Oblong Scone

Sometimes I feel tired. Really knackered, not because I’ve done anything particularly strenuous or stressful just because because. And on these days I have no thoughts. I mean I can walk (lethargically) and mumble “Hello”. I can even just about scrape together a bit of what is called work. But there are no thoughts, the lights are not on and the bulbs have been removed. It’s a curious feeling. I can see things happening, but can make no judgement on what they mean. Often I’ll wander into shops and buy things like toothpaste, get home and realise that I can’t push my flat door open as it’s already over-packed with Aquafresh 3. I’ll be unable to follow the plot of an episode of Neighbours, I’ll get confused by celery. But I can lie back and enjoy it, as the actor might say to the…stare at the ceiling, feel all these little start-thoughts being born, bursting within a thousandth of a second in a hostile, sand-stormed brain. Simply nothing there, just a small crack in the ceiling…then it’s...

I’ve decided to become a tabloid entertainment reporter. That is the decision I have made. My finger is on the celebrity pulse more than anyone I know. I'm always hanging out with Hawkes and Thornton. I am so damn perfect for this job. So here’s my first column. I call it BLING BLING, cause the kids get it right? GIRLS ALOUD ARGUE OVER BUOY The five members of pop sensation Girls Aloud have been arguing over a buoy located just off the Blackpool coast. “I saw it first”, mentioned the dirty looking ginger one, “There it was bobbin on top of them little wave things. I wanted one straight away.” Girls Aloud are not the only ones to have been seduced by the latest celebrity craze; Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes have a buoy just off Southsea and Carol Vorderman was seen cosying up to one in Poole harbour. POSH SPICE IS THIN Posh Spice is most definitely thin my sources have been telling me. She’s not fat. SPOTTED Kate Bush stroking a dead cat in Leicester Woolworths. SPOTTED Michael Parkin...

Bank Holiday and Weymouth: There’s can be only one outcome. A whole town wading through a fermented Saturday. Every person, all ages and circumstances, joined together as a community bladdered, and it’s only just gone six. This is wasted Weymouth. We’re all at it, they’re all at it, and the dirty sun casts shadows through the windows of the fat grockles walking past. “This is my table “, says Ted pointing to a sign on the table saying ‘Reserved for Ted'. “They reserve it for me…for the football. Love the football...it's God's sport aint it? Some people reckon it's cricket, but I know, I can feel it. It's football I love....One hundred and twenty grand a week he gets paid…” Ted shakes his head, his bending yellow finger pointing accusingly at Sky Sports, “…for kicking a football around. I didn’t get that in my day” “Did you used to play football?” “Worked on the Shop-floor mate, all my life…never any good at football. ” And then the voice of the short bloke lost amon...