NO SOCKS 'TIL AUTUMN

With spring here and being only two weeks before the start of American Adventure 3, I am now beginning to get that slight feeling of rising panic when I look at my "lifetime at a glance" diary; I realise that, instead of there being nothing in there but a funeral at some point (mine, and hopefully a long time in the future!), there was usually nowt else in there. Now it is full of lists of things to do and people to talk to.

Things are beginning to spin slightly out of control. I booked the plane tickets months ago, as well as the first nights accommodation in Seattle. Also the car: "Mustang or similar".The insurance. The house sitters.

All is in hand.

Then there is the technology. The computer. The camera. The recording equipment. The special padlock for your suitcase. Passport. Driving licence. Insurance. Sandals.

SANDALS!!!!???

I have not seen the sandals since last year. They have been hiding at the bottom of the wardrobe. Now the weather has improved and it is getting warmer I find that it is far easier and more desirable to wake up at 1am, walk into my clothes, brush the teeth and not have to do any unpleasant bending and wrestling with laces before heading in for the show.

When I put them away they seemed OK. I think there is a sort of moth that enjoys feasting on footwear at large in my rented flat. They didn't seem quite so pristine as when I last saw them.

Still I decided to give them a run out.


They seemed OK for the first few miles and were behaving as they should.

It was only when I finished the programme the other morning and stood to leave the studio I felt them falter.....


They had thrown a sole. Ah well. I could live with this although they did make a different sort of noise when walking on hard surfaces. The normally tuned "sladapping" had been joined by a "skrirking" sound.

This may not sound much to you. However, to my finely tuned athletes body this spelt danger. Imagine Rebecca Adlington having to borrow someone’s cossie at the Olympics because she had left hers on the bus.

Chris Hoy finding that when they lined up at the start in the Velodrome he was the only one with a Raleigh Grifter?

Could I make it to the next pit stop before the whole thing came apart?

Then other things started to fall apart. My computer decided that its memory was full, despite taking it to a shop where they added more memory which made no difference.

"I'll plug it in and away you go" said the smiling man, screwing the back on and relieving me of £35"

He plugged it in and it went nowhere.

Another shop suggested an external hard drive.

"Just plug it in and away you go", said the smiling man in the shop as he relieved me of £99, and at the same time tried to sell me some self-dimming lightbulbs.

I plugged it in and it went nowhere.

I had bought a microphone as a back-up, as I intend to upload some bits of sound from the trip if anything takes my fancy: the odd gunfight, Super Volcano going off at Yellowstone, being eaten by bears, that sort of thing.

"Just plug it in and away you go" said the smiling man as he relieved me of £4.99.

I plugged it in and it went nowhere.

Then I went to the phone shop as you had tipped me off that if I was Tweeting, which I intend to do as well as blogging and uploading sound via "Audioboo", that if I wasn't careful I could end up with massive bill when I returned home. I needed to figure out how to switch the internet access off as I only tweet via text.

"You just press this, select that, press this, select that, scroll down, that access, this press that upload that download that press that select this access that reconfigure those then that this this that that that that that…and away you go", said the smiling woman in the shop as she handed my handset back to me.

I am getting a bad feeling about this.

It would be a good thing to try and tweet pictures to you as well. I am hesitating as to finding that out as I am suffering middle-aged-man-technology overload.

The camera I bought for the first trip in 2007 needs new rechargable batteries as the old ones no longer hold a charge. Also, unless I back-up all the pictures on the laptop to the hard drive (see how complicated this is getting?), my memory card is full.

"Just charge ‘em up put ‘em in away you go", said the smiling man in the shop as he relieved me of £3.97

"What about a new memory card?"

"Oh, they don't make those any longer", he said smiling even more broadly at the prospect of relieving me of even more cash for a new camera.

Like a Sunday newspaper reporter who has been covering a story on "Vice" and discovered there is a brothel being run in a suburban hardware store.

(Lets face it if you need, erm, "equipment", it’s probably as good a place as any. Not that I have any experience of such matters, you understand).

I made my excuses and left.

Meanwhile, back at the bottom of my legs, things were not going well either.


I have my work cut out to get all this sorted in a fortnight.


