Started a juice only 7 day diet today. It's kind of a detox thing but you're also guaranteed to lose 7 pounds too. Started the morning with an apple, carrot and wheatgrass juice. Similar thing for lunch and more or less the same for dinner. I quite like nut case diets like this, anything that is an extreme is good for me; either I'm getting wrecked on a bottle of gin or I don't touch alcohol for months. Similar deal with food really. Not exactly sure if I'll be able to go the whole 7 days without eating anything though (only drinking)… watch this space. (Well, not this precise space, the bit above it might be more interesting).

BENIDORM - Nice lie in, finally caught up on sleep, not a cloud in the sky today, absolutely scorching sun; apparently yesterday had been Benidorm's first cloudy day in months; they obviously knew we were coming. More looking around the favourite hotel and some time to buy tacky gifts for various wives/partners/friends. Left Benidorm about 6pm for Alicante airport then spent the plane flight watching a random movie I had transferred to my PSP; "The Quick and The Dead". Not my usual choice of film but served the purpose of getting me from Spain to London (oh, the aeroplane helped too I guess). Gatwick Express to Victoria then cab back to North London; how do people do this sort of travelling every week? Feel absolutely wiped out, cant imagine there will be any blog entries over the weekend 'cause I think it's gonna take me at least 24hrs to recover. It's a hard life.

BENIDORM - Got Gatwick Express from Victoria at 6am this morning for a 8.30am flight to Alicante. This meant getting up at 5am, although as I didn't get in until 3am and then wrote my blog then had to pack a case I didn't actually have to get up at all, just get out of the shower. Five of us all together on this two day trip to find the location for my new TV series. Fairly comfortable flight (if you dont count the horrendous hang over) two and a half hours being just about my limit without having to resort to ipods, PSP's, etc. So I read the newspaper and before too long (well, 2 and a half hours actually) we landed at Alicante airport. We met one of our "fixers" Sven at the airport and we were ferried to Benidorm (40mins away) by much appreciated air-conditioned cars (the air conditioning was much appreciated, the cars themselves were essential). We had 6 or 8 hotels to look at, the weather was extremely hot but the sun totally obscured by very dense cloud which totally filled the sky. At our hotel we met Sven's business partner Tim who turns out I worked with on Pie In The Sky a hundred years ago. You know you've been knocking around a bit when you even know people from past jobs in other countries! The first place we looked at seemed perfect (for exterior shooting) and to be honest wasn't really bettered during the rest of the day. So after we looked at the last hotel we went back to the first one and tried to work out if it was possible to adapt the rooms and corridors of the hotel to make them look like apartments; looked quite encouraging. After this it was back to our hotel and an hours rest/shower etc then we all ventured out into the old town for some dinner. Had fantastic 'tapas' in a very traditional Spanish restaurant, we sat outside, thank god, as the evening was just as hot and humid as the day had been. The food never seemed to end as plates and plates of various octopus, spicy potatoes, chorizos, mushrooms, peppers, pork chops, cold meats and finally rabbit graced our groaning table. It was my first time eating rabbit and although I probably wouldn't make a point of ordering it again it was nice to try it and don't think it affected me too adversely. Although in saying that I did have an uncontrollable urge to buy a bag of carrots on the way home.

