Greetings Metro readers! And congratulations for finding your way to this web page, as I am led to believe that intermanet reception isn't that hot in the lower reaches of the Bakerloo Line. And jolly well done, as Metro is a fine, fine paper. Tons better than that London Lite rubbish, for a start, and ten times better than TheLondonPaper for its absorbent qualities in the smallest room in the house.
It's the awards season once again, and it appears that I am up for Metro & Ask's Brit Blog Awards as one of their Top of the Blogs, which may, if I am lucky, result in renewed flurries of groupies beating a path to my door. In which case, once I've let the air out of Tom Reynolds' tyres I will take on any blogger in the known universe for the Best Blog crown. Fair fight, in a darkened cellar, with pickaxes.
There will, naturally, be the usual free beer, money and sex to any of you who actually goes to the Metro site to put in a good word for me*, just to be on the safe side.
And onto business:
For the uninitiated, Thursday on this site is A Special Day - 'Special', in much the same context as 'Special Bus'. On Thursdays, I give you the choice of five of my Tales of Mirth and Woe *cough* Buy the Book *cough*, and you may vote for which one you want to see. Down there, look - click the 'Spicy Brains' link. For this, you get the warm feeling that you have contributed in some small way to Internet History, a feeling that can be best recaptured through the simple process of buying my book.
So, choose, then, from the following stories, which may or may not contain these damn fine extracts:
* Bin: "The strangest thing anybody ever said to me was this - 'I am spearheading a campaign to launch a national radio channel dedicated to 1950s Doo-Wop music. Are you with me?' Before I knew it, we'd been bought out by TalkSport, and for that I can only apologise. Sorry."
* Rubbery: "Sadly", she told me pointing to the tall, distinguished man in the photograph, "the guy in the hat is on his way to New York to bury his mother." "She'd better be dead," I replied, blowing forever my chances of seeing her naked, "or she's in for a bit of a surprise."
* Chunder Bandit: "I'll have you know," she said with an unnecessarily indignant air to her voice, "Those weren't my private gynaecological medical records. They were receipts. Receipts for services rendered."
* Doctors and Nurses: "Despite working in a newsagent, and being able to get a discount on such relish, I chose to drive two miles away on the way home and purchased pornography from a place I have never visited before or will again. And the whole time I had full access to internet porn. I don't know what possessed me."
* Timmy: "I had decided several weeks previously that every day would be a David Bowie day. Unfortunately, when the lady from the County Council's social service division turned up, I was going through a 'Bowie in Berlin' phase, kitted out in a nice just-below-the-knee-length frock with a Nazi armband. That day didn't go particularly well."
One of these quotes, I confess, is an actual exchange which took place on a discussion board I frequent, which made me laugh until a little bit of wee escaped. Can you, oh reader, guess which one it is?
* Free beer, money and sex offer open only to residents of Brazzaville, Republic of Congo, closes 19th October 1968
Also: One of my earliest memories of my sister is of the time she stabbed herself with a fork. She's still doing it.
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