found a couple of cassettes and a box of cereal bars three years past their sell by date. This is the sort of stuff that has made Captain Scott's hut in the Antarctic a place of pilgrimage.

The table took a day to clear and claimed the life of my shredder. I have (had) a heavy duty document shredder which, it is claimed, can help prevent people steal your identity. Not sure why anyone would want to be me but that is another story. Still, thieves are often very dumb:

"You got me that new fake passport, Fingers?"

"Yeah, stole this guy’s identity. Dead, I think. No one will ever suspect. Sorted"

"Great. So let’s see...from now on, I am a German Dictator called Adolf...Adolf...Hitler?"

"Cushty!"

I shredded and I shredded and I shredded, pausing only for tea and the occasional episode of Top Gear on Dave.

Late that evening when all was nearly cleared I found a credit card. I had never used it but it was still valid. So I put it through the shredder as it said I could.

IT LIED!

I am still picking bits of ground up plastic out of it several days later.

The Garage proved to be a similar problem as inertia set in after the first couple of boxes were moved. I also needed to hang some bikes up on the wall and discovered my drill had somehow been parted from its chuck key. I have another cordless but that isn't really powerful enough for masonry. So I made a half-hearted attempt.

I also vacuumed the floor of ten years of accumulated dirt.

By then it was Thursday so up to London to meet up with my mate, Libido Boy, and off to the Irish Cultural Centre in Hammersmith to catch one of my favourite artists, Eleanor McEvoy. This was a benefit as the centre is threatened with closure which would be a terrible shame. Normally when he hits town we head off out to Camden later. However, he had to be up early as he had to drive to Somerset with two Chinese business people who he brought with him. A man and a woman who were very nice and very polite and for the woman it was her first trip outside of China. They were also very jet-lagged and so, during the quieter numbers, I could see their eyes closing. Eleanor was even better than ever. She too, like Brian Wilson, has been "reimagining" This time rerecording a whole lot of her finest songs for her latest album, Alone. Our Chinese friends snapped up a couple of copies after the gig so the word is being spread. Although, as she travels so widely, if a man in a pith helmet hacks his way into a clearing in deepest darkest comedy stereotype Africa and discovers a woman there he should remove his solar topee, extend his hand with the greeting: "Eleanor McEvoy, I presume?"

So it was off to bed without hitting the fleshpots. It was also very nearly the end of the week and so the end of my weeks "holiday".

I too had an early start as I had to be back in Hastings first thing as some men were coming to put some metal work in my back passage.

(Move over John Inman. Graham Norton. Larry Grayson. Alan Carr. Julian Clary. Frankie Howerd etc. )

Don't forget I am now on Facebook, you can find me here. I am also on Twitter (ooh, get me!) you can add me @alexthedarklord or visit here.

And if you want to hear a record on the shoe - maybe one you haven't heard in years, one that means
something to you or just a darned good record you think would sound great, then I would love to hear from you. Submit your suggestions here.

And - last thing - make sure you download this week's Oddcast; the funniest bits from the week all mixed together in one bite-seized chunk. Click here.

I STILL LOVE THE NIGHT LIFE

2011-09-05T14:50:00.000-07:00

Not seen any live music for a week or two so was getting twitchy until my mate, Al Booth (who produces, among other things, The Bob Harris Country Show) said she had a couple of tickets for Brad Paisley at the O2 in London.

I had seen him before in a far small venue in London and he was amazing. Terrific guitar slinger and a demon songwriter, as well as making the most exquisite videos. If you have never seen the Vid for "Online" check it out on YouTube; it’s a peach! The only thing that marred his performance was his adoption of a faux "Briddish" accent from time to time. You don't need to do this Brad; we love you for who you are.

After the previous gig the record company or promoter sent me a questionnaire asking me what I thought. This was obviously in preparation for his major assault on Europe. I replied that he was a terrific performer but for the fake accent as it made me feel uncomfortable and him sound a bit of an idiot to these sensitive Old World ears.

Had he read the constructive criticism? No he hadn't. In fact, this time he was even worse! He - like many from across the pond - claimed British ancestry via his wife. Aaaauuugggggghhh!!!!!