Meanwhile the stress dreams continue:

Picture the scene: Seattle airport immigration.

“Hey Arnie, guy here says he is doing a month long road trip.”

“We've checked him out. He hasn't got a drivers license with him. He has a lot of suspect electrical equipment on him and he is wearing weird shoes....”



Before I sign off, I noted a comment on last week’s blog that, having posted pics of nice stuff like fish and chips and my home town Hastings, having mentioned flowers, why were there were no images of them?


There!

SPRING IS HERE

This is one of my favourite times of the year.

If you live in a seaside town, as I do, it is doubly exciting as the place comes alive at Easter.
Spring, tourism and - above all - commerce are in the air.

After the winter spent looking at empty flower beds on the seafront, the council workforce have planted all the flowers so the promenade is a riot of colour.

Down in Hastings old Town the rides and the shops (selling all those things that burn a hole in every child’s pocket) re-open after being boarded up for the winter.

Who could resist a Native American dream catcher? A bit of coloured drift wood? Some ornamental pebbles worn smooth by the sea? Sticks of rock, fudge made somewhere else but with a picture of Hastings stuck on the box lid and inflatables of every size shape colour and hue? Some years ago, I read that someone had to be rescued from the briny as they had fallen asleep and floated out aboard a giant pair of inflatable lips. They were rescued by a man on a banana!

Much excitement this year as the East Hill lift was due to re-open after being shut for at least a year for repairs. This is a funicular that gives breathtaking views of the beach and the town as far as St Leonard’s. It had crashed and so it was decided that it would be completely refurbished and the “coaches” replaced with ones of the original design. This took me straight back to my childhood when we used to visit my Grandparents who lived there and we often were taken as a treat. Not been on it for years so it was a delight and, what is more, the council had removed the annoying commentary that would blare out of a tinny speaker the moment it started moving, so the majesty of the view was disrupted.

I always enjoy showing visitors my town and so it was great fun to bring “K” with a view to bringing her children at a future date. Now, the hard thing is to try and put yourself in the mindset of an 11 year-old boy and a 14 year-old girl.


Well, to start with we headed for the West Hill lift which, although it is not as impressive as its East Hill counterpart, is nevertheless fun as it travels through a long tunnel and you get a longer ride for your money.

On reaching the top, there is a broad expanse of grass which is ideal for kite flying. My Granddad had an ex-Met office weather box kite which we would fly to great effect, he having to hold onto me to stop myself flying away over the cliff tops.

A short walk to the castle where, as a small boy, I made the guided tourists howl with mirth when my lolly fell from its stick. Quick as a flash I picked it up and guzzled it. I was a firm believer in the five second rule even then. Less than five seconds and no germs will attach.
Then…a result. There are some sandstone caves with ornate carvings and an air of mystery and menace. Not visited for 15 years or more and as a kid these were known as “St Clements Caves” and, again, had a guide and the only souvenir was a tin badge. Now it has become “The Smugglers Experience” There is a lot interactive stuff as well as historical context and exhibits from the 17th century. Smuggling was rife in these here parts and only ended when import duty was reduced and so made the margins so low it wasn’t worth bothering any longer.

As you may be aware for the last few weeks I have been trying to re-jig my image, so I have created an alter ego: “Johnny Havoc”. You are having none of it, frankly, but still I persevere.
It was whilst I was in the caves I remembered that my Uncle Barrie (my Mother’s brother, who is the keeper of the family archive on that side of the family) had managed to trace the family back to the 17th Century and I am delighted to inform you that one of our ancestors was a smuggler and was executed for murdering a customs officer.

It’s in the genes so don’t mess with J Havoc Esq. me hearties!

Lunchtime and if you are by the seaside you have to have fish and chips.
The Sun was out but there was no room outside so we had to eat indoors at one of the many cafes. Just as well really as these places are a magnet for seagulls. They are big and quite aggressive particularly during the breeding season. As we watched, one swooped down just as a couple left and grabbed what remained of their cod and flew off with it.

When I lived in this part of town I remember one night climbing out on to my “roof terrace” (my kitchen roof) and nearly lost an eye to a furious breeding pair who had nested there.