OK, here's a first, I am writing this blog at 3am after drinking a lot of gin and some tonic. I like writing this blog but sometimes I feel I cant write about the more interesting things that happen ... because they might be a bit too intersesting.. or "contreversial"... sorry for the spelling mistakes, I usually write this in "Word" then cut and paste it but I cant be arsed tonight. So... the one thing that I was dying to write about was one of the casting sessions the other day when an indian actor came to the casting session and went a bit odd when asked what he had been "up to lately" (a standard question at castings to break the ice and start the conversation). He did a big number with his head in his hands and said, "oh god, i just dont know"... Me being a rather nice chap (and not the dreadful cunt my blog would lead you to believe) helped him out by saying, "well it IS very hot".. he snapped back at me saying, "it's nothing to do with the heat, my wife is pregnant". We all ooohed and aaaahed and said, "gosh, what time's it due", "should you be here?!" etc and all that jazz. Anyway, he then told us his wife was due in 6 months time. At this point my sympathy for this annoying cock sucker began to ebb. But being the sporting chap I am we plowed on. "So, the part you are here for is'Troy'..." The director said trying to break the pregnant pause (more fucking pregnant than his wife, thats for sure)... "No, no, I'm not here to read for Troy" the actor said... "I spoke to my agent this morning, I said I didnt want to read for Troy". Cue some looking at lists and shuffling of papers by all present then eventually someone said, "you're down to read for Troy"... Our actor bit back..."When I look at a role I look for something either interesting/amusing or exciting.. Troy is none of those, it's a really badly written badly written character, I'm not interested in reeading for 'Troy'". PAUSE... "I told my agent I would read for 'Mateo' " Oh right... and did your agent tell you that 'Mateo' is a Spanish Waiter? I wanted to say... but of course I didn't... I just left the room. Which I think was a pretty big staement in itself if you ask me (which you didn't). The thing is, I can see this from both points of view as I am an actor as well as a writer. But can I first of all say (to any budding actors reading), don't say any of the characters are rubbish or the writing is crap when the writer is in the same room... No worries if you can't help yourself, the writer wont stay in the same room for long if you do say that (that's asssuming the writer is me). Also, if you are very obviously Indian DONT INSIST ON READING FOR THE PART OF THE SPANISH BARMAN... You WON'T get the fucking job. Not because you cant act, but because you dont look Spanish... and you have annoyed the writer. In fact, I'd rather give the part of the Spanish bar man to a chinese actor before I give it to an Indian actor who thinks my script is shite.... Anyway, to cut a long story short (too late) the actor in question did read the part after I left the room room and was apparently very good.yeah.. a lot of fucking good that did him.... O h dear, i've just read all that and apart from not making much sense I sound like a dreadful showbiz tyrant.... HOOORAY!

Another casting session this morning but I stayed at home to write; looking forward to getting the tape tomorrow and saying to myself, "oh, I wish I'd gone in 'cause I'd have met that woman who played the wife of one of the Likely Lads"… or something along those lines. Went to the dentist this afternoon. The last visit SHOULD have been the LAST visit as far as all this work is concerned but of course there was some annoying complication and I had to go back today. But at last, as well as all the other work, all my metal fillings have been replaced by white ones and now on the rare occasions when I laugh my mouth no longer looks like a bag of loose change. The last crown was put in place and all the children of Swiss Cottage danced in the street at what was the end of an era. Listened to Radio 2 in the car on the way back home, I must say that Chris Evans genuinely sounds as though he is having a great time and I find his attitude very infectious. Did I really just write, "and I find his attitude very infectious" - fucking hell, when did I start writing school reports for radio 2 DJs? Anyway, Chris Evans, yes, I am extremely happy to go against the grain of the recent avalanche of complaints from from radio 2 listeners who have branded Mr Evans presenting style too "frivolous" and "juvenile" for the 'drive time' slot. Well I'm terribly sorry that po-faced housewives in their late thirties haven't got Johnny Walker banging on about stocks and shares while they help their spindly school children into their empty Land Rovers but having Chris Evans say "What's in your locker cocker?" before we hear the sports reporter makes me smile. And that, after all, is the only thing that matters.

Script meeting this morning at Tiger Aspect. Only two scripts to go for Benidorm (eps 5 and 6), it's all getting scarily close to actually making this TV series. We now have a director on board, Kevin Allen (Keith Allen's brother and Lily Allen's Uncle!) who is mainly a movie director; very exciting to have him working with us. Script meeting went well then we went to a Spanish restaurant off Charlotte Street called "Fino"; very swanky. Not the kind of food we will be expecting in Benidorm methinks. Casting in the afternoon at Tiger for a main character we haven't really looked at before now; it's so tricky, we know the right actress for this part is out there somewhere, it's just finding her. Luckily we have brilliant casting directors who are very much on the case. Right, just realised I used the word "methinks" in a non-ironic way so have to go now to hack off my head with a sheet of A4 paper.