I love America and its music but there is something about this thing they do that really grates. There is scarcely a U.S politician or celeb who doesn't somehow find out they are part-Irish or their great, great, great uncle came from "MANchesturrr".

I thought we had begun to move past that in an increasingly PC world.

How do US entertainers get on in other parts of the world?

"Hello Dublin...to be sure at all at all at all at all. Didn't I just see a leprechaun as I was drinking a pint of 'Gine-ness'?"

"Herro Tokyo rubbery to be here"!

"Bonjour Paris, j'aime les frogs legs et le surrendering"

"Achtung Berlin....invaded anywhere lately?"

"G'day Sydney, hands up who's a convict?!"

Wonder how we Brits would get on in the Mid-West?

"Howdy, Lexington married your 13 year old cousin yet? ptui ......tang!"

Try that and you would be full of bullet holes before you could say "right to bear arms"!

I suspect it is just me, but I though I detected Al shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

It also proves that as a producer for Bob she is an expert and I am merely an enthusiast.

Support act - Darius Rucker of Hootie and the Blowfish fame - was on fine form as well. When he launched into "It Won't Be Like This For Long", I muttered, "this is a cover, isn't it?"

"No. Track from his first album."

Ah. I heard it dozens of times on US radio and as most of the tiny stations in the Mid-West tend not to have DJ's outside of prime time (Eeeek!) no-one has any idea what is being played. So I had never put the two together artist and song.

With our new exciting Facebook feature I made a few short "films" of the gig and have posted them on there for you to have a look at, as well as other exciting and self-revelatory bits of video. Thrill to me in the pub eating pork scratching. Wow to me walking along Hastings Seafront. Be baffled by my early morning "Brown Mile" and get all unnecessary to my Fokker!

I can feel that there is a little of Stan Boardman in everyone.

"The Geermans bombed our chippie" (Repeat ad nauseam until the 70's draw to a close.)

Took Friday 26th August off, so the Dark Lady and I headed to France as we were running a little low on "Apericubes" (a tasty Gallic cheese snack) as well as wanting to catch up with some friends of ours who live in the middle of nowhere with little other than moles for company and a fine selection of food and wine.

As usual it rained but that didn't stop us having a fine old time and we were able to show them our tiny collection of several hundred pics from our US trip last June. It was gone midnight by the time we went to bed.

The following day we did a bit of sightseeing and found ourselves in a pretty little spa town Bagnoles de L'Orne which boasted a terrific chocolate shop. DL being an "L" is very keen on chocolate. Me being a "B" (fill in whatever that stands for in your eyes) is happy to come along for the ride.

It is amazing what they can make out of chocolate these days. Everything from eggs to shoes and - at this shop – great, erm, "art". For some reason a bright spark had decided that it would be fun to make scenes from the Kama Sutra out of chocolate.

So there in the window was a selection of tableaux that would make a Premiership Footballer in a post-match hotel bedroom celebration with several blonde strangers blush.

Frankly, not sure if this stuff was to be collected or eaten! Not really the sort of thing you would pass round at Christmas during the Queens Speech:-

"Choccie, Aunt Agatha?"

"Hmmm, lets see. Think I'll have the Tigress. I find the Congress of the Crow leaves a nasty taste in my mouth." N.B This is, erm, factually accurate.

Summer time and there are a number of Fetes/Fayres and other celebrations. So it was off to Bexhill the other weekend to visit Peterhouse, a retirement home for people from the advertising industry. It was fabulous and everyone made me terribly welcome. As a sucker for nostalgia there were loads of posters on the walls of the corridors of old and half-forgotten as well as completely forgotten advertising campaigns from years ago.

As this was the first time I had visited I was able to make "Short-But-Cheerful Speech 12A". If I get invited to places more than a couple of times I have to think of something else to say in my opening remarks before I declare the festivities open.

Note to anyone in the same position: they have come for the bargains and the food and drink. Get on and off as quickly as possible, they are not interested in what you have to say. If you time it right you will escape the wrath of the mob.

Then I got tucking in to the food and drink that was on offer.