Then we had a trip on the train. This is a narrow gauge railway that runs for a few hundred yards past the amusement park with its go carts and boating pool.

As a child, this was a world of delight with the locomotives being real steam and the pool having paraffin-driven wooden boats with big rope fenders. Now it is diesel and pedals. Economics has reduced its appeal for myself, I am afraid. I can still remember my Dad taking my sister and me to the fair and producing two last sixpences from his pocket for one last go on the Helter-skelter. Do such rides exist any longer? The years have not been kind to the amusements in my book.

Gone are the dodgems with the tattooed youth with the quiff who chatted up the girls as he hung on to the conductor pole. Candy floss now looks horribly unhealthy and the games in the arcades seem to only have one prize this year; the Meerkats from those insurance ads.

However, will it appeal to two children with their whole lives before them?

Obviously, the11 year-old lad is going to enjoy go-karts, novelty rock, the train and the east and West Hill lifts.

It is going to be tougher to keep a 14 year-old girl amused if there are no bad boys to make them giggle.

Now if they only made novelty rock in the shape of the bass player from the Kings of Leon…….

"Oi!"

Momentarily, the weather improved so much so I had my shades on. I was sauntering across the park using my best "Sashay". "You can tell by the way I use my walk I'm a woman's man no time to talk". A couple were coming in the opposite direction, when they drew level the bloke said, "Alex Lester?"

What is the correct response to this?

This rarely happens. It happened once in West Bromwich after I had been on Waterworld, and more recently as a result of the Radio 2 team failing miserably on Eggheads. However, it is not exactly the sort of level that Brangelina attract.

I am used to wandering about anonymously which frankly is the best way to be. Not sure I could cope with people yelling abuse at me in the street. Or having to worry that your fly was undone or you were "rearranging yourself" when a passing photographer took your picture and you were all over the papers the next day.

The addiction to it may then take hold and you end up being totally shameless like Lady Gaga, Lily Allen and Peaches Geldof. Also, there was that bloke that used to be big in Corrie in the 80's, who was a hog for press attention who went off to the US and don't think was ever heard of again.

Although I think I did read he ended up a doorman at Stringfellows. Imagine that for a comedown? Having to throw people out of a place where you were the one that was used to being thrown out of, if you catch my drift.

What is the correct response to "Alex Lester?"

1) Are you sure it is me?

2) Guilty as charged (No, too Frasier Crane)

3) Must be someone who looks like me.

4) He is far better/worse looking than me

5) No I am David Cameron/Gordon Brown/Nick Clegg in disguise. Being "Mr Ordinary, I understand the man in the street, er, man")

6) F&*(^%&*!. (No too Amy Winehouse. Or judging by my dress sense too cider-fuelled tramp).

7) Do you want my autograph? (No, remember we are anti-celeb; we give our autographs to famous people to wipe the self-satisfied smirks from their overstuffed faces).

8) It’s a lie. I was home all evening! (Hmm, hasty may make you look guilty of something.)

9) I never touched her I swear. (Even worse than the above)

10) Yes.

Opting for the latter, I discovered I was being addressed by Tony Stokes who was with his wife, Caroline, and they were down from Albrighton in Shropshire. They had come to London to celebrate Tony's 53rd birthday and were going to see the musical, Jersey Boys, as Tony was a big fan of Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons.

We had a nice chat. Since the programme time change, Tony has been getting up earlier to hear the show. Now, that shows dedication. Anecdotal evidence tells me he is not alone in this. The pluses, such as they are, include being out of the main rush hour and getting more done when it is quiet! All very life-improving.

I was on my way across the park to meet my mate, Libido Boy, who I have not seen since the turn of the year as we have both been busy. He had managed to drag himself away from the "libido" thing and also his band. He is a keyboard player and has been rehearsing a lot over the last few months. Now the band are doing their first tentative gigs.

As he is slimmer than me I did offer him my leather "Blubberwatch" target trousers. It looks that barring liposuction they are never going to grace my wobbly thighs again, especially as American Adventure 3 starts in a month, and we know what that does to my waistline.

He politely turned them down.

We (L. K. and I) were off to the BBC to see Paul Rogers with the surviving members of Bad Company. He was going to do a greatest hits show of his Free, Bad Company and The Firm work.

