Had a meeting at the bank today, well, it's not a bank, it's a building society but somehow I feel that doesn't give it the excuse for it being shiiiiiiiit. Please don't think me unreasonable but when I have to discuss my financial affairs with a girl half my age (that would be 18) whilst she fiddles with her nose ring and tries to conduct the 'meeting' via a drop down menu on her computer so she knows what to ask next I feel I have the right to at least smash the gaff up. This is all in an open area of the building with a queue of people sitting behind a 4" thick padded screen behind me. At one stage I had to tell this bored infant how much money would be going into my account in the next few months and I swear to God an old man on the other side of the padded screen mumbled, "how much did he say?". I said I had a mortgage application going through via an independent financial advisor and wanted to talk to someone about it; possibly the banch manager?
 

Nose ring girl: Have your circumstances changed?

Me: What circumstances? No they haven't.

Nose ring girl: OK. What's your enquiry?

Me: I don't have an enquiry, I want to talk to someone about my mortgage application.

Nose ring girl: OK. I've got a number I can ring if your circumstances have changed.

Me: OK. Yes, my circumstances have changed.

Nose ring girl: One second.

SHE RINGS THE NUMBER

Nose ring girl: It's engaged.

Me: I'd like to make an appointment with the branch manager please.

Nose ring girl: OK, is it a complaint?

Me: No, not at all, I'd just like to make an appointment with the branch manager.

Nose ring girl: Is your account held at this branch?

Me: I've been told that it doesn't matter where my account is held, this is my local

 branch, is that OK?

Nose ring girl: Yeah dats fine. Can I ask what your enquiry is about?

Me: I'd just like to meet him or her.

Nose ring girl: Right, you haven't got a specific enquiry?

Me: No, I just want to meet my local branch manager. In an office, not behind a 4ft padded screen with half of North London listening on the other side.

Nose ring girl: I need to know what your enquiry is about. [REFERRING TO THE DROP DOWN MENU ON HER MONITOR] I can't just leave it blank.

Me: OK, just put mortgage advice.

Nose ring girl: [ANOTHER DROP DOWN MENU OPENS ON HER MONITOR] has there been a change in your circumstances?

Oh for fucks sake, why didn't she just say, "computer says no" and cough in my face?????

Me: OK, I tell you what, I'm going to have to leave it now as I'm late for next appointment; I'll give you a ring when I get home later today.

Of course I didn't "smash the gaff up" as I suggested I might but I did pull one of the pens out of it's holders as I walked out and threw it towards the floor letting it dangle violently on it's metal chain, I think they got the message.

I tried to look at someone's thing on the web today, something called 'myspace'. Well turns out I had to sign up to have a nosey so I have one now myself. Please don't expect anything interesting on my bit of 'myspace', takes all me time to remember to do me blog on here so I shan't be piddling about with that one. However, please feel free to add yourself to my list of 'friends' (of course, they are not real friends, I have no real friends, as anyone who knows me will tell you) and add a picture of yourself if you happen to be very attractive (if you're not attractive don't worry, just steal a picture from the internet of an attractive person and, bingo!, simply pass it off as yourself!). The URL for my bit of 'myspace' is http://www.myspace.com/derrenlitten

Bank holidays, who cocking well needs them? Well, not me thank goodness as today I had to attend a read through/rehearsal of my episode (or the first of my two episodes) of John Sullivan's 'The Green Green Grass'. The show is a spin off of Only Fools and Horses and has Boycie and Marlene from that show (John Challis and Sue Holderness) with various other new characters, one of them played by my chum Ella Kenion. The rehearsal was in the BBC rehearsal rooms which is a horrid, grey tower block somewhere in horrid, grey North Acton (West London). As I stepped in there I got a weird feeling of déjà vu but I knew this was my first visit to these rehearsal rooms so I just put it down to having been in quite a few horrid, grey buildings in my glamorous career. It wasn't until I was trying to find my way out of the building (I went down to the ground floor assuming the door and security man would be there as he was when I walked in the building but he and his desk had magically disappeared - well, he hadn't disappeared, I'd just gone down in a different lift) when I passed a closed canteen and I had an instant, almost photographic mental flashback of the last time I had been in that building. I had totally forgotten that our year at drama school had been chosen by the BBC to be in a pilot for a sitcom called 'Hands Together'. We had rehearsed in the same building and all the memories came flooding back in an instant. I suppose it must have been 1992 as we left drama school in '93 and I remember us all being very excited seeing someone like Joanna Lumley, or was it Jennifer Saunders in the canteen. I used to have a VHS copy of 'Hands Together' but I've just looked for it and I can't find it anywhere; it's never been on telly and imagine there are not that many copies kicking around. We were all supposed to be members of a youth club in the 1950's (or was it 60's??) which was a bit rich as I think I was the youngest in our year at 24, I think people like Andy Wilby were well into their thirties. I remember watching it and remembering we were all pretty bad in it… I think the people in the show (which means our year at Central) who are still acting are, me, Sean Dingwall, Catherine Tate, Lorna Brown, Ewan Bailey, Karl Stimpson, Scott Handy Jonathan Koniac (big sitcom star in Isreal now!!) and William Houston. The others, I assume, have all opted for a life less precarious and altogether more sensible than this ridiculous business we call "show"….

