WALK 82 MILES IN MY SHOES

Holi holi holi holiday taaaahm! Was looking forward to it immensely then just before it started things began to go a little pear-shaped….

The plan was for a romantic tryst in an isolated farmhouse in rural Normandy. However at the eleventh hour there was a slight change of plan: She received a better offer, and wisely took it!

So things changed. A week of romantic meals for one. Skipping hand in pocket through fields of rolling corn. lying on the grass outside at midnight looking at the stars as my ear was nibbled by ants. ( Noel Coward figure: "STOP THIS WALLOWING NOW. PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER YOU PATHETIC WRETCH…..SLAAAP! Cowardly Richard Attenborough figure "Thank you sir. Sorry sir" )

So it was down to the supermarket for nice food and drink and cheap DVD's as I joined the single blokes shuffling through the ten items or fewer "file d'attente triste de perdant". (my online translation site gives this to be "sad loser queue").

Weather was variable so I watched TV in the evenings and walked between the raindrops during the day. The countryside is fab around this part of France and I realised that I was covering quite a lot of ground. 12 Miles the first day. 15 the second and 13 the third. Upshot of this though ,apart from the slightly smug feeling, was the slightly less pleasant sensation of spectacular blisters. The first walk wiped out the sandals. The second two did for a pair of plimsolls. What on earth prompted me to take this ludicrous course of action I do not know. Without the correct footwear we as humans are nothing.

Imagine great moments in history with inadequate equipment. Tenzing and Hillary don't make it to the summit of Everest because one of them forgot to pack his Crocs. Bannister fails to beat the four minute mile barrier as one of his flip flops comes off as the bell goes for the final lap. Or even "That's one small step for man…a giant leap for Man..olo Blahnik!"

Amid all the walking, eating and "Shrek 2", "Last Action Hero", a Clint Eastwood boxed set and "Windbag the Sailor" (I am up to DVD 4 of my Will Hay 9 disc retrospective, film fans), a little light relief when the Rudds blew into town. They were on their way to Zeebrugge to get the ferry back to Hull where they live, and are excellent company. Also slightly eccentric which is a definite plus. They decided to drop in to lift my mood. Matthew is a roving radio DJ and his wife Helen is in finance. That is what they tell me although I think they have a secret life:

We fired up the barbecue and the cows in the field opposite peered over the fence to find out what we were cooking….your mates to be frank, guys. "Time for a picture I think" I said grabbing the trusty camera phone. "We don't do pics. Our wedding photos were the only ones we have allowed to be taken." Hmmm, either they have a deal with HELLO or OK. Failing that they are spies. That is my take on it.

We sat up talking and drinking wine except Matthew who sat up talking and drinking beer. "I never drink wine" he proclaimed. Although as we struck sofa camp at about 3am he was last seen draining a third of a bottle of warm Rose!

Next morning I was up with the lark and into the village to collect some warm croissants before they headed off to the ferry port in Belgium. Probably stopping to take some secret photographs of military installations along the way.

Last day and feeling considerably cheered, minor crisis two occurred:

For some unaccountable reason I have to be able to see what the time is. It may be having been around clocks for this job for the last 30 years. So I wedged the buckle of my watch in the crack of a beam as I lay in the bath. Suddenly due to a shift in gravitational force it fell into the sink - a distance of about 4 feet. No damage or so I thought. Next morning I woke up and discovered I had slept for nearly 14 hours. Hang on, no I hadn't. Three of the "batons" on the watch face had snapped off and were snagging the second hand causing the movement to jam. I had to shake them free and reset. This kept happening all the way back to the UK until I could take it to be repaired and try and find my reserve timepiece.

Slight disappointment three happened at the beginning of week two. I was due to help my mate Steve Wilkes the micro light instructor with a charity function he was attending. This would have involved the two of us flying from Halfpenny Green aerodrome near Wolverhampton to Wales so that he could take sick children on joyrides. Much to everyone's chagrin the weather wasn't good enough so we weren't able to go. So disappointed children and no free flight for me!