What would he be like? I saw Free a couple of times as a teenager and also Bad Company on their first tour.


It can be tricky seeing an artist after a gap of nearly forty years. Would they be past their prime? Would they be unrecognisable? Would the songs sounds horribly old fashioned either instrumentally or would they be lyrically creaky.

Some 70's and 80's stuff no longer works for me due to the over-abundance of rather unsophisticated synthesisers. Just been listening to some early 70's Hawkwind sessions that they did for Radio 1's In Concert. All a bit studiedly, "far out and cosmic" for my tastes these days. That and the tracks are far too long to play on the show.

I remember rootling through a record shop a year or so back and finding an album by metal band, Samson. No chance whatsoever of "I wish I was the saddle on a schoolgirl’s bike" being played on the radio these days.

I do remember when as a schoolboy I played a track from a band called Stackwaddy. This predated punk and its attitude by several years. The album was called, Bugger Off, as I recall. Wonder if we would be allowed to mention that these days on the radio.


No worries with Paul Rogers who, despite turning 60, is in incredible shape and looks pretty much as he did when I saw him as a 14 year old. He was in fine voice and the band were note perfect.

K, despite being a few years younger than myself, really enjoyed them, and L Boy and I were transported back to a time when he had more hair and I had a 28 inch waist.

You can judge for yourself on Easter Saturday night when the show is being broadcast. There is also the red button after via the Radio 2 website so you can watch the gig as well.

It is now a month before American Adventure 3 starts, so I am drawing up lists of things to do to ensure that I can blog, tweet and you can also hear what is going on as I attempt to drive from Seattle to the Florida Keys then back up to New York in four weeks.

I'VE BEEN A BAD, BAD BOY

Thought it would be a good idea to change my image slightly on the programme last week so, with that in mind, it was decided I should take Friday off.

My new alter ego is “Johnny Havoc”, although due a slight mishearing, “K..........” (she is still a little shy) thought I said “Hammock”. Things got worse when I mentioned this on the programme which made my bad boy persona even testier.

For the record it is “Havoc”! It is not “Hammock”, “Haddock”, “Ad-hoc”, “E-wok”, “Craddock”, nor is it “Dimmock”.

Being a rough, tough sort of “no-nonsense, don't mess with me, I say and do what I want, I am a maverick and a rebel, no-one tells Johnny Havoc what to do” type of guy, some weeks ago I emailed the management to ask if it was alright if I didn't show one Friday and didn't upset anyone too much.

So this “demand” was met and Richard Allinson kindly took over for the Friday. The plan was to rush off the moment the shoe finished on Thursday morning and high tail it to France with "K.........." for a romantic weekend a deux. (see, practically fluent!)

With the car parked outside the studio we were ready to run, leaving producer Ss, aka Dr. Strangelove, to tidy up the bad boy mess I had left: one waxed tea cup and four bits of paper (I had already tidied the CD's and my headphones away). "K........." and I legged it downstairs.

Last time we had headed for the Channel Tunnel we had arrived too late for the 6.50 train and had to wait half an hour for the next one. This time I had booked us on the 7.20 and, sure enough, we arrived at the terminal in plenty of time.

I don't know how these machines work, but no sooner had we pulled up than a voice read out said: “Welcome Mr. Lester you are booked on the 7.20 train”.

How did it do that? If you are a conspiracy theorist you will be loving the Big Brother element that enables a machine to recognise another machine.

I think obviously it is a subtle form of government mind control. The secret police can read our thoughts through CCTV and credit card details. Quick, get on the internet and post this as fact!

We had no time for anything to eat on this occasion.

Last time, we had time for a bacon and egg sandwich at a concession stand. This time, we were ushered straight down the ramp and onto the waiting train. It was only when it set off we realised we were on the 6.50 after all.

When I was growing up, we Brits were terribly dismissive of the state of European roads. However, the…erm, chaussure is on the other pied now. The French - perhaps stung by these criticisms – will now build a bypass round a parked car if it eases the passage through the countryside. There is less traffic, though, and more land to drive across so that probably helps.

