25th October: Much hype being made of the Chuckle Brother’s new “collabora- tion” with grime artist Tynchy Strider - though I think it’s Barry who’s grimey! I recall first meeting Paul and Barry back in 1985, when I worked on their first tel- evision outing - ChuckleHounds. I was struck by the clarity and vivacity of their creative vision, and remember fondly them explaining in a pub why their in- terpretation of Kierkegaard’s theory of satire required them to film the show in cumbersome dog outfits and with- out dialogue. I was very amused to see Paul pulling out some of the same dance moves which made him so popular with young women back in the day, though I seldom saw him go to bed with anyone other than the late Peter Ustinov.
22nd October: Spent the day drinking schnapps out of the bottle and watch- ing old episodes of Supermarket Sweep. I used to be so beautiful. Had a wank by myself.
14th October: I was relieved to see that Kim Jong-un has reappeared after weeks of no public appearances. It’s always con- cerning to lose track of a close friend. I’ll send him a WhatsApp this evening to check if he’s alright. It will be a shame if he drops out of our camping trip to the Cotswolds next month. Sandi Toksvig’s already cancelled, and if Kim can’t come, it’ll just be me, Evan Davis and Todd Carty in a tent. Nobody wants that.
6th October: Went to Starbucks for a tap water. They spelt my name wrong on the cup.
1st October: Resolved to take a trip to Kidderminster to visit my aunt. Alas, I missed my coach. A tramp at the bus sta- tion tried to explain game theory to me and, running away from him, I tripped over my own shoelaces. Everybody laughed. I went home and ate a whole cheesecake. Had a wank by myself.
29th September: Ran into a girl (to re- main nameless in this publication) with whom I had a brief but sordid affair in the 90s. Supermarket Sweep was very popular with students of that generation, and as such I was always getting work at Student Union gigs. After one such event in Loughborough, and a couple of drags on what I now suspect to have been a particularly potent ganja cigarillo, I followed a rather charming thing back to her room, and we banged for hours. Anal, too. Now though, her flower has wilted with age, and a scrawny child clung to her shin, bawling for attention. She offered a quickie in the public loos, but I refused. I’m way past that sort of thing these days. I just went in and had a wank by myself.