Home to Hastings and more walking was called for. This time however I was going to go "prepared" I went into a camping shop to buy some special walking trousers and blister- proof socks. These seemed to be constructed of woollen outers and a cotton liner which moved independently. So trousers..check. Socks…check…ludicrously inappropriate footwear??? Not this time buddy. I dug into the back of the wardrobe and brought out my walking boots. Last worn when I was 17! The only item of clothing that still fits me..and I still possess for that matter.

What about the time? I need to know the time! I have discovered I walk at a steady three miles per hour. So needed to keep tabs on my progress. Find schoolboy refugee watch in drawer…check. 39 years old and last worn 22 years back before I bought the current timepiece which is at the watch garage waiting for the estimate. I was ready to rumble.

First day I decided to walk from Hastings along the coast to Eastbourne and catch the train back. By the time I reached Sovereign Harbour I was in agony. My feet although not blistered were aching and felt as if they were on fire. So I trudged into the shopping centre and bought some gel insoles to reduce the jarring of heavy person in big boot on road. Having sat on a rock in the car park (not exactly a noted beauty spot!) to eat a sandwich, I decided that I was too knackered to continue the remaining mile or two into Eastbourne so decided to turn back.

With a gentle breeze behind me and the sea to my right, off I set. Potential Scout troops and Military organisations never ever let me anywhere near the front of one of your "yomps". What made me embark on this course of action was bafflingly short on logic.

Can't imagine Ranulph Fiennes clomping all the way to within a mile of the North pole where a helicopter awaited to take him home and then deciding to turn round and walk all the way back because it seemed "more sensible". Pevensey Bay, Normans Bay, Cooden Beach, Bexhill, Bulverhythe, on and on I trekked. Steam issuing through the lace holes of my trusty brahn boots.





By the time I winced into St Leonards on Sea nearly four hours later I was not only footsore but my thighs were red raw. A 22 mile round trip in total. Following on from this, I decided a couple of gentle days were called for so 2 pootling ten milers:

The first through Alexandra Park and the back streets of Hastings and St Leonards which was great as it was less arduous and gave me a chance to reconnect with "my town". Looking up above the shop fronts to see the architecture and reading information signs telling me about the area’s history.

Then it was a stroll through the country park heading east, sweating like a bull in the heat as I toiled up hill and down glen puffing and panting as fellow hikers looked oddly at this purple faced man with the odd squeaking noise (it was the chafing….a word that describes a whole world of pain) who also smelled strange.

I had noticed this myself and was unable to put my finger on it. I was "musty".

It was only when I got into bed that night that I realised what was causing it: 36 year old leather boots and a 39 year old leather watchstrap. So if we extrapolate this further, if I live to be 100 I can only assume that I too will smell as musty. A man with old leathery skin looking a little like a wrinkled suitcase that has spent more than half its life in a wardrobe.

I am glad to be back. It is far less strenuous!

RAIN AFTER THE SUNSHINE...don't you mean 'sunshine after the rain?'

Got back from seeing my Dad in the Midlands on a blistering hot Sunday afternoon so decided to walk from London's Marylebone Station to Shepherds Bush to see Jimmy Buffet. Only found out about the gig by accident and have always wanted to see him. He rarely tours the UK and so far as I could see this was his only date. Getting a bit footsore by the time the theatre hove into view and revealed an amazing sight: A huge queue of people dressed in Hawaiian shirts. Clutching inflatable parrots, sharks and beach balls. Women wore hula skirts and there were a lot of straw hats in evidence as well.
Met up with Al Booth who is Bob Harris' producer and in we went. No support act and on came Jimmy. Bare foot T shirt and Bermuda shorts. I think he had run out of shoes as he did throw flip flops into the audience from time to time. Over the years I have seen musicians throw drum sticks, plectra, roses in the case of Al Green. Rod Stewart kicks footballs into the audience. I have seen countless Panto Dames throwing sweets into the audience. However footwear was a first.
The place was rammed and it was wild from beginning to end. It was a wonderfully mixed crowd all ages and walks of life. Sitting next to us were two Rastafarians who like nearly everyone in there knew all the words. Jimmy spent the whole time smiling he must have been well pleased with his reception. I have been to concerts where the act has received a rapturous reception however I have never seen this level of fan worship. It wasn't a gig it was a big party. It was really uplifting. When I told Tim Smith about it he was apoplectic that he had missed it. He is a huge admirer of the man. So much so I think he counts himself as a "Parrot head" as he fans describe themselves. More on Tim later.