This free flowing progress does come at a price, however, as many of the auto-routes are toll roads. Our 250 mile journey to Normandy probably cost us around £20 in fees. I left the paying to “K.........” as she was on that side of the car.

Before you accuse me of being a total cheapskate, I was the one who paid for the petrol. We are a democratic couple. So she allows me to tell you.


Thursday night, having been up since 1am and having driven over 300 miles we were pretty wiped out so it was a roaring fire a glass of wine half of Little Miss Sunshine on DVD, accompanied by a box of cheesy snacks and a Raclette.

If you have not tried this, it is fun and not quite as dangerous as a fondue. You cook your own meat and veg on a searing hot stone, whilst cheese is melting in little dishes underneath; I once did a holiday programme from a Club 18-30 trip to Austria (I was younger then and just in the target age range). Thirty marauding drunks yelling and having a fondue. That is the most danger I have ever been in, I think.: boiling hot oil, idiots and lager. Not a good combination.

Weather a bit dull on the Friday, but we decided to head towards Mont St Michel. However, not to visit the mount itself. Twice bitten twice shy.


First visited when I was about 12 and it was packed. Had another go in 1994 and it was even packeder!

It was like leaving a football match. You went with the crowd and your feet didn't touch the ground. Think it has deep historical significance but it is difficult to see above the throng, although you do notice the odd burger bar or Gaufrette stand as you are carried past in the crush.

Friday night: fish, wine, fire and half of Pink Cadillac on DVD.


When I was 19, I drove with two friends (yes, I was the gooseberry) to Spain and back in my Fiat 500. At one stage, we drove down the straight at Le Mans as used for the 24-hour race.

This time we headed for the old town. I never even realised it had one. Pretty impressive, although I kept wondering if they had missed a trick with the 24 hour race; I think they do motorcycles as well but why not other stuff?

After all, there are always charity races going on with people dressed as waiters and chickens. Why not run them over 24 hours and use the circuit? This would mean an increase in tourism. It is an iconic venue and also the roads everywhere else would not repeatedly have to be closed, meaning we could go about our daily business without being held up by straggling penguins or Daleks.


24 Heures du Zimmer

24 Heures du Tricycle

24 Heures du Pogo Stick

24 Heures du Hopping

See? The possibilities are endless


Saturday night: fire, wine, steak, and half of Anchorman on DVD.

Sunday it was a leisurely drive up through Falaise to Caen and ferry back to Blighty.

This is a good way of getting as much time away as possible, although it is a more expensive trip.

The journey takes 6 hours, so we arrived in Portsmouth at 9.30pm.

Through customs with the usual slightly guilty and haunted look that I reserve for authority figures, although they didn't stop us. I was comprehensively searched by the French some years ago who were taking the car apart until they found a bag of dirty washing and immediately stopped and waved me on my way.

Terrorists take note: we in the West are frightened of underpants!

Made it back to the rented flat in London for 23.30 so had about an hour in bed before the bad boy show started again: Grrrrrr, this is Johnny Havoc saying, “stay bad”.

I'VE BEEN ALL AROUND THE WORLD. BABY, I JUST GOT BACK

“So, you are having another Nerd Night and Charlie Jordan is going to be there.....is she still as tall?”

Thus quoth Mark Plant, who is Janice Longs' producer.

Short (sorry, cue Drums of Pun) of her suffering a terrible accident, Charlie is in fact a head taller than me. Also, she is younger so has not started the long inexorable slide back towards Tiny Town that people do after a certain age.

That is a thought to embrace; the height loss. Perhaps pensioners should affect short trousers and a water pistol to make themselves feel like it was the first time round.

Nerd Night, as I have blogged several times before, is a terrifying meeting of Geeks that occurs within our industry every couple of months; a selection of DJs, producers, journalists and others in the Radio and TV industry get together to try and out-bore one another over food and drink.

It is becoming one of those events in the calendar that could soon be up there with the Boat Race and Royal Ascot. “We see Mrs. Shilling in the Royal Enclosure wearing another ridiculous hat....yes, it appears to be in the shape of a 45rpm disc.....I think its Juicy Lucy's version of "Who do you love" that reached no.14 in the charts in 1970. On the Vertigo label no lesszzzzzzzzzz”.

