Tuesday, October 30, 2007


Simon Hoggart has said in a recent Grauniad column that he's managed to beat sleeplessness.

The thing to do when you wake up during the night is to keep your eyes open. If your eyes are closed, you're more likely to start worrying about all your problems and stay awake for a couple of hours (something that has happened to me at least a couple of times a week, every week, for as long as I can remember, regardless of personal circumstances).

If you keep your eyes open, though, you'll soon feel your eyelids drooping and will be off back to the land of nod and lovely dreams about having your earlobes nibbled by somebody you fancy on the telly.

Or, in Simon's case, dreaming about the long queues and admiring glances of people attending a book signing at the launch of his grate new compilation of the crazy but pompous round robin letters that readers have sent him over the years. The ideal stocking filler and only £7.99 at all good retailers, folks.

Simon reckons that the "eyes open" method has worked like a treat for him.

I've tried to follow his advice, and, inevitably, it doesn't work. I still lie there worrying about all the problems that I try to avoid thinking about during the day.

The next couple of hours are still full of panicking about my future, getting old, what I could have done with my life, what I'll be unable to do with my life, whether I'll end up homeless, whether or not the Sky Plus box is on the blink again, whether or not my troublesome cough is a deep seated and incurable lung disease, what I'll be doing at Christmas, why my fucking hair is taking so long to grow, exactly how many journeys I'll have to take to the Midlands in the next few months, family problems, whether I'll have to get a new dentist, how bad the menopause will be and when it will start, why it is I can't lead a quiet life which is all I really want, whether I drink too much, whether or not I could live in reduced circumstances, whether that stuff will ever turn up from Amazon or not, whether or not that woman who lives in the flat upstairs next door will turn REALLY weird in the head and attack me in the street, whether or not the other neighbours' attempt to install gas central heating will lead to our house being blown up, whether or not I'll get REALLY FAT when I go through the menopause, whether or not I'll get the same horrible debilitating illnesses as my parents, what that unearthly wailing noise is outside, if, whether I'll get terrible arthritis in my hands and be unable to use tweezers, so I won't be able to get rid of the horrible black bristles that occasionally sprout on my chin. Indeed, will I suddenly grow loads of disgusting facial hair when I get old ?

Except that I now go through this process while keeping my eyes open, which means they end up dry and sore.

The reason that Simon Hoggart found it so easy to fall asleep again is that, judging by the frequent reports in his column, he has been staying in the South of France. After indulging in a nice bottle of claret, he later had a six course meal at a little restaurant, washed down with huge quantities of vintage wine.

Fuck me, I'm surprised that he can actually find the energy to wake up in the first place after all that consumption.

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Thursday, October 18, 2007


Hmm, I'm pretty busy here at the moment (mostly doing unpleasant stuff) so I haven't got time at present to do any more blogging about the Norfolk holiday (which I'll hopefully spin out until Christmas).

In the meantime, you'll have to make do with one of the occasional contributions from the Bexley Xtra's gossip columnist Polly Witterings. See you later.

* * * * * * *

Hi! Polly Witterings here once more with all the news that's hot - and some that you're not supposed to know about!!!!!!!!

Congratulations to Lily Allen (23), singing cockney reggae daughter of outrageous funnyman Keith Allen (56), who has dropped from a gargantuan, repulsive, sweaty, outlandish dress size 12 (size 157 in the USA folks!) to a chubby but more socially acceptable size 8. Lily credits her weight loss to stress caused by the break up with her man, DJ Somebody Or Other (28). Well done Lily, but we here at the Xtra think you should dye your hair blonde and get plastic surgery to look like somebody more pretty - Jessica Simpson (22) (for instance!!! LOL !!!!!

Lily Allen: fat munter

A "get well soon" from the Xtra desk to swarthy Welsh pocket Hercules, Kelly Jones of Welsh rockers The Stereophonics. Welshman Kelly (34) is nursing an injured arm after getting into a fracas with a security guard who wouldn't let him get into the ladies' toilets at a top London nightclub! Come on Kelly - is there something you'd like to tell us?????!!!!! After all, Kelly is a girl's name!!!!! LOL!!!!!!

Here at the Xtra, we girlies (average age: 37) are overcome with excitement at the prospect of the Sex And The City movie! We are virtually salivating over all the leaked pictures of the ladies wearing some droolsomely stylish outfits on set!!!! We're loving Sarah Jessica Parker's long argyle socks and retro Katherine Hamnett"Frankie Goes To Hollywood" big t-shirt!!!!!!!! We're all off now to frantically scour the shops to find all the copycat clothes in homage to the ladies. Sarah (58) (dress size minus 4) is probably THE style icon of all time!!!!

Sarah Jessica Parker - style icon (necklace - £758.99, Christian Lacroix vintage, model's own).

Video internet site YouTube went into meltdown last night as millions of people went online to see the latest footage of Britney Spears setting fire to her minge!

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Monday, October 15, 2007


Arabella suggested the following to Geoff as a task we should do on our break *at a mystery location in Norfolk*:

"Please do an ATV Today - type investigative report on why there is so much blogging going on in Norfolk, to include some black and white interviews in fields where a cow is about to do something embarrassing, if you get a moment."

Well, of course, we didn't have a moment to spare, but I managed to find out why blogging is so big in Norfolk.