Online banking is still a bit of a fascinating novelty to me. Thank God the fascination held up until today as I logged on and noticed I have made over twenty withdrawals over the past two weeks from cash machines in Colombia amounting to over £1,200. What a holiday that was, I can't even remember going. So I rang up my bank and the guy said, "have you ever let your bank card out of your sight?". Well, yes I have, just about every time I go to a restaurant. I know there are some places that now bring that magical little plastic shoe thing to your table for you to tap in your pin number but for every eatery with these facilities there's another one where they whisk it away to give their friends in Colombia the number. So my friend at the bank advised me to never give out my card and if I do, to follow it wherever it goes. So if you ever see me in a restaurant and I appear to be stalking the waiter you'll know I'm just looking after my finances. Although in saying that I don't think I'm gonna need to for much longer, I've had an email from a Mr Alhaji Shettima Mohammed Bulama (erstwhile managing director of the Bank of the North Nig.Plc) and he has kindly offered to deposit $18 million US dollars into my bank account. What have I got to lose??!

Right… big decision has to be made for this blog. What things do I put in and what things do I leave out? Something happened today which is potentially huge. Well, not potentially, it is huge… It's amazing, it's life changing and it has to do with my job. I guess it's the most amazing thing that's happened in my career so far next to the success of Catherine's show. But this isn't strictly a diary, it's more of a discipline to write creatively every day (which I tend to do anyway). But I can't really leave something like this out because, well, as I said, it's pretty immense. Basically my comedy series (I hesitate from using the word 'sitcom') 'Benidorm' is going to be made. Can't quite believe it. Had the meeting this morning and it's all systems go; Spain here we come. How did all this happen? Of course I know exactly how it's happened, my friend Catherine asked me to write for her TV sketch show and without her doing that I would have never been in the position to hawk my ideas for television shows to the most powerful people in British TV today. In fact, I didn't even have to hawk my ideas, I was invited to do it. After The CT Christmas Special Geoffrey Perkins at Tiger Aspect gave me a blank commission; to write a 30 min TV pilot episode of anything I liked. Instead of choosing something easy like a studio based sitcom with 4 or 5 characters I decided to write a comedy that would have to be shot entirely on location in Spain with a big cast. Apart from the actual work, be it acting or writing, I've never made much of an effort in any other direction; I mean networking, promoting myself, etc. They told us at drama school that we couldn't just leave and wait for the phone to ring, well I wouldn't advise it, but I did. Sometimes I feel very guilty for the amount of luck I've relied on to compensate my astonishing lack of ambition. Fuck it, if I won the lottery I wouldn't complain. Viva Espania!

Five fillings replaced today. Five. I don't actually remember having ever brushed my teeth as a child and in the last couple of years I've been paying for it. Paying in dreadful, aching, pounding, relentless pain and of course financially. Last year I spent £5,000 on me teeth and this years total is clocking up fast. I should mention here that none of this money is for what you'd cal cosmetic dentistry, it's all simply spent on preventing my teeth from falling out and or smelling like a dead cat. And of course you get the question, would you like white fillings that cost about £80 each or ones made out of tin foil and bottle tops that cost 12p each but fall out after about an hour? Well I don't smoke and I don't take drugs so I figure going private with my dentist (that sounds vaguely rude, but you know what I mean) is one of the few luxuries I can afford. So… I class someone injecting my gums and drilling my teeth as a luxury? I must be one sick boy.

Been looking at houses again today. I know that it's an old joke about estate agents being the lying, scum of the earth…but really, they are. If you're an estate agent and reading this I'd like to apologise. Apologise for the evil, shameless, immoral, spineless life you are leading. I made the mistake of telling an estate agent exactly what I thought of him and the very well known company he worked for. I put the phone down very pleased with myself then realised we had a viewing with him for a house the next day. I cancelled. By email. Now who was I calling spineless??...

Well it was bound to happen sooner or later and indeed, now is the time. Big Brother has finally allowed a genuine mental case into the house. There have been some pretty strange characters in the BB house since the series began (apart from that year when they were all boring and a 40 yr old virgin from the Orkney's or somewhere won it) but this series has gifted us with a bona fide nutter. Shahbaz, the self styled unemployd Glaswegian "paki poof" (his words not mine) is not just an irritating attention seeker; there are quite genuine signs of insanity there. In this reality TV world of extremes there is always another barrier to be broken, we've had violence in the form of BB contestants fighting (to the point of having the police called in by a viewer), then we had full on gurgling, squelching sex on live TV (albeit under a tablecloth first, then in a jacuzzi) so what's next? Surely it's time for Shahbaz's 15 minutes of fame where he can play murder in the dark with his sleeping house mates? Although of course it won't be in the dark, it will be for all to see in glorious night vision. Obviously being a trained actor I find the whole reality TV genre appalling and merely an excuse to provide low brow, low cost "entertainment" for the masses whilst avoiding the obviously inconvenient cost of actors and writers. Now, what channel was E4 on again?...

