Oblong Scone

There's no particular point to it. No point, just expect it to be there don’t you . You expect it? And it’s a disappointment if it’s not. What every time you see a bald person you’re disappointed that they have no hair? I am. But what happens if it’s the same person you see again and again, are you disappointed each time? I am. So if you meet someone, and they have no hair on a Wednesday, and you see them again on the Thursday, you are again disappointed on the Thursday? I am. Surely your expectation at the second meeting is that they would continue to have no hair and because of that logic it can’t be a disappointment? It can be. How? It’s hard to explain things to people who aren't born to listen.  Are they supposed to buy a wig before they see you the second time? If they want. It’s their head. I think the act of buying a wig is disappointing. Well, it’s a matter of self-respect. Wearing a rig demonstrates self-respect. Wig not rig.

The stadium lights shimmer against the ornate curved edges of a national treasure’s bosom. She stands proudly in front of the fake London Eye and rests lightly against her lectern. Hugh Edwards steadies his eager Welshness and whispers with hushed authority into his commentator’s microphone: “Katie Price”. “The author”, Trevor Nelson adds as if we need introduction. “Bambie’s hair extensions were beginning to need attention…” Price has started. Her authoritive reading casting an audience of 80,000 spellbound. She reads on for five minutes from Angel Uncovered – her third and my favourite of her novels. The camera pans slowly around the excited crowd, many of whom mouth along the familiar prose as Katie reads. Controversially she chooses to next read an extract from her new novel Literally Naked Ambition . A decision that draws Hugh Edwards to admit he is a little surprised. But whilst some of the crowd would have rather have heard more from the classic material, the goodw

Only 24% of people voted in the Bristol local elections. I wasn’t one of them. Unfortunately I was at work; and when I wasn’t at work I was at the gym; and when I wasn’t at the gym I was watching Neighbours; and when I wasn’t watching Neighbours I was wondering if I would still be the same person if my parents had called me Tarquin. So you see, unlike other people, I really had no opportunity to vote. It’s not that democracy is unimportant to me, it’s just that being called Tarquin would be very odd. It doesn’t really matter though. Because my failure to engage in even the most minimum way with politics is all the politicians' fault. Because they’re all money-grabbing, corrupt, Tory, socialist, weak, lying, damaging, “don’t understand what it’s like for the man in the street”, side-parting obseesed, sleazy, slimy, createnous, grimy, right-wing, left-wing, centreist, bentiest, slantiest, wrongiest. This is the complete polar opposite to me - who is none of these things. I w