I say Jeeves, who is that at the door?

I get some strange visitors to this website, troubled chaps who seem to feel that the world is at odds with them. For them I provide some tips that I was given a while ago and they have served me well.

1) Get a decent pair of brogues, then another.

2) Waistcoats should be sausage-skin tight.

3) If in doubt, wear a button-hole flower.

If you were wondering what sort of chaps pop in, here is a list of the recent searches that have caused fellows to amble across this website. I had to remove a couple because they were naughty, and I've not included duplicates - 'I'm not gay' was a very popular search.

gay swimwear
gay trousers
welsh guards
everyone thinks im gay
im not gay
gay when im drink
gay jungle
bene gesserit
i'm not gay i've never been gay
naughty bee
Gordon Ramsey Gay
green is a gay colour
herbert johnson helmet pith
I'm 16 and gay
lilac shirt guys gay
Drinking from the horn
I'm not much of a man by day
people think i'm gay but I'm not
massive drinking horn
"gordon ramsey" gay
how do i know if I'm gay
everyone thinks im gay but im not
strip billiards
gay pizza
gordon ramsey gay
im not gay .........
everybody thinks i'm gay
i know i'm not gay!
i don't know if i'm gay or not
codpiece biker gay
domintrixes

Crimble

I love Christmas, it is well skill. Giving people stuff, wearing silly hats, drinking special wine, what isn't there to like?

Last year I went drinking out with a friend in Soho while wearing a Christmas hat, and I swapped it for some coconuts. That is a Christmas miracle. It's also the only month of the year when it is acceptable to have a tree full of squirrels, birds and lights in your front room.

This year I wonder how many days will pass before I get sick of mince pies, I'm going to bet about 4. It's not a problem, there is always festive ginger bread and a plethora of chocolate based snacks to mark this special month.

T.P.'s parents don't go in for Christmas in a big way, so this year is going to be a bit of a shock for her. Christmas is a big thing at Chez Louche, and none of that religious poppy-cock either, I'm talking about eating too much, playing silly games and watching James Bond films through an alcoholic fug.

It's not all bad

The date for the memorial has been set, and I'm going to make a speech. I've not decided what it is going to be in it yet, but it is going to be funny. My dad was hilarious and it's going to mention motorbikes.

It is also going have no mention of that woman, perhaps only vague comments of a 'poor choices in later life'.

Anyway because I was thinking about that I had some dreams about my dad. I always do when it comes up as a subject. In the dream when he knew the end was close, there was no woman to stop me from visiting and I rushed to see him. We spent 24 hours doing a crash course in motorcycle maintenance and other fartherly advice and then at the end he said he had to go.

The last thing I saw of him was he was riding off across a field. That was a nice final weekend, I wish it could have been like that.

The chicken experiment

I'm not dead! The chicken experiment sort of worked. It did roast the chicken sort of, it wasn't perfect but it has potential. I should probably stop watching that Heston chap cook, one or two more episodes and I'll be wearing a lab coat to make porridge.

In other news I was just informed that that woman who my father married had a very notable maiden name, Himmler.

The great chicken experiment

Tonight I will be joining the ranks of the great experimental scientists. I have a chicken which I was going to roast but instead I have decided to sort of steam-boil it. I've done this because I made the mistake of mentioning a chicken brick to a friend and thus spend the rest of the day drooling over the thought of delicious roasted chicken.

I'd love a chicken brick, and I could get one, but I just can't be bothered to get on the tube to go and visit habitat to get one. So using tinfoil, some water and a tray I have tried to copy the main features of a chicken brick, that is roasting a chicken in an enclosed space while keeping it moist.

Who knows how it will end up? Will it work? Will it be nice? All will be answered later when I eat it. That is unless I die of tinfoil poisoning.

I bring you a gift from the gods, cake

There are some things in life that are important because they are the corner stones of civilisation. Speech is pretty critical as it lets you say to other people

'what-ho, lets work together and build a spiffing palisade to jolly well protect us from the other tribes and woolly mammoths'.

I mean, even though bridge specifically forbids talking to team mates it would be a nightmare to get a decent group together for a bash if you could only gesture.