Got a postcard yesterday that I somehow must have missed in the post. It's from BBC Worldwide and reads:

Dear Derren
We are pleased to let you know that
THE CATHERINE TATE SHOW Series 2
Has been licensed to BBC America.

Proposed first transmission date is 23rd June 2006.

I can't hide the fact that the thought of being on the telly in America is quite exciting. I don't care if only 3 people watch BBC America, the thought of someone switching on a TV programme in New York and me being on it is bizarre and wondrous to me. I loved NY so much the first time I went I was almost in tears in the cab heading for JFK at the end of my week's stay. I've never been to the west coast of America, not sure I would enjoy it.. give me fat, loud, drunk New Yorkers as opposed to thin, tanned, botoxed Californians any day. So I may have to put the 23rd of June in my diary so I can raise a glass and celebrate being in the living room of some Greenwich Village apartment (probably). Hopefully that will keep me going until my next visit to the only city apart from London I would ever consider making my home.

Sometimes when I'm writing in my little office the screen starts to burn the eyes (my eyes, in fact) and I have to have a break. Now after I've given the doggy a walk around the block I generally come back and do exactly what I shouldn't and that's look at another screen for an hour - the television. I used to like daytime TV when I was a student but apart from the unmissable Deal Or No Deal it's pretty kak these days so it's over to the embarrassingly huge mass of DVDs and I spend half an hour watching Rising Damp, Steptoe and Son, Citizen Smith or if I'm feeling very indulgent an hour with the incomparable Columbo. The problem is the bloody box sets are released so slowly, we're only on Season 3 and I had been waiting an age for that to come out (don't get me started on the final season of 'Oz', I think HBO have forgotten they released the previous 5 seasons). So now I've just watched the 3rd ep of season 3 of Colombo and have spent the good part of an hour marvelling at the brilliance that is Peter Falk. Only problem now is that it's 4.15pm and it's time for Deal Or No Deal… Do I stay in front of the telly or go back to writing for another couple of hours until the repeat on More4+1 at 6.10pm???!! And only yesterday I was saying how easy my job is… Oh! The irony!

Been in Milton Keynes all day shooting a commercial. And I really was shooting it; in this commercial I operate the camera as it's hidden in the bag I'm carrying. It's for VW Golf cars and I'm a customer who goes into check the price of the cars while secretly filming it (as the price is so unbelievably good I want the evidence - you get the idea). Anyway, you don't see my face in this ad (a relief for many I'm sure), just hear my voice while the camera is on the VW salesman (played by Justin Edwards) and lots of wobbly camera work. Some of the script was improvised and I reckon it will be one of those ads that is either very funny and memorable or will sink without trace (by that I mean they won't use it)… we'll see. So, the joys of Milton Keynes… This may seem a tad controversial but who the fuck in their right mind would live in Milton Keynes? And WHERE do they live? All I could see was roundabouts, hundreds of them, I was dizzy by the time I found the VW showroom although I had a good eight hours to settle myself. That's the one thing I'll never get used to with filming, the waiting. These days (as I've done it once or twice before) I know that if you have say, a 10am call you won't be used before 1pm; so I take every gadget under the sun with me to keep me occupied. My PSP is my latest gadget (plays music, films, plays games etc) so with that and the usual books, magazines, newspapers, telephone etc I seem to get through it ("seem to get through it"??? There are people working in frozen food factories for £4 an hour and I have the filthy cheek to complain about being bored in an over-paid joke of a job like acting…). in this case it was a 12pm call (I got there at 11am as I drove myself in as I have a phobia about being late) and I was eventually used about 7.45pm. Got home about 10.30pm. I did manage to write some good notes today re the musical I'm having a bash at (when I say notes I don't mean of the musical variety); will write those up tomorrow. So all in all we waited around all day then worked for about 1 hour, doing about thirty takes (no 'set-ups', no waiting for lighting, reverse shots, close ups etc, just me, Justin and my wobbly secret filming). What an easy job I have, sometimes it's embarrassing…

There's a football game on tonight apparently; Arsenal and France or something; no, it's being played in France, not sure who the other team is. I committed the ultimate sin in a black cab today by telling the driver I didn't follow football. "Where are you watching the match?" was his opening gambit as I sat in his cab. Bit familiar I thought... "Oh, is there a football match on tonight?", I innocently enquired. The man peered at me in his rear view mirror in a way I can only describe as 'bewildered terror'. What had I done? Had I accidentally gobbed on his dashboard photo of his two gnome-like children? Maybe I had absent mindedly peed on the floor of his cab? Perhaps I had unintentionally written "GAY CAB DRIVER" in the condensation of his back window thus ensuring every driver behind him thinking he didn't like football whenever it rained. Now the thing is I sometimes enjoy watching football, I really enjoyed the match last Saturday, Liverpool and… somebody else; can't remember who, but the penalties were very exciting and it was for some big shiny trophy which in my mind always make it extra nice. But, need I say, I am not a follower of football and this man obviously thought he was on a good wicket when I got into his cab, looking forward to a blokesy chat about "strong back fours" and not being "solid enough in midfield" (or whatever they say)… The cab driver didn't speak to me again; I wanted to ask what he thought of the new Mike Leigh play at the National but somehow I don't think he would have seen the irony in the question. Plus if he had seen it I would have been fucking furious.