Beautiful sunny day and I enjoyed myself immensely.

Last Weekend it was the Summer Fair at St Michaels Hospice in St Leonards-on-Sea. I have been involved with this charity for a long time now and I have always marvelled at the hard work and dedication of the staff and volunteers.

When it comes to events like this, the Dragon's Den mob could learn a thing or two as could the world’s best entrepreneurs. The volunteers can pounce within a nanosecond and before you can say "Good morning" your wallet is empty and you are tottering home laden with cakes, books, CD's and all sorts of other stuff. One stall I looked at was selling nick-knacks. This included something small and wooden with three knobbly rollers on it.

"What’s this?” I asked

"No idea," came the honest answer. It was either something to do with pastry or a massage device. One thing is sure though: that item is now at someone’s house being regarded with puzzlement by the purchaser.

“How did that get here?”

What don't you need on a nice hot day in late summer?

A heavy duty woolly hat, that's what.

I had barely walked through the door before I was the proud owner of said article and only managed to avoid a lengthy mohair scarf by running.

So if they would like to link up with the French Chocolatiers, I am sure they would have no difficulty selling any amount of confectionery Karma Sutra to Convents up and down the country!

_____________________________________________

Don't forget I am now on Facebook, you can find me here. I am also on Twitter (ooh, get me!) you can add me @alexthedarklord or visit here .

And if you want to hear a record on the shoe - maybe one you haven't heard in years, one that means something to you or just a darned good record you think would sound great, then I would love to hear from you. Submit your suggestions here.

And - last thing - make sure you download this week's Oddcast; the funniest bits from the week all mixed together in one bite-seized chunk. Click here.

FLASH BANG WALLOP WHAT A PICTURE!

2011-08-16T17:37:00.000-07:00

Serious stuff like riots and looting have been taking up a lot of our thoughts in recent days and the fallout from this ghastly business has had decision makers and politicos queuing up to out-tough one another with their solutions.

Whatever your thoughts, there does seem a fair amount of showboating going on…

"String ‘em up"

"Birch them, then string ‘em up"

“Spell in the army. Birch them then string ‘em up!

“Spell in the army. Birch them. String ‘em up and then give ‘em life, that means life!”

It’s a tough love version of Happy Families. Or, in this case, unhappy broken homes.

I for one won't enter into this debate as I would not really know where to start. If I was a Dictator I am sure the power would corrupt me totally within seconds so that, although my liberal conscience would be telling me that criminals need understanding, my other side would be executing people for whistling and tapping their pencil in the office and sentencing people to life imprisonment without parole for bad Karaoke.

Before some of our cities were put to the torch I travelled to Salisbury for another "Nerd Night". As I have mentioned in previous blogs, this is where people from the Radio Industry gather together to eat and drink too much and talk about jingles and the like.

These occasions are good fun (despite me knowing little - or nothing - about jingles). I don't know one end of a "doughnut" from a "dry sweeper". For me these occasions are all about one thing and one thing only.

Companionship?

Networking?

Getting away from "the wife"?

Nope. Beer!

Having now been going to the gym regularly for about 4 months, the bod is coming on quite nicely and the Dark Lady has noted how firm I have become. (Steady!!)

The only downside is that the totally ripped physique is still hiding under a layer of blubber so in order to find it there needs to be a certain amount of propping and prodding; now I know how Vets feel!

Whilst the rioting and looting was at its peak, DL and I were in London's Regents Park where there is an outdoor theatre; never having been to this venue before it seemed like a good wheeze to check it out, particularly as there was a run of Crazy for You just starting which was a show within a show with all the music being by George Gershwin. The premise being a bloke goes to the wild west and puts on a show. Frankly, any performance that has tap dancing and a drunken mirror scene as inspired by the Marx Brothers in Duck Soup is a winner with me.

Luckily most of the bad stuff was going on some distance away but we were still aware of Police activity during the quiet bits.

Woman stage front singing:

"There's a somebody I'm longing to see"

In Background: Ner ner ner ner ner ner ner ner!

"I hope that he..."