Tuesday another day and another concert. Normally I try not to go to see things on consecutive nights However sometimes there is no choice if you want to see artists who rarely appear on these shores.
Ry Cooder was a case in point. I saw him back in the mid 70's when I was a student he was appearing at Birmingham Town Hall. Guitarist friend of mine was an uber fan and arranged front row tickets. The man was a revelation playing virtuoso and understated guitar. I remember when he finished a gentle solo during "Dark end of the street". There was only a smattering of polite applause. The loudest noise came from the front row where I was sat. It was a collective sigh. I then recognised craning to see his fingers every guitarist from all the local bands in the area.
This time Ry was appearing with Nick Lowe and they did a selection of old and new stuff of their own and from when they had collaborated in the past. Not sure how many of the audience were from local bands but glancing up to one of the boxes at the Lyceum in The Strand I espied Eric Clapton. I mentioned on the show that the gig was only about two thirds full which was a shame and someone quite rightly pointed out that the tickets were very expensive which was true. However I think their rarity value must have inflated the price to between £50 and £85. Reminding me of a point remark I made on the show about the ticket prices for Dolly Parton a few months back which as I recall were more than £100. Someone on that occasion pointed out that if you were a true fan it made little difference as you HAD to see the artist. This was the case with Ry and if he is only going to tour the UK every 30 years or so there is precious little chance of him coming back! So money well spent. Every song was a highlight through to the encores of "What's so fun about peace love and understanding" and "Little Sister".

As I have mentioned on the show and on the blog before. No American Adventure this year due to the state of the economy and the exchange rate. So no month off for me this time However I am taking a couple of weeks out from Monday and will be spending it here although I may pop over to France at some point to see friends although not decided for definite yet. Simon my producer has been wheezing and coughing all week poor chap but still soldiered on even though he was feeling and looking (sorry mate but you did look slightly peaky) awful. Also the fabulous weather we have been having has suddenly become somewhat changeable. So if the Gods don't smile upon me I could spend two weeks in bed with swine flu listening to the rain beat down on the roof. Wow I am such a catch!

I am back on the 27th so look forward to talking with you then. In the meantime Tim Smith will be keeping you entertained. He will also be popping up on the Steve Wright Show. He is going to need a holiday by the time I get back.

PAINTING THE TOWN...BEIGE

One of my best friends from school Simon, who I have mentioned on this blog before, phoned me to say that his daughter was coming over from the U.S where she now lives with her boyfriend and wondered if they could see what middle aged reprobates get up to in the world’s most exciting capital city. As luck would have it I had intended to go see a band who I have featured on the show before, and although I am still unsure about their name due to my faulty memory and it being too difficult to remember, this act are beginning to make tentative forays to these shores and were due to play a gig at the legendary 100 Club in Oxford street on the Friday.

Normally we go see a band then head off to a pub in Camden where DJ's play interesting retro tunes on their wheels of steel and the place stays open until 1.30am. Then it’s burger time and a walk back to the flat feeling that even though we are middle aged we can still cut it with the young ‘uns.