Oh the burden of the name Derren. I had to tell someone my name today, something I do not enjoy doing. People who I've not met before very rarely get my name right, they usually call me Darren, I don't have a particular problem with that, if they are too stupid to listen then I can't imagine they are the kind of person I want to keep in touch with on a regular basis. But sometimes I have to correct people, like those who are taking my name for something official; as today
 

Her: Can I have your full name?

Me: Derren Litten, D-e-r-r-e-n

Her: Sorry, Darren what? Little?

Me: No, my first name is Derren.

Her: Yeah, I've got Darren, I need your surname.

Me: My first name is De-

Her: I've got your first name, it's your surn-

Me: No you haven't.

Her: Sorry?

Me: You haven't got my first name.

LOOKS DOWN AT THE FORM SHE'S FILLING IN FOR ME

Her: Darren.

Me: No. Derren.

Her: I said Darren.

Me: It's Derren, it's spelt D-e-r-r-e-n.

Her: Oh right, I've never seen Darren spelt like that before.

Now normally this is where I would give up but this woman was really annoying and kept talking over me before I had finished so had to be dealt with accordingly (if this wasn't enough she was wearing a sleeveless top and had very fat, blotchy arms - my forgiveness has limits).

Me: My name isn't Darren. It's Derren.

BLANK LOOK FROM FATTY.

Me: Can you hear the difference? Derren, Darren.

Her: You're saying the second one a bit louder.

DEEP BREATH

Me: If you were filling this form in for someone called Terry would you write Tarry?

Her: Tarry isn't a name.

Me: Terry isn't a name? Are you joking? My Dad's called Terry.

Her: I said Tarry isn't a name.

Me: Oh, so you can hear a difference?

Her: What difference?

Me: Between Terry and Tarry.

Her: I thought you're name was Darren?

At this point I left the estate agents. Not just because of the conversation; old bingo wings was getting quite heated and I'm afraid she hadn't been introduced to the magical properties of under arm deodorant. Why is this still winding me up after having this name for 36 years? Answers on a postcard please to: Darrell Linton, c/o Richard Stone Partnership, etc etc…..

So it was bound to happen one day, and now that day is finally here. Today I bought my first piece of art. Well, I say that, I already have a reasonable collection of original film posters which I'm sure somebody somewhere considers to be art but for me 'art' is an oil painting, usually of fruit, in a nice frame. Oh yes, and it has to cost enough money to make you feel guilty and slightly embarrassed about it. Obviously I've gone for an 'unknown' artist, partly because I feel it's important to encourage new painters but mainly in the hope that one day the painting will be worth millions. Of course that's not true, I bought it because I like it and if it did turn out, in years to come, that it was worth millions I would just keep it on my wall to enjoy as I did before I knew it's worth. And if you believe that I must introduce you to my cousin, the nephew of the ex President of Nigeria (deceased), he has $21,000,000 he would like to put in your bank account; just for a few days…

Saw one of the funniest magicians I've ever seen tonight, Michael Finney (at the magic convention - see yesterday's blog). Actually, he was one of the funniest comedians I've ever seen, the magic (although very good) was incidental. What was even more remarkable was that the audience were pretty cold and seemed to be unsure about him at first but by the end of his act the audience were crying with laughter and in danger of rushing the stage to carry him out on their shoulders. If you ever get the chance to see Michael Finney make sure you do; he mainly works in the U.S. but you never know, he may just crop up at a comedy club or theatre near you. Just driven back from Western Super Mare so very tired and can't write much more; hence this blog entry reading like a society report from a provincial magic club magazine… you've never read one? Christ, you don't know how lucky you are.

Tomorrow I am going to a magic convention. Now I realise that people think a magic convention will be full of nerdy twat-like loners shuffling around wearing top hats and trying to stay out of direct sunlight. Well you're wrong; not all of them wear top hats. The fact is I do love magic and I have a lot of friends who are magicians so regard these occasions (I go to 2 or 3 of them a year) as social events and if there is some good magic to watch, that's a bonus. Everybody thought magic could never be 'cool' after the Paul Daniel's era of ruffled shirts and velvet bow ties and telling volunteers to "stand on the trap door", then came David Blaine. David Blaine was perceived to be the epitome of 'cool', all in black, moodily slinking around the streets of New York performing impossible feats of sleight of hand (allegedly) and mind reading without the visible support of a personality. Unfortunately the general public seemed to lose patience with Mr Blaine when he started standing on top of large poles for long periods of time, sitting in Perspex boxes and swimming around in big goldfish bowls for no apparent reason. It seemed the only way the popularity of magic could survive the 21st century was for someone to perform conjuring tricks but not call them that. We needed people to think what they were watching was something more refined, more sophisticated, more cerebral and less akin to fat, sweating kiddy fiddlers dressed as clowns pulling rabbits out of "empty" boxes. And as if by magic, poof!, Derren Brown appeared. Now people can marvel at the wonder and excitement of magic without feeling patronised by the magician (or embarrassed by his dress sense). As a magician I hope Mr Brown's popularity continues to soar and for the sake of the image of magic he doesn't feel the urge to start balancing on long poles (there's a joke there somewhere….).