Took the clock off my office wall today to adjust the time as it was about 2 mins out. 'That'll learn me', as my friend Alan says; I dropped it on the floor and although it didn't smash it stopped working and now I keep looking up at picture hook above the door to see what time it is. There is a little digital display in the bottom right hand corner of my monitor which lets me know what time it is but I still have trouble with the 24 hour clock (no, I'm not joking) and have to work out the time (I can remember 18:00 is 6pm then have to count up). So you'd think I'd be fine in the morning but then if it's say 10.23 and I have to leave at 11.15am I have to work out how long I have remaining to get ready instead of just being able to see the space between where the big hand is and where it'll be when I have to go (yes, my lips also move when I'm reading). I do have a wrist watch but I have to take it off to type. I tell you, as in the words of Kermit the frog, it's not easy being me (or was that "green", cant remember). So I've just been online to buy a new office wall clock. Unfortunately I got side tracked and bought a Roberts portable DAB radio instead which cost £100. So now I have it in my head that I can't buy a new wall clock this month because I've just spent £100 I hadn't budgeted for. If only I could have lived with my office being 2 mins out of time none of this would have happened. Sometimes I truly wish my life wasn't so complicated.

Oh my god, it is sooo hot. Why do people want to retire to countries that are as hot as this all year round? As in the words of Bill Hicks on people who love living in California for the constant hot weather, "what are they? Fucking Lizards?" Talking of Bill Hicks, well, typing actually, I recently read "Love All The People", a book containing letters, lyrics and routines form the great man himself. My favourite line in it.. "I was just writing a letter to this girl I met who works in the fishmongers. I think she works in the fishmongers; either that or she likes me a whole lot more than I first imagined". I believe this was part of a treatment for a possible TV show called 'The Counts of The Netherworld'. Of course it was Tiger Aspect who brought Bill Hicks over to the UK and made his legendary 'Live at The Dominion Theatre' show. Yes, Tiger Aspect, also makers of that soon to be made ITV comedy 'Benidorm'; not sure if I've mentioned that before….

My freind and fellow prestidigitator Rob James sent me a fantastic pic from outside a church in Bath. Just what he does hanging around churches isn't worth thinking about but the pic made me laugh a lot. One of the characters I came up with and wrote the sketches for during Catherine's show was called 'Derek Faye' (see me pictured with Derek on the right here), I just didn't realise how close my work was to the word of God... until now. www.derrenlitten.com/dare.htm

Met Andrew Lynford for a drink in Soho about 5pm. Andrew has been a mate for years, we met in 1990 while working front of house at the Adelphi Theatre on The Strand. I was a first year student at The Central School of Speech and Drama but thankfully spending my evenings watching Gary Wilmot do The Lambeth Walk six times a week didn't seem to adversely affect my training. Anyway, years after while I was a struggling actor doing tv commercials and the odd episode of Casualty Andrew found fame and fortune playing Tiffany's gay brother in Eastenders; well I guess somebody had to. Anyway, we met for a drink in the west end at about 5pm after I'd had a days writing at Tiger Aspect. I casually let slip, over our alfresco orange juice and lemonade, that my days writing had been with Barry Humphries only to be completely trumped by Andrew telling me he was about to go to a private screening of a new film with Burt Kwok! Burt fucking Kwok! Kato himself! As far as outrageous name dropping goes I thought I was on a good wicket with Dame Edna until that bastard Lynford pulled Inspector Clueso's man servant out of the bag (Burt wasn't in a bag you understand, he was waiting outside The Odeon Leicester Square, although after years of hiding inside fridges and above four poster beds waiting to attack Peter Sellers I'm sure he wouldn't have minded). Back home after that on what I thought was going to be a pleasant journey as I decided to take a tube to Old Street and then do the rest of the journey by over ground train. NEVER AGAIN. The tube journey was appalling; the carriage was crammed to capacity with sweaty office workers then just as the doors were closing some hairy faced 'Catweasel' hippy with three suitcases, THREE, and a back pack squeezed himself into the four inch space between me and the closing door. If that wasn't enough then a fat woman with a matching backpack and even more facial hair tried to force herself in as well. The doors closed and then the fun began. The hippy tried to turn around to talk to his companion; not a good idea on a hot, packed, smelly train when wearing a back pack which could house a small family. Needless to say the other near by commuters started to protest and push back until Catweasel came out with the proverbial hippies retort; "Jesus man, why can't some people just chill out". CHILL OUT? FUCKING CHILL OUT? You dirty, soap dodging, lice ridden, dole scrounging, hemp wearing, flip flop footed fuck-wit! Of course that's what I wanted to say, what I actually said was, "sorry, can I get out this is my stop", as the zip on his ruck sack scraped across my sweating face. I walked through what seemed to be about 3 miles of dank, dingy corridors until I got to the british rail platform to discover I had just missed my train and the next one was delayed by 40mins. I finally got home at 8.40pm and kissed my car as it sat patiently outside my house and vowed never, NEVER to use public transport again.