Let us not forget fire, it cooks meat, warms the body, toast crumpets, changes metals so you can make them into spears and coat hangers and makes ovens work. Prometheus was punished for bringing fire to the people by having his liver eaten out every day by eagles. While this punishment was interestingly inventive it does seem a bit harsh.

Anyway, none of that compares to the momentous occasion that happened this weekend. This weekend, I taught T.P. to make cakes. Oh yes, the world will never be quite the same again now that she can make her own Cinnamon cakes.

At first I was fearful of giving her this powerful secret but after at least seconds of careful thought I realised although it can be a dangerous power she is mature enough to make her own decisions, and cakes.

We won't speak of the first batch of cakes, although the may appear as villians at some later date. Terrorising the local population with their malformed shapes and weird texture.

The second cakes were amazing, marvellous, splendid, spiffing, top banana and more. They were so good in fact that 'a mouse' ate some of mine when I saved them to have with coffee in the morning.

What a pesky mouse, although it does have very good taste.

Your future in cars

Many years ago, when I was going to lots of job interviews I developed an automotive fortune telling system to tell if the interview was going to go well.

I was trying to get a job in an industry I had no real qualifications for so I ended up going to a lot of interviews while I learned exactly what one has to say to get a job. My system was simple, if I saw an Audi TT on the way to the interview it would go well. At the time Audi TTs were extremely rare so spotting one was an unusual thing and they soon became clear indicators of good fortune.

It was brilliant, and would provide something to do while walking from one place to another while rehearsing stock answers to vapid questions in my head. I remember when I went to an interview for a place I really wanted to work at I spotted that one of the people there (my future boss) had an Audi TT. So from that point I knew the interview was going to go well. It did, I got the job.

After that I didn't have much need of the system, I moved to London where Audi TTs are all over the place so they can't really be used as an indicator of good luck. So I thought I would try a different car, so I decided on Aston Martins. If I see a DB9 on the way to work it will be a good day. This had to be modified because there are few parked up on the way to work so now if I see more than 3 Aston Martins on the way to work I know I'm going to have a good day.

It sort of works now, not as well as the TT system but well enough. If I see that many I tend to get either a new assignment or a cheque in the post which is all good.

Today I saw 4 Aston Martins on the way into work, but the last one had just been crashed into so I'm not sure what that means. I mean apart from someone with a very expensive car is not having a good day. Poor chap, although the colour, a sort of red-bronze was a bit garish.

A ruined man

I am wreck today and it is entirely my fault. Yesterday I went out drinking with Piqued (I know him in real life) we only had a few pints but a combination of an empty stomach and not drinking for a while completely broke me. I didn't realise how drunk I was until on the way home I made a massive detour so I could buy jam. The jam is jolly nice but I'm not sure it was worth the mile and a half of extra walking to get it.

Anyway, back to the pub. Piqued was on good form and we talked about grown up stuff like feelings and things as well as the more important stuff like Motorbikes and pocket watches. A pact was made to go to the Alps on motorbikes and have another crack at the mountain that nearly killed me but with less death. This means I have to do my bike test but I'm still trying to 'pitch' learning to ride a motorbike to a newspaper so I can blag it, it hasn't work yet but I'm sure I can do it.

It was nice talking to Piqued and we made various plans for T.P. and MFWT to meet up, perhaps to talk about how they feel about being written about so extensively. Also last time I went to pub with Piqued and chums I laughed so much I pulled a muscle. A man in leather trousers fell of his chair and another friend got cheated out of some money by a small girl. You don't get that enough on a night out.

I'm starting to feel more human again this is after going for a walk, buying a pint of coffee and doing everything else that could possibly help me recover from a hangover. I don't know why it was so bad this morning, at 2am I was bolt awake with a headache and a super-human thirst. I drank as much as I good and passed two more hours looking at the clock and going to the loo every five minutes before I gave up and went into the front room to give T.P. some peace and play computer games.

After a jasmine tea and crushing an army of orcs I started to feel much better. I even managed a slice of toast with jam on. I don't want to ever drink again in my life, but I'm sure that will pass soon.