Normally, what happens is that loads of people say “yes, I’ll be there”, then realise how awful it is going to be so back out at the last minute, leaving the rump of Ubergeeks: “The Magnificent Seven”.

However, on this occasion we had an amazing turnout. About 20 people showed up which was excellent and a lot of fun to see the new faces.

The hapless city chosen was Birmingham. Having been born and brought up in the area and been at college in the city, as well as broadcasting The Best Time of the Day Show from there for 13 years, I am familiar with it and how it has changed during my lifetime.

It is now a hopping town which has suffered from comparisons with Manchester, Liverpool, Newcastle and Bristol and other major British cities in the past. It is unpretentious and has never been favoured by "style" nor "music" journalists, despite having an atmosphere all of its own.

Booked into a small room in a quite big hotel.


Then after a couple of drinks in the bar we headed off to Broad Street to a restaurant that Charlie - who knows food - had chosen. Around the World in 80 Dishes is an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Those four words, "all you can eat" are, of course, a challenge so I resolved to see how far around the world I could eat. Before bursting. That would be a cheap and effective way for impecunious students to spend a gap year. Instead of piling on the carbon emissions flying off to Peru for "good works" they could just sit at home with a recipe book and pretend.

Now, without being picky, I noticed a glaring omission in the premise, “Around the World in 80 Dishes”. Admittedly, they never say the diner will travel the world sampling cuisine from every country. I think Phileas Fogg may have been a mite disappointed with the “map of meals”.

The food was very good but I didn't count many nations.

There were burgers and hot dogs. USA.

Pizza and Lasagne. Italy.

Curry. Indian and Thai.

Wraps. Mexico

A good selection of dishes from China

There were chips but they were labelled "French Fries" so that tagged them onto the North American continent.

Had they had three trays one labelled "Fries", one "Frites", and another "Chips", they could have ticked three or more countries. I say "or more" as you could include Belgium and their French-speaking colonies. Likewise Anglophone parts of the world.

Their website never makes the claim that it is representative of many countries, just that there is a large number of food items on its menu.

I suppose that good taste precludes them from putting certain things on offer. Plus, some would be rather difficult to source, I suppose.

"Got any Missionary?" 'Yup, you want South American rain forest cannibal style or Comedy 1970's Central African?" “Just past the shrunken heads next to the North Korean barbecued rats.” “Sorry, we are all out of Japanese Puffer fish but I think we've got some Monkey brains left.”

Rather tellingly I didn't notice any good old British plain fare.

"Sorry mate, Pot Noodles are off."

I stuffed in as much as I could, visiting each country in turn so went from burger to lasagne to curry to wraps, including on the way some very hot and very red chilli shrimps. The sauce made a good dye as well. So my fingers looked like I had just voted in a third world election.

We headed off for a canal side pub called the Tap and Spile. Friday night in Birmingham city centre gets pretty crowded but we did manage to get a couple of hours in the pub before the nightclubs shut, as this particular boozer closed at 4am apparently, but the last two are probably bedlam. Security is tight which means that the boozer was policed by door-staff in high viz jackets who seemingly, no matter where I stood, moved me out of the way as I was blocking a fire exit.

It may have been the fact that I had shovelled so much food down me that I was suffering from an outbreak of "Gulliver". Went and stood outside on the canal towpath for a while to get some air, although I was surrounded by smokers.

It brought back a host of bitterwseet memories of my youth, and also when I lived for ten years on my canal boat "The Blue Pig", I was offered a residential mooring just by this pub in Gas Street basin. Thank goodness I never took British Waterways up on their offer choosing to live at Hockley Port a couple of miles away as the noise would have meant I would never had got a wink of sleep.

With that in mind we grabbed three cabs back to the quite big hotel.

The turnout had been pretty impressive, I reckon more than 20 dweebs made it which was terrific and good to meet a lot of new people. So far it had been a cracking evening without any overt Nerdiness. However, once the remaining ten of us made it back to the hotel the restlessness was beginning to show. It’s like a disease with these people.

When we had the previous outing to Brighton, the hotel bar stayed open all night, which was fantastic. We were promised that this place would do "lounge service".