Checked my website email and was absolutely astonished to see I had quite a lot of mail. Some saying how much they like reading the blog and a few with questions for the Q&A page; have put a few of the printable ones on the site, click on the "Q&A" button at the top. I'm genuinely amazed that people I don't know are bothering to read my blog; I thought it was just my friends logging on to see what I'd been up to so they had an excuse not to ring me.

We have a cherry tree in the garden of our rented house and a few weeks ago our neighbours asked what we were going to do with the cherries when they were ripe. I thought they were joking. Did they mean we were going to actually have cherries growing off the tree? I thought cherries came from… dunno… M&S? Anyway, the cherries did appear and as Ian (next door) said he made jam with last years crop (is it a 'crop'? it can't a 'harvest' I think that has something to do with God) I picked them off the tree and handed over a big mixing bowl full to the brim. At best I thought I might get my mixing bowl back sometime before Christmas but I certainly didn't expect the huge pot of cherry jam that came back with it the next day (today). So this morning I had jam on my toast, jam made with cherries from our garden!!!!!!!! I can't tell you how liberating the shift to total self sufficiency has been, it has amazed me. No more trips the supermarket, no more additives, no more e-numbers, no more queues! I feel like Tom out of 'The Good Life'; what next? Nettle wine? Hemp clothing? The possibilities are endless! Mind you, I'm not exactly sure if Ian or his wife can actually make nettle wine or hemp clothing. Christ alive, what if he's a one trick pony and can only make jam? How am I going to save the planet like that? Hmmm… this needs thinking through a bit more. In the meantime I'd better get on Tesco.com, I don't want all the evening slots for Friday delivery to be snapped up again.

During castings all of the auditioned actors are recorded on video so the producer, director, writer etc can all watch them back and be reminded of who was good and who was rubbish. For the auditions for 'Benidorm' I have been watching the tapes on an old video player which I dragged out of a cupboard and just had on the floor in front of the TV in the living room. I decided to be a bit more professional today (not before time) and buy one of those little portable TVs that have a video and DVD player built in. £159 from Argos, absolute bargain. Positioned it on top of a filing cabinet in my office and felt rather organised not to mention technologically advanced. Watched the audition tape from Thursday then realised I have about twenty obscure VHS tapes of shows and concerts that are not available on DVD that I haven't watched in years… I obviously now have to spend my entire weekend watching everything from "Morcambe & Wise Live at Fairfield Halls Croydon" to "Frank, Liza & Sammy The Ultimate Event" to "Bobby Thompson The Little Waster In Concert". I have so much to do but of course will just sit in my darkened den, blinds closed watching every single last tape (at least once) because of the weak willed, lazy, fat arsed old show business ham that I am. I feel a song coming on…

Back to A1 Vox on Old Compton Street this morning for an amendment to the Lemsip ad. I say this is for a campaign of Lemsip TV commercials, that's not strictly true; this is for an 'anamatic'. This is basically a cheap "test" version of an ad for the clients (the lovely Lemsip people) where all the visuals are crudely animated (when I say crudely animated I don't mean the man with a cold has his knob hanging out of his pyjamas or anything; I mean just basic computer graphics instead of actors etc). So I am the voice over for the commercial that tells you how marvellous Lemsip is (and indeed it is) and how you should buy some immediately (which you should). Anyway, since I did the one last week the lines had been changed by those clever advertising peeps so that meant wheeling in the actor again (me). So after a gruelling 20mins of talking into a microphone (and another studio fee of course) it was a short walk down Dean Street to Soho Square and a 2 hour script meeting at Tiger Aspect. After that I walked onto Oxford Street and caught a number 55 bus (yes, I do sometimes leave my car at home) to Clerkenwell Road to 'International Magic' to buy the new biography of Dai Vernon. Then the overground train from Old Street back home and collapse in a heap due to having the one day that almost resembled real work since my paper round for Turnbull's of Hessle Square in 1983.