Zombies on the beach

I forgot to pay my phone bill, so I was cut off while in Devon. This combined with the complete lack of interspaz connection was a strangely welcome relief. It allowed me to concentrate of the important business of going to the beach, playing computer games with my little brother and eating as much as possible.

It was very relaxing and after a long walk on the beach where that ship (Napoli) crashed I felt much more relaxed. The ship-wreck is still there, along with a large selection of scrap which made me wonder. The price for scrap metal has gone up a lot in recent months so I was quite surprised that some enterprising person hadn't capitalised on this bountiful fortune washing up on the shore.

When we got back from our walk we were all soaked through, not because of the rain but because it seemed like a good idea to see if you can outrun waves. You can't, but it took a few goes to realise this, and by that point my jeans had turned from simple trousers into some sort of salt-water transporting device.

Thankfully we had toast and stood in front of the wood burning stove at my mothers house and steamed quietly while my little brother and I discussed what we would do in the event of a zombie attack. After a long debate over if zombies can swim we decided that being on a boat would probably be best - we would only return to land to raid for tinned food and books.

I'm back in London now, with a fully working phone and feeling much relaxed. I'm sure I can hold it together till I've finished the book, and after I've done that I'm going to take a long break and think.

Not think that much, I've got an interview on Monday which is pretty exciting especially after I googled the person I'm meeting.

Off

I'm off to Devon now, I need a weekend of R&R and Devon is perfect for that. I've had a crippling mirgrane today so I couldn't read the words on my computer earlier because my eyesight was all 'funny'. After an hour or so of being a dark room and taking pills it seemed to get better but I still feel decidedly strange.

I'm sure it call all be cured by a few days of looking at geese (which is amazingly calming and I would recommend it to anyone) and eating cake.

There are very few ills in this world that can't be cured with a lemon drizzle cake or a victora sponge.

Mourning

I've not really done any mourning yet. I'm the sort of chap that pushes things aside until I have time to deal with stuff which means in recent months I've engaged the stiff upper lip and jolly well got on with work.

This is good because I've got lots of work which as a freelancer is jolly important, work means food and waistcoats.

My cunning bury it all away plan isn't perfect though, and gaps are starting to show through the resolve, I've not had an unbroken nights sleep for a while and I am finding my temper is much shorter. It's like a race is on, I need to finish this book by the 17th of December but I don't know if I can hold everything together that long.

So I suppose it is a bit like the final attack on the Death star. I've got to stay on target just a little bit longer trying to dodge the tie fighter of grief long enough to fire the proton torpedo into the exhaust vent.

I'm hoping some sort of Han Solo type will appear with The Falcon to help me out. Perhaps I should just trust my instincts more and use the force. trans - drink my bodyweight in gin every evening.

The trouble with Tarots

T.P. has a bit of a thing for Tarot Card readings. Not as in a burning passion, even worse she gives them credence. I think this is harmless fun if you are single but very dangerous when you are already in a relationship.

My reasoning for this is simple, if you are single being told that some tall dark stranger is going to sweep you off your feet in the next six months isn't really going to cause any issues. If anything it will give tall dark haired people an added advantage when chatting you up. So no problems there.

I do however think it is dangerous when someone is in a relationship where the status quo is very good thank you very much. If some random stranger who has only met you once and didn't actually ask any questions about what your relationship was like went on and told you that your love-life was doomed you would probably tell them to go away and move to a different bus-stop.

However if this person has changed their name to Dolphin or Gypsy Futurama and they tell you this insight using a series of sub-Fisher Price flashcards that's not a stranger telling you nonsense that's mystical powers.

Either way, believing in it is dangerous.

Talking of dangerous beliefs after having spent the last few weeks reading everything I can about Roulette. I can say with some force that it is beyond a mugs game to the point that it should be a test for insanity. Anyone who reveals an inclination to play should have all their possessions stripped away and placed in some sort of trust fund while they are forced to eat mashed bananas for the rest of their life.