"Alright, sonny, you're nicked"

"…Turns out to be…"

"You'll never take me alive Coppa!"

"….Someone to watch over meeeeee"

OK, slight exaggeration but you get my drift.

However, the civil unrest didn't spoil our entertainment and we duly exited the theatre through the side entrance, as the park had shut for the night by the time the show finished.

We then walked round in a circle for about 20 minutes trying to find the DL's car. When I have been to a show during the week I am very aware that there is very little bedtime so it is always a desperate rush to get back to the flat for a few Z's before I am up and into the studio for another morning’s buffoonery.

The DL could easily be a top class rally driver, for once we were in the car and lashed in, it took only several seconds before we pulled up outside my place. A quick peck and I was hurled to the pavement and she sped off in the direction of the bazoom of her family.

A great evening and a show I had not seen for about 20 years.

Later in the week came another show I hadn't seen in 41 years….

THE BOYS!!

When I was about 14, I had squired the wonderfully named Rosemary Pickup to Birmingham Town Hall to see Status Quo. Think it was for their "Pile Driver" tour. As I recall they were spectacularly loud. The place was a sea of denim and hair and we had a great time and my ears whistled afterwards.

This time round the lads were doing a special gig for us at Radio 2. They have lost none of their power but have had a few more hits since then. Surprisingly they didn't do "Rockin' all over the World". Still that is always the law of concerts. You go see an artist you like and they don't do the one song that is your favourite.

The place was a sea of denim and balding pates. We had a great time and my ears whistled afterwards. Hurried back to the DL's car. Seconds later a quick peck and I was hurled to the pavement as she sped off to the bazoom of her family.

Still this is better than the original Quo gig. We got the bus home to my Mum and Dad's house and I don't think I even got a peck! I was so nervous that I probably would have fainted if I had!

Weekend and it was off to Hastings to do a few Weddingy things. The nuptials are but 4 months away and we have been hard at work organising things. Well, the Dark Lady has, and I have been mainly agreeing; not because I am not interested, it is just that it is more a girl thing and she is good with colours and stuff. I think I am doing OK for when we turned up at the venue to check certain things like seating plans and flowers. The woman who runs the place said I was one of the few grooms she had ever seen before the big day.

I am still sorting out the bloke stuff such as what I am going to wear. I have said it would be a suit of lights like a Matador but I think that idea is now taking a back seat to maybe a Teddy Boys drape jacket or a Frock coat. Passing a swanky tailors in London the other day I wandered in and asked how much it would cost to make me a jacket. The bloke - regarding me as if I was something particularly odoriferous that he had just scraped from his shoe – sneered, "Oh, about a thousand pounds for the cheaper material".

Sorry, it is the big day for two mortals. Not the Beckhams!

Meanwhile back in Hastings having sorted out the venue and not my clothes, a mild diversion was in order. Ever since I was a kid I have loved this town and one of the pleasures of it in the summer was to go on the boating lake. There were several dotted around town including one in Alexandra Park. Not seen any boats on there in many a long year sadly but the one on the sea front is still going. As a child it had paraffin-engined wooden motor-boats and the lake was vast. Parts of it have been filled in over the years so now it is far smaller and motor boats have been replaced by rather forlorn-looking Swan-shaped Pedalos.

We queued until ours (Number 16, incidentally!) arrived. I clambered in only to be asked to swap sides by the "wrangler". In the old days these guys had tattoos, a DA and chewed gum and smoked all at the same time. These were the rough boys my Mother warned my sister about. In 2011 the tattoos are still there but the head is shaved. Smoking is outlawed and so that only leaves the gum.

Apparently the Wrangler was taking exception to my fine muscular frame as the Swan was leaning drunkenly and alarmingly to one side....my side, whereas the DL's side was completely out of the water. This was - I assume - very similar to the last minutes of the Titanic (although the story would have carried far less weight had it been a tale of two lovers aboard a pedalo that hit a small chunk of ice on a boating lake in East Sussex!)