Simon, Kate and her beau turned up at my flat mid afternoon and we headed off along the canal towpath pointing out sights such as Little Venice and the blue plaque for Guy Gibson of Dambusters fame (they vaguely remembered the film). Also Arthur Lowe. (They remembered "Dads Army"). We stopped off for a pizza then caught the tube down to the Thames embankment and walked across the bridge to the Festival Hall as Travis (for this is his name) wanted to see Big Ben, as this was his first time in the UK.

He knew it was named after the bell and not the tower. He is no stereotypical American tourist and has done his research as well as having a bone-crushing handshake. I remember Kate's mother saying to me years ago that children keep you young. I still feel the opposite as more and more things turn out to be off the radar as they were either eggs at that point in time or just too young to remember. Also I couldn't help feeling that they were: "nice intelligent fun er YOUNG PEOPLE. And a credit to their parents”. Just typing those words and I have grown a long white beard and my hair has turned grey.

Then we walked up through Trafalgar Square and Piccadilly Circus, stopping in at a pub where the er "youngsters" opted for a half of Guinness each. Again Travis had done his homework and knew all about it and that it wasn't pronounced "GuyNess" as many of his compatriots did when I had travelled across his country with American Adventure One and Two. Many was the time in a bar in the Midwest when people found out I was from the UK: "Ah you mean England…that is where you have that beer….GuyNess".

Then it was off to the club for Gandalf Murphy and the Slambovian Circus of Dreams. Simon had had a peek at them on YouTube beforehand and the, er, children hadn't heard of them. They were a lot of fun and described their work as Hillbilly or Hippie Pink Floyd. They are going to be doing festivals this summer and hopefully coming over more regularly in the future. They have been booked for Celtic Connections 2010 as well as other gigs over the next two years. Go see them if you get the chance as they are a lot of fun with some unusual instrumentation.
Simon had been dubious but was won over by the performance and the um, kiddiewinks enjoyed them even though they were not sure about their image. They were engagingly scruffy, they thought.

Then it was the tube up to Camden and as the three of them were staying in Balham we asked when the last train went and were told quarter past midnight. That meant either a very swift pint as by now it was quarter to twelve, or a cab back. Into the pub we went and I asked what everyone was having. The youngsters said "Nothing, thank you". So I said to Simon: "Looks like you are on the 12.15 then". Then they were gone. I sat there nursing my pint and thinking: "Wee uns…no stamina".

Next day it was off to Hastings to meet up with my mate Clive who I have known since we were at college together and discovered a mutual interest in sitting in pubs talking rubbish to each other and we have continued pretty much in the same vein ever since. He was off to see a friend of his, Jacqui, perform in the pub. She has a big voice that filled the boozer. All the crowd pleasers and - rare for many pub turns - she had an act. She had banter and could really sell the songs. Here she is midway through "Big Spender". As Clive remarked when he saw the pic: "God, I look a lech".

TASTY TASTY...ER NOT VERY TASTY

Rather like my Xmas thank you letters that get sent off in mid February much to my long suffering Aunt's disappointment, a few days past but here is my "weekly" blog once again.

Lot been going on. It was a friend’s birthday last week and so, what to get her? I like to tailor the gift to the person. Something that is not necessarily useful although that helps. However something that shows some thought rather than the last minute supermarket chocolates, filling station flowers or an odd shaped ornament from one of the shops called "gift" shops because they are there for people who have no idea what to get anyone.

This friend is a rather good cook and when I visit always prepares fab meals for a greedy boy like me. However she has had one massive failure which being a nasty little chap I never let her forget. She eats healthily and is always making Butternut and ginger filling wholesome soups etc. Once she tried me on Celeriac. I am sorry, but that stuff is just vile. No amount of coaxing could get more than one bite past my lips.