A poetic moment

My grandfather on my father's side was a bit of a spaz. He was born in the position of never having to work in his life but by the time he passed on he had destroyed the family fortune trying to become a poet. Millions were spent vanity publishing extremely expensive books of conceptual poetry with a word every six or seven pages.

Its one of the reasons I'm not a terribly big fan of poetry.

My Grandfather wrote a sad poem about losing his potency and being unable to make it with red-haired lover and sent it to my Dad. It was called:

'Somerton Garden'

This side the valley are
Tall grasses in sunlight
The other side shadows
Of hurrying clouds.
This day of hot bright sun
For ever and forever I'm undone
Laura asked for nourishing love
In vain I've tried to let it flow
To no response.

July 18 1990

My dad's immediate reaction to reading this was to pen:

Alas!
Ginger
Beard and piggy
Eyes
No longer stir what
Lies
Behind my
Flies.

Oh boy

TP is no-longer angry with me. So Sam Beckett succeeded. I hope the next jump is the one home for him, or failing that at least into someone fun.

I've got another party tonight, it's a 'wrap party' for a TV show, just typing it is giving me a hangover. I don't think I'll invite TP to this one, it's too high risk.

The Quantum Party Effect

There was a party last night, for a vodka being launched or re-launched or something. I managed to get an invite for T.P. so she could join me after she had been to a charity bash earlier in the evening.

I got at about nine, settled down with my friends in clear view of the bar (it's a tiny place) and set about drinking a lot of free booze. There was a selection of complimentary cocktails and after a brief chat with the PR girl she brought over a few extra bottles of vodka for us to drink and 'understand the brand direction' or something like that.

As I was waiting for TP to appear I checked my phone every fifteen minutes or so as well as constantly scanning the room. This bar was so small that from our position in the corner we could see almost everywhere so I was sure when she arrived I would quickly spot her.

There was no sign of T.P. and she didn't reply to my text messages until at 11:20ish I got an answering machine message saying 'I was here, got the t-shirt, couldn't find you, gone home' I tried to call her back but she wouldn't answer so I bimbled off home to find a very angry girlfriend.

She said she was at the bar for an hour and a half but couldn't see me even though she looked and that she had spent a load of money on drinks. This is the bit that confuses me, the bar is small (only a dash larger than our flat) so it would take an effort not to find me (or my friends who know her and were also looking out for her) and there were countless free cocktails to take everywhere. I didn't know it was even possible to buy booze on the night.

The only logical solution is that she must have stepped through some time vortex or parallel universe where I wasn't in the same bar.

What ever strange quantum effect occurred she is very angry at me and I don't know if even Sam Beckett could fix it, Ziggy isn't providing any clues.

Loving loos is easy because they are beautiful.

Today was a day of challenges and excitement. I had a v. important meeting with the editor who has been giving me all this work. It was the first time we were going to meet face to face and I spent HOURS choosing the right sort of shirt to say 'this chap is going places you should give him more work'.

It paid off and I've got loads more stuff to do HUZZAH. Actually I've got a bit more stuff than I thought I would. I was given two assignments as well so my days are choca-block and I'm worried that all my important work sitting around in my dressing gown watching day-time TV is going to have to stop.

It's good to be busy, so to mark all these new and exciting things I went and brought a new waistcoat. It's black, beautifully cut and just the right side of sausage-skin tight. I love it.

I also got around to buying my smoking hat which I always swore I would do when I got my first book deal.

It was a strangely hollow experience. For years, ever since I've moved to London, I said to myself 'when I've made it, I'm going to have a smoking hat' I've walked past the shop that sells them countless times, pressing my eager face against the window and dreaming of the day when I would be sat in an old leather arm chair with a smoking hat on.

I have the hat, it is exactly as I wish but now, some how this token of being a proper writer seems not quite right. Perhaps it will grow on me.

Or Perhaps after the sheer terror of not being able to find a loo everything else seems a bit silly. After my lunch meeting I went for a stroll and soon realised that I very much needed the loo.

'Oh' I thought while doing a light shimmy that seems to help when you need the bathroom a lot. 'Don't worry, its only a couple of stops till you are home and then you can have a good pee'

So I got on the tube, which decided to wait in between stops for an AGE. I passed the time while jumping around clutching my trousers and trying not to think of waterfalls or dripping taps.