I swapped sides and the Swan floated evenly. Off we pedalled for our 15 minutes. It soon became apparent why my side was leaning: the poor old thing was so abused and battered that it was half-full of water! This was not aided by yet more arriving in the foot well on the Dark Lady's side through gaps in the mechanism. Luckily I had only stumped up for a quarter of an hour. Any longer and we would have had to walk back. As it was I think the creature bottomed a few times. The lake is only 18 inches deep so I don't think we would have been in any danger.

Then it was off to visit my God Parents, Auntie Stephanie and Uncle Norman. They are great fun and love to see our holiday snaps. Not seen them for a couple of months so they were keen to see how we got on in San Francisco on our trip in June. Plugged the computer into their big TV and away we went…all the while with one big nagging doubt.

"Had I erased THOSE pictures?"

If you read the holiday blog you will know that we visited Las Vegas and due to a combination of circumstances and happy accidents we were upgraded twice so in the end we had a suite; it included full laundry facilities, a Super King-sized bed, a living room with a marble-topped 6 seater dining table, an L-shaped leather corner suite, a fully-fitted kitchen, five TV's including an overhead projector, and a two-person Jacuzzi. Unable to resist, I took various pics of the room and the DL in the big bath covered by strategic bubbles! The only think I forgot was that if the bath is surrounded on all sides by mirrored walls it is better that the photographer is wearing more than a camera! It may look sweet if the photographer is 5. If he is 55, the pictures and their rather revealing reflections should not be shown to anyone. Especially an elderly couple who have know you since you were an egg.

Don't forget I am now on Facebook, you can find me here. I am also on Twitter (ooh, get me!) you can add me @alexthedarklord or visit here .

And if you want to hear a record on the shoe - maybe one you haven't heard in years, one that means something to you or just a darned good record you think would sound great, then I would love to hear from you. Submit your suggestions here.

And - last thing - make sure you download this week's Oddcast; the funniest bits from the week all mixed together in one bite-seized chunk. Click here.

I'M IN CHARGE

2011-08-04T15:51:00.000-07:00

I mentioned in the previous blog that I would tell you about Producer Dr. Strangelove's new "executive" status.

Due to the unique way the BBC is funded and various regulations and agreements made with Governments and politicians (Incidentally I have no say in any Corporation machinations or decisions and so a lot of it I struggle to understand. I doubt most senior BBC executives would know who I was if I spontaneously combusted in front of them!), for a while now various programmes have been put out to "tender", be they TV or radio. After more beer and sandwiches in smoke-filled rooms, the faceless executive decided that more were needed. So the Best Time of the Day was one of those selected to be farmed out.

What would this mean? Who would it be? Would I be wined and dined by potential suitors? Would we like one another? Would the try and change things?

It felt a bit like I would imagine an arranged marriage could be. I have a suspicion I was the Bride. This worried me. Would I like him? Would he be fat and sweaty? Would he try and do unspeakable things to a pure and unsullied creature such as I?

What would happen to Dr Strangelove?

Despite my constant ribbing of the physical ruin that is Strangeo we have worked happily together for over a year now and he is pretty good at his job when he remembers what day it is. He has a slight problem grasping date and day so Christmas day in his house this year will be on Sunday 26th December. He will counter that I occasionally play the same record twice. (In my defence, I happen to like Big Mountain "Baby I love your way" so thought it deserved an airing 8 minutes after I first played it! Ahem).

So there was the added worry of us being separated like two naughty schoolkids. Would he disappear off into the bowels of the BBC and be last heard producing Good Morning Mansfield on a local station or Burkha or Burnoose on the World Service? Worse still, Hot Hit 20 with Binky on 101 The Bun or Lukewarm FM in Lampeter.

What would that do to the creative powerhouse that is the Best Time of the Day show? The programme that has brought you such highlights as Tri-Team Football, Strategic Fainting and the enchanted land of Nocturnia. I feel very proud as I type these words that so much nonsense has been broadcast over the last 20 years. Liberally sprinkled with fart gags. To think I started out as a temporary filing clerk at the DHSS. My "career" may not have been a runaway success but I have been very fortunate and still am to be doing this.