Listened to a very funny show on Radio 4 today on the "listen again" thing on the internet. It is presented as a genuine phone in show but it's a spoof show featuring Paul Whitehouse, Rhys Thomas, Harry Enfield, Charlie Higson, Catherine Tate and more. Very, very funny and quite a good slow burn too as the first few callers are quite believable. I'm not sure how long the links last on these things so if this one doesn't work, just go to www.bbc.co.uk/radio4 and search for "Down The Line". Speaking of (or rather 'writing about') Catherine Tate; it's her birthday today - hoorah!

Last week Jonathan Harvey and I were asked to write a sketch for Sports Relief for the cast of Footballers Wives. Jonathan wrote a version of it, then I wrote a version then all the best bits from each were put into one final draft. During all this the news broke that the series Footballer's Wives was not being re-commissioned; so this meant our mini episode was to be the last ever outing for the series. It's about four (or five, can't remember) scenes long and has a well known celebrity playing the new superstar striker for Earls Park (the football team in FW). Naturally I can't tell you who the guest star is but I can give you a clue; his name begins with "Graham" and ends with "Norton". They are filming it next week, unfortunately I can't go because of other work commitments which is a shame because Ben Richards is in it who I used to share a student house with in Epsom (see biog page).

Went to an Indian restaurant tonight in Mayfair, "Tamarind", very posh and lovely; I can thoroughly recommend it. It's the only Indian restaurant that has won a Michelin star apparently; my hilarious joke of adopting a Brummie accent and ordering "just prawn cocktail and steak and chips for me please" left the waiter rather non-plussed. Sometimes I forget just how annoying I can be.

Had a re-call today for the commercial I went for last Friday. I thought I shouldn't do any more commercials as I've done quite a lot over the years but this commercial is actually quite clever and funny. I've found, over the years, that the trick about going for commercial castings is to go and do them then instantly forget about them as you walk out the door (hence the reason for no mention of it in last Frids blog). I've seen friends writhe in mental agony because they have been told they've been "pencilled" for a big paying commercial; or, God forbid, on a "heavy pencil". This of course sounds quite encouraging until you find out that everyone who went for the job is on a "heavy pencil", except those who couldn't walk and talk at the same time (and even they are on just a "pencil"). I wonder how many job interviews the average person has in their life? Four? Eight? Twelve? I've no idea how many interviews/auditions/castings I've had since I left drama school but I have a sneaking suspicion it's more than twelve. I think I've been quite fortunate in my career (most periods of unemployment have been covered financially by well paid TV commercials or in times of absolute desperation, magic gigs) but when do actors stop being actors? By that I mean if you're an actor but you haven't had an acting job for say, a year, are you still an unemployed actor? Or are you just unemployed? And when is the cut off point? What if you haven't worked as an actor for 2 or 3 years? Is it time for you to wake up and smell the coffee (or start serving it?). When I was at drama school I always said I'd give it three years and if I wasn't making a reasonable living I'd have to re-think. Well, thirteen years later I'm still making a living from acting (and now writing) so I guess the gamble paid off (or is it that my luck is still holding out?). I was talking to a mate the other day and I said that I thought I would really be in demand as an actor when I'm grey and bald and look like Roy Barraclough. Then, of course, came the usual, generous actors reply, "what do you mean when?!". Cunt.

Had a re-call today for the commercial I went for last Friday. I thought I shouldn't do any more commercials as I've done quite a lot over the years but this commercial is actually quite clever and funny. I've found, over the years, that the trick about going for commercial castings is to go and do them then instantly forget about them as you walk out the door (hence the reason for no mention of it in last Frids blog). I've seen friends writhe in mental agony because they have been told they've been "pencilled" for a big paying commercial; or, God forbid, on a "heavy pencil". This of course sounds quite encouraging until you find out that everyone who went for the job is on a "heavy pencil", except those who couldn't walk and talk at the same time (and even they are on just a "pencil"). I wonder how many job interviews the average person has in their life? Four? Eight? Twelve? I've no idea how many interviews/auditions/castings I've had since I left drama school but I have a sneaking suspicion it's more than twelve. I think I've been quite fortunate in my career (most periods of unemployment have been covered financially by well paid TV commercials or in times of absolute desperation, magic gigs) but when do actors stop being actors? By that I mean if you're an actor but you haven't had an acting job for say, a year, are you still an unemployed actor? Or are you just unemployed? And when is the cut off point? What if you haven't worked as an actor for 2 or 3 years? Is it time for you to wake up and smell the coffee (or start serving it?). When I was at drama school I always said I'd give it three years and if I wasn't making a reasonable living I'd have to re-think. Well, thirteen years later I'm still making a living from acting (and now writing) so I guess the gamble paid off (or is it that my luck is still holding out?). I was talking to a mate the other day and I said that I thought I would really be in demand as an actor when I'm grey and bald and look like Roy Barraclough. Then, of course, came the usual, generous actors reply, "what do you mean when?!". Cunt.