With that in mind, I went to a very well known West End store in bustling Regent Street here in London. These shops have "greeters" who I assume like waiters in LA are all out of work actors waiting for their big break. It must be a hell of a chore having to smile like that each day. I was in a tearing hurry: "Excuse me where do I find "Mr Potato Head"? "Second floor in the pre school section". Marched up the escalator to find the music playing rather inappropriate for the under 5's. Blue Oyster Cult - Don't fear the Reaper. Snatched up a box of the aforementioned plastic parts and legged it home. Then some time was spent with my tongue protruding from the corner of my mouth as I stuck and glued new labels on the packaging. Finished! Now down the vegetable section of the supermarket. So along with a card that proclaimed "Chocolate Slut" she is now the (proud)? owner of the latest toy to sweep the nation: "Mr Celeriac Head".

People ask me from time to time: When are you going to get "promoted" to TV? As I point out they are different disciplines perhaps a little like the difference between a Vet and a Doctor. Superficially they seem the same but in reality they are radically different. There are a few who have mastered both but not that many. The traffic goes both ways on that one. So much to my surprise I was invited to take part in "Eggheads". Hmmm not really seen the show so needed to have a quick catch up on YouTube to see how it works. Ah, specialist subjects and general knowledge. This could be tricky if I get the sport round. Worse if I get the Music round. Everyone always expects DJ's to be brilliant at music questions however it is such a huge field that the questions can often go against you. "Seattle Post Grunge" anyone? Or Gregorian Chants and Medieval Church Music? I was on the Radio 2 team captained by Paul Gambaccini. Suzi Quatro Richard Allinson, Clair Teal and bringing up the rear….me. Think it is going out in December some time. I am sworn to secrecy as to the result although it was a lot of fun and took a couple of hours to record with all the shuffling of chairs and us fooling about. They work pretty hard at it, recording 5 shows per day over two 6 day weeks to get an entire series in the can. I think it went pretty well however along with my two memorable appearances on "Call my Bluff" (what do you mean you don't remember?) co presenting the Boat Show on BBC 2 one year and also being on "Water world" , the canal boat show not the post apocalyptic movie with Kevin Costner. This is still being repeated on the Discovery channel even now about 8 years after I did it. Now to sit back and wait for the Hollywood offers to roll in.







They are taking a bit of time.

'HERE COMES SUMMER'

The weather may be variable but that doesn’t' stop me from realising that summer is here. In one of my American Adventure blogs I mentioned that an obvious difference between our two ‘cultures’, is their insistence on looking for the good in things. - (Unless you are a gun toting white supremacist of course. In this case the glass is not half full or empty it is just plain empty and it is people with a different pigmentation who are obviously to blame for emptying the glass in the first place.)

We, on the other hand, jump backward through flaming hoops to wring the negativity out of events. With this in mind as we approach June 21st which is the longest day, we are ready for the onset of the gloomy thought process which begins with: "Ohh nooo the nights are drawing in, now it will soon be winter". However in the U.S their view is: "June 21st! Cool it’s now officially summer time". So as we have been saying on the show all this year, despite gloomy economic forecast and a terrible slump, MP's fiddling their expenses and don't even get me started on the BBC….! we are a beacon of light in a dark world and refuse to be downhearted no matter how odd it may appear. We are trying to see the good in everything which admittedly can be a mite tricky at times.

So as it’s now the onset of summer, I realised it was that moment where wardrobe change occurs in the Lester household and last years dodgy cheap sandals are replaced by the new seasons offering. (Trinny and Suzannah, Gok Wan et al take note; they are the same as last years. They are very cheap and I don't care what you think.)

I have taken the new shoes for a couple of trips in the park and they seem to do the job admirably however if I walk too quickly in them I can feel the onset of shin splints. Give me a few miles and they will be broken in and ready and raring until the autumn. The added advantage of this mode of footwear is there is no need to raid the sock drawer (unless you are a Vicar or Scoutmaster). So less washing and wear on the hosiery means the "Cotton Rich" can keep safely grazing in their fields before they are turned into "socks black for the use of" by a selection of sweat shop workers in the Far East.