I wonder what it would have been like to have had a stellar time of it:

"Listeners’ fury at Sachsgate. Brand and Lester sacked"

"’I've had enough’ rages Jordan as she splits from Alex for the fifth time"

"Animal rights fury as Lester attends Grammy's wearing meat trousers"

On balance, I think I prefer what I have.

So we were left to stew as the show was put out to tender.

A phone call from the Controller and the deed was done.

So for the last month we have been produced by a company called "Wise Buddah". They do a lot of shows for 2 including Johnny Walker and Terry Wogan so I am in the best company.

Their master stroke was in hiring Strangelove as my producer. So he works for them and I work for the BBC. It seems a pretty good system. It also seems we get a better deal as there are other bits and pieces they can do for the show that the BBC can't and also they have promoted the Dr to "executive" status.

He not only works on the show but he has other "responsibilities" which he is rather vague about. I am watching his behaviour like a hawk in case this change in status goes to his head.

Over the years I have suffered at the hands of people who developed a power complex.

Once at a station we got a new Programme Director who in the space of a few weeks managed to totally demoralise what was, up to then, a happy ship. Stomping around and issuing orders. Whereas the previous incumbent would gently prod and cajole and - realising that there was little money to be had - praise people and in return got total loyalty and commitment. This guy ended one meeting with the words. "You either do as I say or you can leave". So I did along with a lot of others.

Shortly after, Karma lovers, the station was bought and he was sacked. The Managing Director - a fairly benign creature - was similarly tainted, he also tried to get in on the act by decreeing that everyone had to wear suits to work as anything else would send out the wrong message to advertisers. There are certain jobs where suits are not appropriate and 80's DJ's didn't wear them. I turned up wearing a boiler suit and the matter was quietly dropped.

So would I detect any change in Strangelove?

As a boy broadcaster just starting out one of my jobs was to look after guests for an all-speech current affairs breakfast show. The presenter - a very posh man in a threadbare suit - would turn up each morning at 6am with his briefcase and upon lighting the first of several hundred cigarettes wheeze.

"Special tea boy". So round to the tea machine I would go. Then to the newsroom, open his case (which was totally empty apart from a bottle of VAT 69), empty some of the tea and replace with Scotch.

I soon learned I could control him. One morning the teas were so "special" he started to drool whilst reading the introduction to a big interview with a local MP who, upon exiting the studio, asked: "Someone had a party in there?"

Strangelove gets tea. However, it is Green Tea as we could never trust the milk and green tea has supposedly health-giving properties and he realises his job depends to a great extent on keeping this DJ alive.

There are a legion of stories about Broadcasters being crocked by food poisoning. One guy was so queasy that he had to keep vomiting into the waste bin during the records whilst another misjudged the state of his bowels and had to do the rest of his show wearing a bin liner (Hopefully there were no guests that morning!) Whiskey and cigarettes would have been a welcome stench compared to the niff emanating from that studio!

So far he has been pretty much the same as usual. Although he is not able to spend as much time in bed as he used to as he has "responsibilities".

So he now spends a similar time in the gym pretending to work on his legs but in actual fact he is doing his "guns" as usual. They are coming on so much that a couple of the female producers, as well as a couple of the men, admired them in the Playlist meeting the other week, I am reliably informed.

However he no longer has the luxury of seemingly endless amounts of sleep as he has to go and do various "meetings" and do "presentations". He is probably a "mentor" too. This is a role that has changed significantly since I started back in the 1970's. From my rather hazy memory, "mentoring" usually meant middle-aged grubby men would hope to try and get the knickers off young interns.

I also recall as a young intern retaining full control of my underwear as no one appeared interested in a badly-dressed spotty student who lived at home with his Mum and Dad.

I will watch him like a hawk. Tin-pot despot characteristics include:

Trying to appear taller.

Affecting a military bearing.

Shouting for no reason.

Terrible rages over nothing.

Refusal to listen.

Inability to discuss anything.

No clear idea about anything.

Assertions such as "We always do it like this"

Sudden introduction of ludicrous rules and regulations.

"From now on I want you to add the word "Crustacean" to every link"

e.g "Online on digital and 88-91fm Crustacean this is Radio Two from the BBC"

Changes in dress to military uniform with masses of self-awarded medals.