More casting for Benidorm this afternoon at Tiger Aspect's Soho offices. Really wish I could write more about the auditions but I can't mention people's names so it all seems a bit pointless. We did have one actor today though who was genuinely off his head; the high pitched giggles, nervous twitches, rolling of eyes and flailing of arms (and this was just chatting about the show) all made me feel my life was slightly in danger. He was a genuinely nice bloke and not a bad actor but as my old grandmother used to say about such people, "he was off his cocking nut". I guess he would give the type of performance you'd see in a tv show or a play and you'd say, "this can't be acting, that guy must really be like that", and indeed he was. Obviously I can't say who the actor is or if he got the job (take a wild guess on that one) but if you take the first letter from the beginning of each line of yesterday's blog you'll have an anagram of his surname. Not really…. Who do you think I am? Lewis fucking Carroll?

Bit of a gap in blogs lately that's because I decided to do this blog to help with the creative flow and amazingly I haven't needed any help for the last few days. The deadlock has been broken and the ideas for ep4 just kept coming (God knows where from) and I finished it late this afternoon. Sometimes the dialogue is in my head all mapped out, for several scenes and my crap typing can't keep up with it. The joy of writing like this, almost without effort, totally outweighs the days of anxiety and frustration where nothing is happening and creativity is at an all time low. Thanks god this is happening with writing; can you imagine if I was a plumber and turned up at someone's house, took out my tool bag, looked at my propane gas torch and my portable pipe threader and said, "look, I'm sorry but it's just not happening today, I can't get my head around it". Actually, in saying that, my friend is having her garden landscaped at the moment and the useless twat doing it seems to only appear if and when the muse is upon him. How on earth do people like that earn a living?....

I'm late with my deadline of the 4th episode of 'Benidorm'. Admittedly this is a deadline I set myself which obviously means I only have myself to answer to, which obviously means I haven't bothered to finish it. Actually that's not true, if I just hadn't bothered to finish it I'd be on holiday somewhere rather lovely and I'm not, I'm at home in North London starring aimlessly at the four scenes I've written thinking, "this is rubbish". Some days I just can't write anything and so spend a lot of that time reading; not fiction of course, if it didn't happen why on earth would anyone want to read about it? This is a crap excuse I use for only reading biographies and history; I don't know if there is another reason why I wouldn't dream of reading the latest Tony Parson's or Iain Banks (I could probably put a sneering joke of "probably because their books are shit" here but as I've never read any of their books I can't. I should have not mentioned it and you, my well read friends could have thought that yourselves and felt very smug. Mind you, if you think having the latest Tony Parson or Iain Banks on your shelf makes you 'well read' then you have no right to feeling smug. Ever. I imagine). Because of my penchant for facts rather than fiction I'm afraid I've never read any of the classics; , Bleak House, Pride and Prejudice, Howard's End, Lord of The Flies, The Grapes of Wrath, Farewell To Arms, To Kill A Mocking Bird, Animal Farm, Treasure Island, Lord of The Rings etc. Although the fact that I just came up with all those titles (and know who wrote them) without looking on the internet makes me feel rather smug and glad that I didn't bother going to University (after all they would have only made me actually read them). Quentin Crisp said the most important advice any writer can have is, "never read"; so I didn't. That's not entirely true of course, I've just looked behind me at the shelves in my office and at approximately 20 books per section of Ikea shelving there must be six or seven hundred books here. Just so you don't think me some chinless boffin (on the contrary, I have several chins) or four-eyed book worm here is the frivolous tripe which I have on offer on one of the said shelves..

Porridge The Inside Story - Richard Webber, Dick Clement and Ian La Frenais
The Life and Death of Peter Sellers - Roger Lewis
Brando - Peter Manso
Rat Pack Confidential - Sean Levy
The Orton Diaries - John Lahr
Peter Cook Remembered - Various
Always Unreliable - Clive James
Pigs Can Fly - Barry Cryer
Stan & Ollie The Roots of Comedy - Simon Louvish
Jolson - Goldman
Love All The People - Bill Hicks
A Clown Too Many - Les Dawson
No Tears For The Clown - Les Dawson
Alan Bennett - Untold Stories
Trouble Man The Life and Times of Marvin Gaye - Steve Turner
Dino - Nick Tosches
Dudley Moore - Rena Fruchter
My Life - Edith Piaff
Backstage With The Dean Martin Show - Lee Hale

Make of that lot what you will, I'm off out with the dog as I still cant be bothered to continue with episode 4.