What they actually meant was they had some bottles of beer and some soft drinks that they would go and get for us if we really insisted.

I pointed out that one of the conditions of us booking in the first place was that we would be able to have a drink when we returned.

My Paddington Bear "hard stare" as usual made little difference. So we managed a bottle of overpriced beer each and, bizarrely, some biscuits.


Little did the night porter realise that he was faced with ten mild mannered polite people who were stuffed to the gills with food from other countries. We were fully loaded.

A little tickle of the uvula and they would never have got that place clean!

Revenge came in the form of fellow radio nerd, Simon Hirst, an all around top man and terrible nerd.

He whipped out his mobile phone and suddenly we were in the middle of a chart related pop quiz.

Matthew Rudd, a freelance DJ, is the man you need if you are ever doing a pub quiz. I think he got every question right. He also knows and writes about football and TV, so he would be good with the sports and showbiz rounds too.

John Foster, from BBC Tees, after a shaky beginning statred to get a lot of the answers until we realised he had the same "app" on his phone too. So he was cheating.

Needless to say bringing up the rear was.....me!

3 o'clock arrived and I repaired to my small room and for the rest of the weekend the song "Just One More Night" by Yellowdog roared around my brain. That song being my one correct answer.

Still, I gather that Hirsty had "A Little Peace" by Nicole going round his. So there is justice.

That’ll learn him. However, I doubt it will.

Next one is slated for June in Liverpool. I bet there is a Beatles-related quiz.

THE TWEETS

Friday evening I went to meet some lovely Jewish friends for Friday Dinner. This involved prayers and me wearing a yarmulke, the skullcap which Orthodox Jewish men wear to cover their heads.

A superb time was had. Although I had to have the custom of not mixing meat and dairy explained to me. I love Jewish humour and my Dad's favourite joke is the one which ends with the punchline: "He had a hat!!”

This is far cry from the time back in the early 1980's when I went to a Synagogue for an "Open day". Judging by the rather frosty reception I received I don't think they meant for it to be open to me. Also, I was disappointed because the "Automatic Rabbi" machine was out of order so I never found out what it did or what it sounded like.

Went back to "K..........."'s and tried to watch What’s up, Tiger Lily? but fell asleep halfway through. We are good at that.

Hastings on Saturday. Met friends in the pub, then back home for pie and Best in Show DVD. Managed half that before we fell asleep.


Sunday morning, Mr Tibbs the carpenter arrived with a mate of his to install more CD shelves in the spare bedroom for Lester’s Library. They should keep things in order providing I can get round to filing them all; they may even outlast the format. Back to London and a spectacular traffic jam. I tried to navigate us out of trouble but just succeeded in taking us on a tortuous route right to the very back of the queue.

"K.............." was very patient. Think I am going to get a road atlas for Christmas. Back at the rental flat we started to watch Harold and Maude. Fell asleep halfway through.

Monday dawned and with it the Radio 2 "Get Connected" campaign. This is designed to make us all interactive. I still prefer to pay utility bills by cheque so I have a way to go.

It did mean the start of my new Twitter account. You are helping with it. Although I am finding there seem to be a selection of bits of "Netiquette" which seem rather baffling and a bit pointless.

We are slowly building followers and I think I will find it useful for the show as there will be another way to interact with us. Although I don't know that I am that interesting to want to tell you what I am up to most of the time when I am not on the air.

Tweet: In the lavvy.

Tweet: Now having breakfast

Tweet: Going shopping

What do you reckon? Let me know what I am supposed to do with it. Not leading a glittery showbiz lifestyle. Things can get a tad mundane.

I could always lie:

Tweet: In Groucho Club having champagne with Brangelina

Tweet: My private jet is taking me to LA to take drugs with the some other A-listers

Tweet: Just playfully pulled one of Cheryl Cole’s hair extensions off. She punched me.


The Blog keeps you pretty much up to date with that stuff.

So with your help we can make Twitter a useful and hopefully interesting addition. You can add me @alexthedarklord.

Monday it was down to the BBC for a showcase. John Butler Trio from Australia did a short set for us. I have played them on the programme before so it was good to see them live.