The first blogger ever was a Norfolk man, and there's even a museum dedicated to him in Cromer.

He was Henry Blogg, the most decorated lifeboatman in the RNLI's history, but, more importantly, of course, blogging was named after the great man.

Here are a few excerpts from Henry Blogg's Blog, "Random Musings Of A Norfolk Lifeboatman" ...

14th June, 1947

Why the fuck do women persist in wearing Crocs? Ladies, pay attention: Crocs worn with long flowery skirts don't say "I understand directional fashion", they say "I'm a clueless middle aged housewife from Middle England who enjoys baking cakes for craft fayre competitions and lives for my grandchildren because I don't have anything else that's interesting to occupy my time".

That is all.


September 4th, 1936

Who are all those fuckwits who spit chewing gum out onto the pavement? They should be strung up and have their balls torn off without an anaesthetic.

That is all.


February 28th, 1948

Jack Penate, a message to you. Fuck off with your annoying "oy corn't wayt?" What the fuck is that supposed to mean anyway? Are you trying to pass yourself off as an 18th century farmhand, or, better still, an East End cabbie? Have you actually heard a working class person talk?

David Cameron, a message to you. Fuck off, you Old Etonian slimeball. "It's time for change! It's time to say that I'll cut taxes so I can ensure I end up being made Prime Minister!" Fuck right off back to daddy's country pile you privileged cunt!

That is all.

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Wednesday, October 10, 2007


One thing I found out on re-visiting the spookily Gothic seaside resort of Cromer is that it only looks spookily Gothic when the weather is dark and dreary. We visited it on a sunny, busy weekend day and, for reasons I can't really explain, again on a dark, cold, windy and quiet weekday.

Short of anything else to do, we visited a record fair held in the parish hall. There wasn't much of interest on offer, although Geoff ended up getting Alex Chilton's ace Like Flies On Sherbert for a fiver.

At one point I had one of those "what is the point of existence?" moments. The stallholder opposite me was a corpulent bloke in his fifties, wearing a Police t-shirt. The song being played was She Blinded Me With Science by Thomas Dolby, which I probably hadn't heard for upwards of twenty years.

The synth bit that goes "eur eur euuur, eur"* in She Blinded Me With Science does enough to evoke nauseous memories of the early 1980's. Combined with the setting, it's surprising I didn't do myself in, there, on the spot.

The only saving grace was the fact that there was an entire section of vinyl dedicated to Norfolk hero The Singing Postman, of Hev Yew Gotta Loight, Boi? infamy.


The Singing Postman shouldn't, of course, be confused with Mancunian post punk type Jon The Postman ...

... who was also a real postman, but now runs a secondhand record shop, or my favourite singing postman of all (and Kate McCann lookalike), Vic Godard of Subway Sect ...

... whose Ambition is still probably one of my top five favourite singles of all time. When I ordered it from Small Wonder records from the NME back in 1846, I found it waiting outside our back door on returning from school and was THRILLED beyond belief. I then played it a dozen times in a row on our rubbish mono record player. I still can't decide if being fifteen was the best or worst time of my life.

Anyway, there you go, respect to the postmen (... and bollocks to Adam Crozier).

*you can tell at this point that you're not reading The Church Of Me, or Ooh, Missus, You're Turning The Air Blue! or whatever he's calling it this week, can't you?

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Sunday, October 07, 2007


Two weeks spent in the holiday cottage *at a mystery location in Norfolk* involved one very COLD night when we huddled up over the patio heater because they'd got those Economy Seven heaters that only work between six and nine in the morning, or summat like that.

The owners, however, did say that it might be worth starting a real coal fire, and they'd tell us how to use kindling, coal, wood, live sacrifices etc.

"It'll really heat the place up!" said Mrs Cottageowner with great enthusiasm.

Indeed it would, because we would have undoubtedly set fire to their beautiful holiday home and several picturesque acres of wooded land around it.

It was a bit disconcerting hearing things screeching and barking at midnight. I don't know if the sounds came from nocturnal animals, or resulted from local pagan rituals. I didn't like to ask.

On display above the bottom of the stairs was this young gent:

I think the effect was meant to be intimidating, in the same way as the sign which says "THIS IS ANFIELD" above the entrance of the tunnel at Liverpool FC. Except, instead of freaking out opposition teams, this one sends out the subliminal message "HERE BE BEASTS HERE IN EAST ANGULAR. FUCK OFF HOME IF YOU DON'T LIKE OUR ANCIENT COUNTRY WAYS, YOU PONCEY SOUTHERN TOWNIE, OR WE'LL SHOOT YOU".

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Thursday, October 04, 2007


I appear to be back (... but for how long??).

I may not be cooking on gas yet, but I'm cooking on chickenshit.

I thought I'd be back on Blogger and there would be no problems, after the two and a half months of problems with being denied access to my blog, the problems with Orange, the problems with BT ...

It now seems that Blogger don't allow me to add hyperlinks, change text size, use different coloured text or view anything in HTML on the Mac.

So much for progress.

Oh, I can still use the Spellcheck facility, and add photos. The latter is so complicated that I can't be arsed to work it out.

I'm sorry for the long succession of whining posts, but honestly ...

I'm not sure if I can be bothered anymore.

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