Being surrounded by nubile interns who are "guards".

References to himself now always in third person:-

"Strangelove doesn't like this. You forgot Crustacean YOU BLOODY IDIOT!!!

So far he has exhibited none of the above traits. Although I know he has been online a lot looking at the Boloxnia site. (You may remember a few years back we invented an imaginary eastern European country which was landlocked yet had a huge navy, ruled with an iron fist by President for life, General Blokoff, who decreed that every year would be 1957 as he was a huge Bogart fan and that was the year Humphrey died. He may be getting a few tips…)

Keep listening to the show with the sharpest of ears in case you notice anything untoward creeping in such as "sense". Dictators have to be resisted.

"Crustacean"!

Don't forget I am now on Facebook, you can find me here. I am also on Twitter (ooh, get me!) you can add me @alexthedarklord or visit here .

And - last thing - make sure you download this week's Oddcast; the funniest bits from the week all mixed together in one bite-seized chunk. Click here.

RELIGHT MY FIRE

2011-07-23T14:35:00.000-07:00

Dark Lady had a birthday the other week. So the brains were wracked as to what would be a suitable gift for someone so young and discerning. With presents I have always found the easiest way to work our what is best and what would be most welcome as a gift is to listen to their conversation; many unconscious tips can found in everyday discussions (this is as opposed to dropping clonking great hints in the vain hope that these will bear fruit come Birthday or Christmas).

Maybe this is why my whispered "Lamborghini Lamborghini Lamborghini" or "aeroplane aeroplane aeroplane" have so far proved fruitless. I say so far because, although my birthday came and went with this fabulous laptop (on which I am writing this blog), Christmas is but a few short months away (as you will discover in a couple of weeks when the fake snow appears in the Arndale Centre, as the Elves start to build the grotto ready for Santa to inhabit from the end of August until early March next year) so maybe there will be something parked in the street with a ribbon round it which pertains to something I have muttered into the DL's sleeping ear.

So...what to get her. Whilst I was puzzling and thinking back to all those conversations we have had over the last few weeks (they usually began, as I recall, with her asking me something like: "Another drink, dear?" or "Another helping?" or even...actually, I am not going there in a public blog.)

The children beat me to it with the best gift of all. Tickets. DL loves music of all kinds and has broader taste than me. So she had muttered something about wanting to see Take That on their current arena tour and - for some reason - I must have overlooked that. I think she may have broached the topic and I had doubtless - in my usual charmless way - retorted, "What do you want to see some aging boy-band for?"

As her birthday happened to be on a Saturday, the night of the gig, it was family and friends BBQ time. Lovely people turned up in the back garden, including ex-husband - and the children's father - Barry.

People often ask if we "get on". The answer very simply is, "yes," and I like him very much. He is also a man of many talents notwithstanding his ability with a BBQ.

At my place I have a BBQ. However, it is a cheaters' device as it is a gas powered one. The one at the DL's house is good, solid, old-fashioned charcoal. This separates the men from the boys.

I have tried over the years and have always ended up with under-done sausages with over-done chicken. Although occasionally I have managed to create under-done chicken with over-done sausages. If everything is going well though, I can cook up a feast of sausages, chicken, burgers and shrimp. All either over or under-done. Just stipulate which and it's coming up!

Barry has no such problems. On goes the charcoal; a fire-lighter or two later and the food is being shovelled onto plates and shovelled into mouths.

"Does this not make you feel less of a man?" people ask, the ex-husband taking surely your rightful place as man of the house at the BBQ?

In a word: No. I would far rather watch people doing the work and eat the results than stand around in a comedy apron sweating whilst all around people talked among themselves and enjoyed the fruits of my labours.

I imagine the job of the lone BBQ-ist is akin to that of the cocktail pianist: You give your all for your arts and everyone talks all the way through and ignores you.

Wonder what the serial killer rate is among background musicians.

"CARNAGE AT THE SAVOY AS PIANIST GOES BERSERK WHEN NO ONE APPLAUDS HIS RENDITION OF 'BEGIN THE BEGUINE'"!