Had two emails today from people who found my site from a search engine. How amazing; maybe I have to admit it's not just my mates Alan and Noel who are reading this. Now, I was going to write about something quite sensitive today; money. For some bizarre reason people get very coy talking (or indeed writing) about income; especially performers/writers etc. I was talking to someone very well known at the comedy awards last year, we were talking about the CT Show and that he was a fan of it etc, I said I was a fan of his… we danced for a while… no, that last bit is a joke. Anyway, during the conversation I asked him if he was a millionaire; a perfectly ordinary question I thought - it would seem not. At first he said, "erm, I don't really know". I DON'T REALLY KNOW?! OK, ask yourself this question, "are you a millionaire?" (this is me asking you the reader right now, not to the celeb in question) - I think the answer is almost definitely yes or no. It may well be "mind your own fucking business" but not, "I don't really know". He qualified this in saying, "I've got a bit of property but I don't know how much I'm worth". I'm not having a go at the person I was talking to, he was a really nice bloke but I guess his reaction tells me several things; 1. That I am a nosey bastard with no social skills whatsoever. 2. People generally don't like talking about their income. 3. More specifically, successful people in show business are embarrassed about the level of money they earn. Yes, that's the one. I have earned far more money than my job deserves but then again that doesn't mean I'm rich; it just means that I think my job of titting around in front of a camera or writing things down that make me laugh isn't that 'deserving' in the grand scheme of things. Now, I know what you're thinking… shut the fuck up you whining twat and tell us who the celeb was you spoke to at the comedy awards. I couldn't possibly, it wouldn't be fair; sorry. Right, better go now, don't wanna miss Paul O'Grady's new chat show.

Email today inviting me to a reunion at The Central School of Speech and Drama (or Central School of Screech and Trauma as it is often referred to) and I must say an old saying of my Grandmother's sprang to mind; "I'd rather drink bleach". You see I went to drama school to 'do plays', something I wanted to do ever since I had my 'theatrical appetite' whetted by Richard Green of Northern Theatre (hmm, something tells me that last bit doesn't look too good in print). But in the first 2 years of drama school all I seemed to do was lie on the floor with a book under my head reciting John Dunne and when we weren't doing that we were jumping around pretending to be the animals we'd been 'observing' that morning in Regents Park Zoo (yes, it's actually true, your tax payers money really does go towards dreadful, pretentious twenty something twats jumping from desk to desk pretending to be an African mongoose). So as we came to the summer holidays before my third and final year, it was noted by the staff of the drama school that I didn't actually do anything (when I turned up) and that I should not return for the third and final year. Anyway, I did return, we just did plays and I loved it. What is the point of me banging on about all this? Oh yes, the email about the reunion. It's not that I didn't like the other people in our year (I liked a lot of them; not sure about them liking me though..) it's just that I have always felt an aversion to places of education. Well, I assume I have; I've only been in two, my old school and drama school. Maybe I have a problem with authority? Maybe that's why I work for myself now? Oh god, it's all getting a bit deep now; I only started this blog for somewhere to put the nob jokes I didn't use in my episodes of The Green Green Grass. Trying to upload some of my photos from the BAFTAs but it' not working; will try and put the one of me and Nolly Edmunds in the picture box to the right of this text. Wish me luck.