It must have been a little odd for them as Platinum-selling artists in their homeland, to play in front of 35 people. 25 of which were scarfing up the free food. I always like to arrive early to get the food in before the turn starts so I can give them my best attention. They were excellent....burp!


Rest of the week has been a bit of a blur of not very much. Been doing a lot of typing and listening to music.

Although I really needed to get out to buy essential things for the kitchen. It is only since "K.............." has come on the scene that I realise how Spartan my weekday existence is:

In the flat, I have neither bottle opener nor corkscrew. I had to get the guy in the off-licence to open the wine for me the other evening and wandered like a wild eyed derelict back home waving it.

I have one sharp knife unfortunately it is not sharp. So will cut nothing.

I have a pan but no utensils other than forks in order to cook with.

I have two tumblers but not wine glasses

I have four mugs one of which is cracked so it leaks.

My Name is Alex Lester. I am 53 and a student.

WOMAN IS THE GLORY OF A MAN

Bit of a quiet week all in all. So was a bit taken aback when I received a phone call after the programme from “.............”.

Although she is now slightly less shy and so has allowed me to reveal that her name is in fact, “K............”.

Just got back to the rental flat when she called and said, “I have one word to say to you”. My mind raced. Was it going to be “love”? “sex”, “wedding”, “hat”, “food”
“sex" (look, I am a bloke we think like this. Sorry!)

“Featureless”

“?”

“You said on the radio this morning that yesterday had been "featureless". Have you forgotten something?”

“?????”

“Who did you see yesterday?”

“I went for lunch with my friend, Janine, and we had onion soup.”

“I know this”

“How?”

“You told me when I came round to the flat!”

“Ulp..whimper!”

“So you forgot about me coming to see you?”

“Whimper...Ulp!”

“You are a very naughty boy. How could you forget? Hmm, this may require a severe talking to”.

“Whimper Ulp. Ulp Whimper”


Gentle reader, we are not heading in a Max Moseley direction here.

“I was protecting you as you are shy and so I thought you would not want everyone to know what we were doing”

“Watching Anvil on DVD!"

“What I mean is, compared to going to see a gig or going on a holiday, it was a fairly featureless day. I was lucky to grab you for a few minutes on your way home as you had to pack your kitchen up before it was ripped out by the fitters, who are going to install a new one starting this weekend. As much as I loved seeing you compared with a weekend in a hot air balloon or swimming with dolphins it was a pretty ordinary day”.

“Hmmmmm”

Oh no, were we heading for our first argument? Would this end with tearful recrimination. Crockery thrown. Phones being slammed down?


Then she started to laugh and laugh and laugh. This woman may be fabulous but I think she has a big teasing streak.

I have had a week of teasing, although it is nice to know that the Best Time of the Day Show punches above its weight in terms of the world at large.

We may be tucked away at 2 in the morning, but we know that we are listened to by a lot of other DJ's. Many sitting note pads at the ready to write down the ideas and use them on their own shows.

So Ss aka Dr Strangelove, my producer, tipped me off that we had turned up on the Scott Mills show on Radio One in his Oh!Whats Occurring? feature.


From what I gather, he and a woman sidekick get some baffled youth on the programme (it’s Radio One, remember) and ask them a question about someone else and how many times they will say something.

So, the baffled youth was faced with the BTOTD show and the fact that it now has the term “shoe” as part of its lexicon, due to the self-satisfied nature of many radio programmes where the DJ delights in reading out messages of undying love from the audience to whit “love the show”.

Due to you, and your finely tuned pomposity antenna, you will have no truck with any of that, hence you decided the way to burst that particular bubble was to take the mickey by referring to it as “shoe”.

So, Scott Mills, his giggly woman sidekick (I think there is a factory that manufactures these people) and baffled youth on phone listened to a tightly edited selection of links from the programme. All of which contained the word “shoe” or similar. The baffled youth guessed 27 but was out by 12, the answer being 39.

Giggly woman and Scott seemed to think that I was a madman.


As we know there are still a few non-believers out there.

They just don't understand. They will, given time. Keep spreading the word.

Remember: “No one else. Nowhere else!”

Hmmm, I feel this blog needs another picture. I have nothing else to give.

I know, it's been awhile...enjoy!