Another advantage is that it’s less of an effort to climb into them at 01.30am. I have been getting up at this time solidly since 1992 and have been working nights in one form or another since 1986 so I think I have it down to a fine art. The concept ‘less is more’ - if you’re a night worker you may sympathise. Up and out the house with the minimum of fuss and unpleasant bending. So no laces, no buckles and no miles of buttonholes. If I was brave enough I would opt for a one-piece jump suit in say a modish and high visibility orange, along with the cheap slip on shoes. Hmmm now where have I seen that uniform before….?

One radio station I worked at years ago the Managing Director said that everyone had to dress smartly…. and in suits so as to create a good impression should prospective advertisers be shown round the building. It was very unlike another station I had worked where in my contract it stated: ‘Presenters are allowed some eccentricities of dress.’ The MD was adamant that suits it had to be. I can still see the look on his face when I arrived wearing an old brown boiler suit. I am sorry being childish and pedantic all at once, but I pointed out that he never said exactly what type of suit had to be worn. Soon afterwards that regulation was quietly dropped. Which brings me back to the BBC via my first ever report on my progress as a boy broadcaster in 1978 which stated: ‘Alex shows flashes of maturity that I hope he will develop’. 31 years later and err…. the jury is still out on that one.

Home at the weekend to a glorious sunny south coast so with the fleshpots of Hastings and St Leonards-On-Sea at my sandal clad feet there was only one or two options for a young man about town like myself: telly and the spare bedroom.


Fridays are always a bit of a wipe out due to the cumulative effect of 5 nights on the show. So the start of the weekend usually comprises a trip to the pub with the newspaper, takeaway and the TV. Trying to catch up with all the stuff I had recorded and not had time to watch during the week. I watched the third and final instalment of a weather documentary on BBC 4 this time "SNOW". Yes, back in 1991 I think it was, the railways came to a halt because of the wrong type of snow. Widely jeered at by the press and pubic alike, it was demonstrated that there are in fact many different types of snow and this particular type had short circuited the electric motors of the railway locomotives. So we now sit corrected. However, leaves on the line though we can still jeer at.

Not sure if you do this, but many is the time I wake up drooling on the settee with the TV suddenly tuned to "Sexcetera" or "Babe station". Not through choice, he added hastily. Although I am not entirely sure of the attraction of a selection of marginally attractive bottle blonde women exhorting blokes to part with their hard earned cash to get a mention on these programmes when the sound is appalling and echoey and a load of texts scroll along the bottom of the screen: "Gaz says show us yer bum". How did I get onto this. Ah yes I know. In the morning I return to the beginning of the programme I nodded off during and spool through it until I discover the bit where I don't recognise the plot any longer. It would appear I fall asleep in about 20 seconds. A recent documentary on the Blues had me nod-off within moments of a piece of archive footage of Son House.

Saturday and the sun was out so, as I have people coming to stay this weekend, I needed to tidy the house so I rushed around with a vacuum cleaner. White tiles in the bathroom show up just how much I moult! Then I realised I had to file all the CD's I had bought, been sent, and had played and not returned to the shelves. The little pile pictured above went back to March that is how lax I have been. How long did it take to file that little lot to its alphabetised place? Three long hours. I am realising also that I am running out of shelf space. By the end of the year it may be time to call Mr Tibbs the carpenter and get him in to make me a CD ‘island’ in the middle of the room. That should keep me going for another couple of years.

'MONKEY GITS'

Time to link up with Libido Boy again as I hadn’t seen him for a few days and he is always entertaining. He dropped by in between the usual round of wooing. He was wondering about hats in the sunshine thinking it would be a good idea to wear one, but he couldn't make up his mind which one would suit. Baseball caps he said made him look an idiot. Despite spending a year in the U.S where his children now live, he was never drawn to the baseball look.