Burger-ed to the brim, it was time to cadge a lift off Barry down to Wembley Stadium. I had to remember to be on my best behaviour and not act like a sullen adolescent. For in truth - and the Dark Lady knew only too well - I am not a big Take Thatfan. I had to be positive, happy and smiling, although without that faintly creepy edge you get when you are stopped in the street by beaming religious zealots in dark suits asking if you are "happy".

Producer Dr Strangelove said he was going, although we thought the chances of meeting up with him in a stadium that seats 90,000 or so was going to be a bit of a tall order. He suggested we went there and back on the London Underground. However, as we are in North London and had a free lift it seemed more sensible to us to get a lift there and order a cab in advance to collect us at the end.

Many of the DL's mates had been and said that most of the action took place by the walkway between the main stage and the island stage way out in the arena. So we elected to see if we could worm our way to the front as DL and I are not the tallest; I have mentioned in previous blogs how annoying it is at standing room-only venues to see anything with a lummox or two plonked in front of you blocking all available light and view.

We did a little worming but frankly it was obvious that this was a hiding to nothing and, whilst I said nothing and beamed so as not to spoil anything, DL noticed my bottom lip trembling so we grabbed some seats near the side of the main stage.

In fact we had a great view and what shortcomings there were were made up for by the huge screens.

We also had free tap water courtesy of the security. Result!

Pet Shop Boys were the support act and did a greatest hits set complete with dancers/backing singers dressed like hybrid Lego/Humans. They were spectacularly camp and given Strangeo's love of all things of this nature, I sent him a text asking him if he was enjoying the show and where was he...

HE WAS ONLY IN THE VIP ENCLOSURE!

Interval time and all that free water had gone straight through me so I headed off to the khazi. Everywhere I went the Gents had been turned over to the Ladies and long queues stretched around the block. Eventually I found ours. In I went and discovered one other bloke in there. Then it struck me: we were dealing with a boy band here. So 99% of the audience were women and of the remaining 1%, well, there may have been the odd bit of uncertainty, hence the tone of the applause. I wondered why it sounded like high-pitched shrieking! Bit like a kids' party where Boko the Clown has just accidentally bitten the head off one of the doves he had hidden in his huge comedy trousers.

On came the band and the screaming started in earnest. "This could be a long evening," I thought as I beamed at the happy DL's radiant face, hoping that I wasn't spoiling it for her with some half-understood passive aggressive body language.

Two tunes in and I was hooked. They were great. I am still not a fan of their music but the show was spectacular. The lads came on without Robbie at first, did a few tunes, then on came Robbie Williams. I am told he suffers from stage fright and this means he adopts a rather bizarre persona which involves a lot of hectoring and totally unnecessary swearing. He came over as a bit of berk, frankly.

Then they were all on and the shrieking reached an even greater pitch. They did all the hits and for the doubters, such as myself, they were totally professional and well-drilled, each number was choreographed with spectacular effects: explosions, great sheets of flame, fake snow effects and an enormous robot which stood up and moved into the centre of the arena. Reminded us a bit of the robot Gort from The Day the Earth Stood Still.

Friend of mine recently saw Kylie Minogue and also commented on the high quality of the effects. Cynics can argue that this takes away from the perhaps poor quality of the music, but frankly we went to see a show and that is what we got. Certain things demand certain procedures. Explosions flames, dancers and a 100ft robot certainly worked for Take That.

An evening of Lute classics with Julian Bream would probably not benefit from having the maestro lifted up and spun round on a gantry at the Festival Hall..

It was an exhilarating evening and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Dark Lady could sense I was too as we filed out of the stadium in search of our cab. We found it and then sat in traffic for 2 hours taking us the five miles home.

Dr Strangelove said he had no difficulty getting back to his place after, although it was considerably further than we had to travel.

He has been strangely silent about how he managed it. Putting two and two together as he was in the VIP section he probably travelled back with the band or by helicopter.

This may have something to do with his new status as an "executive" which I will touch on in my next blog.

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And - last thing - make sure you download this week's Oddcast; the funniest bits from the week all mixed together in one bite-seized chunk. Click here.