This was my first time at the BAFTAs, although I was at the Royal Television Society Awards a couple of months ago and that was basically the same set up (at the same venue) but a bit more glitzy. We arrived ("we" being Gordon, CT Show director and Josie, Catherine's mum) at about 5.30pm to have the glorious embarrassment of people craning their necks to see past you in case anyone they recognise is walking behind you on the red carpet. They had a section of stadium seating, like at the Oscars, where people sit for half an hour and watch people walk down a red carpet, just in front of the entrance to the hotel. Two people shouted "Derren, Derren!" but I knew if I waved or acknowledged them in any way I would look an idiot as they looked past me trying to get a peek at Derren Brown (or god forbid I had misheard them and I had Darren Day lurking behind me… never a thought to relish). The one thing which was slightly bizarre during the ceremony was just how much noise everyone made 'The Great Room' in the Grosvenor House Hotel is indeed that with well over a hundred tables and about 8-10 people on each table. Consequently when Davina made her entrance and began reading her autocue we couldn't really hear much so just carried on talking anyway. I'll have to watch a bit of it on the telly on Monday night just so I can see if they managed to 'cancel out' the noise on the soundtrack somehow. The Little Britain table was next to ours and it was nice to be able to meet Matt Lucas for the first time; I've known David for some years and often used to bump into him and chat in Camden town when I lived near there but I'd never met Matt and he was rather lovely and very complimentary about the show (CT Show, not the BAFTAs which wasn't much of a show at all to be honest). The presenters of the awards (or 'citation readers' as they call them) weren't that exciting; the gardener out of Desperate Housewives, Anna Ford, Patsy Kensit…oh God, I'm really selling this as a TV show aren't I?... Anyway, the party after was hilarious, Catherine, Geoffrey (our producer), Gordon (director) etc all had to go home because they were filming on location the next day so it was left to Ash Ditta (co-writer for CT Show) and myself to embarrass ourselves by talking to as many obscure and hilarious 'celebs' as possible. Having absolutely no shame I, of course, took my camera and have several pictures of myself and Ash with such TV luminaries as Trisha, Carole Vorderman, Bradley Walsh and none other than the man of the moment Noel Edmonds. I got Bradley Walsh to take the Noel Edmonds shot and after about 2 attempts I could sense that Mr Edmonds was about to walk… not a chance sunshine, I just told him I was a competition winner and had been guaranteed a photo with him - he wasn't impressed but it bought a few more seconds of valuable time as Bradley worked out the complexities of a point and shoot digital camera. So now I have to work out how to upload these pictures onto my website… Don't worry, I know my hardcore website blog followers (that's Alan and Noel) will give me a hand. The world should not have to wait for pictures as damming and shameless as these.

Watched Deal or No Deal tonight. If there is anyone who I must worship at the feet of at the BAFTA's on Sunday it is the coiffured God that is Edmonds. I have seen this programme before on week day afternoons but they obviously save the juicy ones for Saturday night (well, 5.30pm). Morris had got down to two boxes, one contained £250,000, the other £20,000; he had to decide to either take the very generous offer of £101,000 from the banker or gamble that his box was the one containing the ¼ mill. I have no shame in stating that I was standing on my sofa, hands on head screaming "noooooooooooooooo" when Morris decided he was going to go for glory and told the banker to shove his £101,000 up his saggy old arse. (I'd like to make it clear at this point that I do not know the banker on an intimate level and the state of his arse is purely a matter of conjecture). Noel wrung every drop of exhilaration and theatre out of the situation and even went to a commercial break where I had the opportunity to calm myself and remember that I was cheering on a man called "Morris"; a name I had always assumed was reserved for kiddy fiddlers with wooden teeth. The final section of the show started and Noel masterfully raised the atmosphere back to fever pitch as he revealed that Maurice had been a prize 'C U Next Tuesday' and just lost 81,000 quid. But my God what a journey to get there, Edmonds extracting an unprecedented amount of excitement and drama from the opening of twenty two boxes. ('Cause obviously before Deal Or No Deal, whenever I'd seen people on the telly open twenty two boxes in succession it had been shit....) HEAR THE BATTLE CRY, "NOEL FOR A BAFTA!" HOORAH!

Such a beautiful day. All of a sudden it's summer (although apparently it's only Spring), I love the sun but of course the best part of it being sunny is that I can sit in my car with the air conditioning on until my face gets really cold, my eyes sting and the bogeys in my nose go hard (nice….). I must stress at this point that I do actually go somewhere in my car, I don't just sit in the car in my street getting a cold face, dreaming of the day when I can afford air con in my house. So… I went to get me free penguin suit today from this posh hotel in London... I got there and at the reception a very camp Malaysian man (I say "man" he was about 23 and to be honest probably well on his way to becoming a laaaaydeee) said to me, "which company you frooooom?" (now at this point if you are in London I suggest you adopt a highly un-PC Benny Hill oriental accent to help you with the story. If you are reading this in the north you were probably doing it already). So he says, "which company you froooom?". I said, "I'm not from any company, this is the BAFTA hotel for this years television awards; I'm a nominee". The man then said, "you want television?". Oh dear... now there is a man behind me waiting to be served and I feel very self conscious even though it not my fault this guy doesn't know what's happening in the hotel where he works. Would I feel like this if the guy I was speaking to was stupid and English? Is the fact that he is stupid and Malaysian making me feel unnecessarily defensive now? (I say Malaysian only because he looks like the waiters in my favourite Malaysian restaurant... now how much of a racist do I sound??...) So anyway, much more weary nonsense on the lines of "you want television in hotel?"

Me: "No, I was told this was the official hotel for this years BAFTA television awards"…

Him: "You want BAFTAAAA?"…

Me: "Yes, yes, BAFTA, where in the hotel is BAFTA?"…

Him: "You work for BAFTAAAA?"….

Me: "No, I don't work for them, I'm here because I'm a nominee"…

Him: "You don't work for BAFTAAAA?"

Me: "Well, no, not really" …

Him: "Oh, OKaaaaaaaaay"…

Long pause.