Twenty minutes passed and I entered the quiet calm of one who has already accepted death. I spent this time wondering if I did wet myself would I walk home which would be uncomfortable or continue on the tube with the smell of shame but getting home much faster.

Paddington station came along and I decided to get out a stop early, Paddington is a train station as well as a bear and train stations definitely have public loos. I bounced all the way to the loos but discovered you had to pay 20p to go in them.

Oh no!

Realising I had but seconds before I exploded I sort of hop-walked to the cash machine. I had to get some money out, then some change, then I could at last go to the loo.

The queue for the cash machine was HUGE with a selection of confused people carefully checking the balance on a dozen of accounts before slowly packing their bags and walking on. I briefly toyed with the idea of mugging someone but while I jiggled around biting the hem of my coat to try and stave off doing something very unpleasant I bit down on some coins!

I had twenty pence! I just managed to make it to the loos before I lost bodily control. My word, it wasn't just a trip to the bathroom it was a water-themed epiphany. I've never felt so much relief.

I suppose after that much excitement a smoking hat really isn't that special.

A list of things that are banned

I thought I would provide a list of things that are banned. This isn't a nasty list as fact that these things are banned by TP is an almost endless source of amusement for me

1) Asking her what she had for lunch
I don't know why but I'm not allowed to know what she had for her midday meal. Last night she said 'can I ask you any question in the world?' I said yes and she asked one about feelings. I asked her what she had for lunch. I actually missed the answer because I was laughing so much.

2) Moving fast in bed
I had a period of bad dreams where I kicked about a bit in bed and the poor TP got the occasional glancing blow to the shins while I was asleep. Because of this all fast movement on the bed has been banned. So of course I follow this to the letter and move at a sub-snails pace when it's time to get up.

3) Eating too much fruit
Due to growing up in a tropical Paradise of Peru, TP got to eat bountiful armfuls of fresh fruit as a child. She has decided that that's enough fresh fruit for the rest of her life and so doesn't eat it anymore. She does still eat vegetables but buying fruit is a wanton extravagance.

4) A Television being close to a sofa
The television should be as far away as possible, even if as TP you are a bit short sighted so you can't actually read any of the words on the television anymore. This also means that if we play computer games together (Yes she is really into Halo 3 at the moment, how ace is that?) we have to sit on the floor.

5) Being consistent
She goes through phases, so by the time I've worked out exactly how she likes her G&T it's dead to her eyes and she will only drink wine.

6) Writing stuff like this in the blog.
After I post this I'll probably have to go into hiding. tee-hee-hee.

Couscous, the infinite food

Last night we had couscous and chicken. It was very pleasant if rather horrible looking. TP had decided that it would be more efficient to mix all the ingredients together before they even saw a plate so it ended up being a sort of savoury chicken porridge. It tasted nice but the consistency and uniform texture was slightly unnerving.

It turns out that the couscous was slightly under cooked which has resulted in it continuing to expand in our stomachs. I'm still not hungry, even though it's over 12 hours since I last ate the stuff. At this rate I may have to write a diet book about the raw couscous plan.

That is unless I die from eating raw couscous, then I can't really recommend it to people who want to eat less. I miss my appetite, it's been a good friend to me over the years.

50 first dates

My relationship with TP is a bit like 50 First Dates. If you haven't seen the film Drew Barrymore had a car accident and after that she can't form anymore long term memories so every day Adam Sandler has to charm her again with 'hilarious consequences'.

Well with TP we start every day with her liking me and by the end I have done something to disappoint her, like leave the light on in the bathroom or not vacuum with enough feeling. It's okay though because I just have to make it through the night with out her stabbing me in the eyes and the next day it's all normal again.

Drama!

This weekend was bulging with drama. Recently it's like being in a daily TV soap opera with the amount of stuff going on but the last few days have really ramped things up so a normal TV soap doesn't cover it. Now it's like being in a trashy telenova with woodern sets and outrageous plots.

I would explain some of the stuff going on but you just wouldn't believe me.