Today I have been listening to a lot of Josef Locke or rather his recordings, don't think he makes much noise these days as he died in 1999 (and even if he did still make a noise it would probably be a muffled fizzing sound and I wouldn't be able to hear it as I assume he's buried in Ireland and I live in North London). Ages ago I had an idea for a musical or a screenplay about a young boy who had a very old fashioned taste in music (Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Josef Locke, Bobby Darin etc) and was an outcast amongst his peers because of it. The twist was that he could mimic these singers perfectly and became a big star because of it. Then Jim Cartwright wrote the play "Little Voice" and I considered suing him for knowing what was going on in my head; the only reason I didn't sue was because if he knew about the play he probably knew about all the other things that were in my head and I decided it was probably best not to make an enemy of him. Reminds me of when I was about 7 and had an idea for a film about a giant man eating shark terrorising a small American seaside community. Steven fucking Spielberg.

Did a voice over today at A1 Vox, a strange and tiny sound studio which is above an amusement arcade on Old Compton Street in the heart of Soho. Being the voice of Lemsip is a very difficult job and sitting in a 3ft x 4ft padded room while reading out loud into a microphone for 20mins is not as easy as it sounds; there are 4 flights of stairs in the building. Last year when I did the voice over for their commercials I had to go back TWICE to do different versions of TV ads that made up the campaign. And people think they just give you thousands of pounds for these things willy nilly.

David Walliams swam across the English Channel today. This was supposedly to selflessly raise money for charity although it's quite clear this was merely a desperate (yet to my mind unsuccessful) attempt to overshadow my own efforts for 'Sports Relief' this year. A couple of months ago I was asked by Geoffrey Perkins (producer of The Catherine Tate Show) to write a final (albeit short) spoof episode of Footballers Wives with Jonathan Harvey. Between us Jonathan and I cobbled together some rather silly scenes and emailed them to Mr Perkins. Now I guess between us we must have spent 4 or 5 hours writing the mini episode (over long sketch would be more precise) and during my portion of that time I'd like to say, for the record, that I went the entire time without food or water. I hear Mr Walliams, while crossing the world's busiest shipping lane, was given food via a long pole; as I said, I ate nothing. I also know for a FACT that Mr Walliams had a complete support team travelling only meters away from him during the entire swim. I had NOBODY in my office with me whatsoever; I was COMPLETELY alone. On watching the news this afternoon I saw that Mr Walliams was completely covered in EXPENSIVE goose fat; I would like it to go on record that during the morning of my writing I wore nothing but my regular 'John Rocha at Debenhams' beige towelling robe which I have owned for some two years and WAS NOT bought especially for the event. Finally I would like to quote Mr Walliams himself, "I thought it was going to take me about 14 hours"; the swim through 21 miles of human waste and stinging jellyfish actually took him TEN HOURS AND A HALF HOURS - so what happened to the other 3 and half hours you had promised to work for Sports Relief Mr Walliams? Did you spend that excess time working for charity? NO, I THINK NOT. In fact French sources have revealed to me that you casually spent this time recovering from your "gruelling" swim. I had assumed my efforts for Sports Relief would take me about 2 hours and I was absolutely bang on (in fact during that 2 hours I even managed to listen to last weeks 'Armando Iannucci's Charm Offensive' via radio 4's 'Listen Again' feature) but then I guess some of us are just naturally better time keepers than others. I don't know Mr Walliams very well but I have met him on several occasions and I would like to think we are on easy enough terms for him to apologise to me the next time we meet for trying to usurp my charitable efforts in this shameless, publicity seeking manner. If you would like to congratulate David Walliams you can do so by texting DAVID to 82125 (texts cost £1 with at least 70p going directly to Sport Relief.

The dentist again today. Will this pain and suffering never end? Now I'm told that the final two fillings that I'm having replaced cannot be regular fillings, they have to be porcelain crowns. Bumping the price from £80 each to £400 each. The thing is, what are you supposed to say? "No, I don't think so, I think regular white fillings will be fine thanks". Or, "Tell you what, I might just do it myself, I've got a neighbour that did her own fillings and apart from passing out from the pain and having to buy a new living room carpet because she couldn't get the blood out she was fine". It's not even like going to a motor mechanic, after all if he says you need a new head gasket you may have the knowledge that you in fact only need a new spark plug (do stop me if I start to make sense at any point). The fact that my dentist looks and sounds like Latka from 70's US sitcom Taxi is no longer enough to keep me going back every 2 or 3 weeks to give him hundreds (often thousands) of my easy earned cash. This is absolutely, without question the last appointment I'm having with him. Unless of course there's anything else that needs doing then I'll silently nod with my mouth full of torpedo shaped cotton wool while he books me in for yet another session of pain filled daylight robbery.