Me: "Yes, actually, I do work for BAFTA"

Him: "Oh, OK, which part of BAFTAAAA you work for?"

Hang on, a minute ago he'd never fucking heard of BAFTA, sorry, BAFTAAAAAA.. now he wants to know who is head of my department… Now I feel like asking for a ball of wool and a loom and I'll make me own suit, it'll be quicker.

Me: "I work for the suits, for the people who are giving suits to people today"

Him: "Okaaaay, I think you go to room 510, fifth floor"

He THINKS??? Where the fuck did this magical piece of information spring from??? Has he just been taking the piss all along????

So I go to the fifth floor, room 510 and sure enough there are lots of racks of suits and men rushing around very efficiently with tape measures. So I got my suit, the money on my parking meter didn't run out and I wasn't asked to be the new candidate for the BNP party, North London…

They also had a room there where people from Audi were booking cars to take nominees to the ceremony on Sunday but I thought at this rate it would probably be quicker to walk.

Went into Soho this afternoon to watch a private screening of a new British film, "Scenes of A Sexual Nature". Lots of great people in it, Eileen Atkins, Ewan Mcgregor, Adrian Leicester, Catherine Tate and many more. A brilliant actor in it called Tom Hardy who I've never seen before, he was hilarious… just looking on imdb.com, he's been in loads of stuff… and quite right too, he is fantastic. Best part of it all is that the film is written by a mate of mine, Ash Ditta. It's weird to think that I have lots of friends that have been on the telly, in films even but I've never been more proud than to see a mates name at the begining of the film 'written by Aschlin Ditta'. Can't wait to see it again the minute it hits the cinemas. It's the BAFTAs on Sunday and as a nominee (as part of The Catherine Tate Show team) I have the opportunity to go to some swanky hotel tomorrow and get a free penguin suit. Not an actual penguin suit of course, I mean a dinner suit/tuxedo. Although on second thoughs…..

Location filming started this week for John Sullivan's sitcom "The Green Green Grass", I've written two episodes of this series and it feels weird to just send in a script from my office and that's it. Of course that isn't it, I will go along to the studio recordings and probably some rehearsals but I'm use to being involved all the way along the process as I was with The Catherine Tate Show; but then I was a performer in that show too. To be fair I was invited to the read through a couple of weeks ago but couldn't attend because I had a script meeting for Doc Martin; I've been asked to write the final episode of that for it's third series. So yes, what with those two shows, the Don Black musical and my own series I'm writing for Tiger Aspect ("Benidorm") I am busy boy! Oh, have also managed to squeeze in something for Sports Relief (Comic Relief on steroids I assume) so I guess I have to admit that I am a writer. Or am I an actor who writes? Or am I now a writer who acts? Well I've got an acting casting on friday so we shall see if I've still got "it"… Huge assumption there of course that I ever had "it" in the first place.

David Blaine began his new stunt today. He's going to be in a human goldfish bowl for a week. I'm actually a fan of David Blaine, I think he's the world's greatest living showman and the most incredible self-publicist since P.T.Barnum; oh no, hang on, I think Houdini was after Barnum, anyway, you know what I mean; even if you think Blaine is a twat, you've heard of him, you know what he does and he provokes some kind of reaction. I remember going to see Mr Blaine in his little Perspex box hanging from a crane near the Thames in 2003; two people were having an argument on if the stunt was impressive or not. One said Blaine was a fake because he was supposed to have nothing but water to keep him alive during the 44 days but he had read that they had been putting sugar in his water. Well, the fat, greedy-eyed bastard. We had been assured he was wasting away in that little plastic box for our own personal entertainment, being driven insane by the wafts of double cheese burgers and freshly fried doughnuts being sold underneath him and all the time he was having midnight feasts on gallons of sugary water. Some people just have no will power. I'm surprised they didn't have to roll him out of the box on the last day. I say good luck to David Blaine in living in his fish tank for seven days and with his stunt at the end of it where he's going to try and hold his breath for more than nine minutes. Not that impressive that last bit… when Charlie my dog let's one rip sitting on the sofa next to me I've been known to hold my breath from Coronation Street 'til News at Ten.

There were articles in the tabloid newspapers today saying Catherine has "defected" to ITV. How can an actor who does not have an exclusive contract with one channel (and not many do) 'defect' to another? It's just a question of an actor booking their next job but of course this doesn't make very interesting headlines. It's amazing how many people (many who should know better) believe what they read in the papers.

Watched wife swap tonight, where does this reality tv thing all end? After wife swap there was another show called "Wife Swap's Little Brother" or something like that on E4. This was a show giving us the opportunity to watch the two families that we had just seen while they watch themselves on the show that just aired. Surely it doesn't have to stop there, after that why can't we tune into 'E4+1' and watch jade Goody watching the wife swap families watching themselves on Wife Swap. Then perhaps we could tune into 'More E4+1' and watch contestents from Deal or No Deal watching Jade Goody while she watches the wife swap families while they watch themselves on the original Wife Swap programme. Then we could tune into... no, you're right; enough.