Taking a straw poll of young things in the office (Lisa Smith). maybe one of those sunhat type canvas things that fishermen wear or maybe a flat cap in black or grey but not check she opined. He said he was thinking of heading in the direction of a straw boater. Noooooo! You will end up wearing a stripy blazer and white shoes looking like a chinless ninny from the 1930's: "Anyone for tennis oooh I say"! He admitted that he already possessed the shoes and the blazer! No Simon it is just plain wrong. How about a fedora or a big straw sunhat? Nope you will end up looking like an elderly cricket fan the type that stand at the bar jingling their car keys and talks about "the little woman" and asks "What's your poison?". He had a top hat when he was 15. I borrowed it for a photo that you can see on the MySpace page which was taken at the Reading Festival in about 1975. - when we were both slim enough to model the "Artful Dodger" look. Any suggestions as to what ‘Headgear He Should Adopt’ comments gratefully received.

He had arrived so we could go and catch Toots and the Maytals. (Pressure drop. Monkey Man. 54-46 that’s my number) We are both big reggae fans. Nice diverse audience at a very hot Academy in London's Islington. As a standing venue we were concerned as ever that we would not be able to see. However the stage is very high and we were leaning against the bar, so the view was pretty good. The sound was good. The beer was expensive and the atmosphere was electric. We suddenly noticed mid way through that there were two middle aged men skanking like good un's. It was us. We looked ludicrous but wearing Straw Boaters or top hats we would have look far, far worse.

Later that week I got the chance to link up with American Singer/songwriter Nell Bryden who breezed into town after a short and generally successful short tour around the UK. Although she said that one gig she did coincided with there being a hen night party in the audience. So she was forced to play as a crowd of drunken young women screeched and cackled and threw dildo's at each other and her and the band. Hmmm perhaps that is what they mean by an "intimate venue".

It was good to catch up with her as I have had a present to give her for several months now. Being a worldly wise New Yorker you would have thought she had seen and done it all even at her tender age. No he noticed that her 'Briddish' swearing was not up to par. So as all performers know there comes a time occasionally when there is the need to face down a restless crowd so she needed to be able to give as good as she got. With this in mind a friend of mine Rory McAllister from BBC Berkshire who is well connected within the world of comics, managed to get me a personalised copy of a spectacularly rude book from the lovely people that write, draw and publish VIZ. You may have seen a copy on a top shelf in your local newsagent. The people at the magazine had very kindly drawn some of their most famous characters in the flyleaf especially for her. She was very touched.



If you are of nervous disposition don't go and check it out you will be offended. I can still remember during the 80's when a friend of mine worked for "Mayfair" magazine a rather more obvious top shelf publication. One of his journalistic jobs was to compile the jokes page. My Dad told him a joke that he hadn't heard and he published it in the mag. My Father relayed this info to my Aunt and Grandmother with the words "don't go looking for a copy. It is not your sort of thing" fell alas on deaf ears. Shortly after that Granny sent a stinging rebuke to her son which contained the immortal words: "I was so disgusted that I felt like putting it at the bottom of the dustbin with quicklime on it and apologising to the bin men!”

The weather in most parts of the country has been exceptional in the past week and I have made full use of it walking too and fro across the park after the show, and when I come back into the office during the day, for as I outlined last week for some gossiping and Machiavellian scheming. I have had a chance to observe nature in all her glory. Which means squirrels magpies and acres of sizzling human flesh sprawled on the grass.

Popped home to Hastings on an early train. This is always a bonus as I can ‘scarf’ up all the newspapers that commuters leave behind on the inward journey. This meant that I had a free paper fest heading to the coast until I got to about Battle. I then promptly fell asleep. Missed my stop and ended up at the end of the line. This meant a mile walk along the seafront. It was glorious and it made me realise why I love the place so much. I toyed with the idea of having a swim. Dismissed that and then toyed with the idea of having a paddle. Nah. Went home and watched an episode of 'My Name is Earl' instead.