Last night Jindy and I went to see Westlife in concert…yes, yes, I know, I'm 36; please don't make me explain my actions - I also enjoy the music of Barry Manilow; nuff said. Anyway, Blenheim Palace was the venue and as we drove through the gates and up the long drive way we were directed past the house, oops, sorry, Palace, and far into the grounds, so far past the beautiful house and lake that the whole point of it being at Blenheim palace was totally lost; it may well have taken place in a field somewhere off the M62. Before I get to the show let me describe the audience to you. First of all here was a group of people who were no strangers to a turkey twizzler. I can't exactly claim to be a health freak myself but these people looked at though they had seen daylight for the first time in months, maybe they had. Wasn't there once a film called "The People Who Lived Under The Stairs"? I never saw the film but on Friday night I think I watched a pop concert with most of the cast. Missing teeth, faded and smuged blue tattoos off centre on massive, wobbling corned beef forearms, creases in the backs of their fat necks, chewing gum white catalogue sportswear and gallons of cheap aftershave … and the men looked even worse. The kids were terrifying, I mean actually terrifying. They were either ginger and so thin you could read a newspaper through them or they were so fat they were being wheeled in on trollies. One young girl (I say "young", she was either 12 or 46, it was very hard to tell) was decked out entirely in homemade Westlife apparel; Westlife t-shirt, Westlife Trousers, Westlife scarf and Westlife hat. On her right hand she had a huge, red, sponge hand (the type you see at big football matches) on it, in big white letters, it read, "WESTLIFE - YOU RAISE ME UP" - Fuck me, they'd need a mechanical digger. Anyway, unfortunately the show itself wasn't half as entertaining. Before the show started you could see a couple of the Westlife boys ambling around taking their positions behind parts of the (very bare) stage set; now I know we had only gone to see a boyband but would you really expect to see Prince or Paul McCartney mooching around before the start of the show, sort of takes the whole theatricality out of the event or maybe I'm just a sucker for a big entrance (insert your own joke here). So the show starts and all is well, the girls in the audience are either screaming or rattling the loose parts of their wheelchairs and it's all making for a fun atmosphere; never heard of the first song but what does it matter, it's all just a bit of fun, right? So now the next song and it is blatantly obvious that Shane (yes, I know one of their names; kill me) is miming. Now why on earth is that? He'd already sung one live. I was on the bill of a charity show with Westlife at The Albert Hall last year (I was doing a 'Lauren' (Am I Bovvered) sketch with Catherine T and Nikki Wardley) and they mimed all three of their songs (I also watched their rehearsal in the afternoon and had no idea they were miming until a technician turned to me and said the words "full mime" and raised his eyebrows). It was very difficult to tell they were all miming in The Albert Hall but when it's in a field and it's only one of them and the other three are singing it was tres obvious. So after the the next song the boys walk off for a costume change to the sound of applause; then silence. No music, nothing playing on the video screens, nothing. Two or three mins of this then they were back wearing different jackets. Other highlights included someone from the audience passing one group member (dont know his name, spikey blonde hair and implausibly white teeth) burger and chips which he proceeded to eat on stage and offer around to his bored looking cohorts, the same guy forgetting the words to one of the songs (and the others pissing themselves laughing) and the gay one (you see, I'm up to speed with it all) looking so embarrassed to be there I wondered what sort of terrible news he'd received before the show (probably that it hadn't been cancelled). More mimed songs and long silent costume changes then we decided to leave about half way through, partly because it was rubbish and partly because I'm 36 and shouldn't have gone in the first place. It's a shame because I certainly didn't go there expecting or wanting it to be rubbish, I love a bit of tacky pop music and thought it was going to be a fun, trashy night out. Next time I feel like an evening of trash I'll know better and have a night in with a bottle of Blue Nun and my Best of Kelly Marie CD. (Yes, I really do have one).