Category Archives: Miscellaneous

Miscellaneous bobbins.

I am back now.

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It has been a while since I last blogged. Things I have done since my last blog:

I got a year older.

I am now two hundred and twelve years old. I am sort of like Bill from True Blood, but paler, and with more interest in noodle restaurants.

I saw a pigeon skim off a woman’s head.

This was the other day. The pigeon sort of thought it was landing, but then realised there was no room, so tried to take off again. It used a woman’s head as a sort of trampoline. It was very entertaining, especially as the woman tried to ignore the fact that a pigeon had just bounced off her head. Perhaps it is an everyday occurrence to her.

I got a job.

…

I went to Amsterdam.

I went with my beautiful girlfriend Tasha, who I have not actually mentioned in this blog yet. She is lovely. She brings me glasses of water, buys me films in which cats double as buses, and is just generally excellent. My favourite fact about her though is that when she plays Grand Theft Auto, she likes to pick up prostitutes and just take them out for a lovely day at the mall. This is part of why I was assuming Amsterdam would be so much fun. We’d just spend our entire time sitting around sipping milkshakes and going on bumper cars with prostitutes. Not that that’s my favourite use of my time of course, but, you know, it would be an experience. Not quite the kind of experience that people usually hire prostitutes for, but a less seedy and more innocent, fun experience. The kind of experience that the Happy Days gang might have with a prostitute I guess. It would be that or the Fonz waterskiing over a prostitute. That’s when you know the show has really gone wrong.

Anyway, I appear to have digressed: we went to Amsterdam. It rained lots and we ate pancakes. We also saw a horse who looked quite depressed in the rain. It was sad. He had a 1980s style blonde mullet too. Maybe if a handsome prince came along and kissed his nose he would turn into Pat Sharp. We didn’t have time to wait and see. We also discovered a thing called The House of Bols. It is fair to say that this museum dedicated to drinking was pretty much the best museum either of us has ever been to. I am now thinking about opening my own lucrative alcohol-based educational experience. I call it the ‘Shed of Schnapps’. Everybody comes into my shed. I pour them all some peach schnapps, then we stare at a toolbox, which gets progressively more entertaining the more drunk we get. I see no way this can possibly go wrong.

I sent a script off to the BBC.

It was for a competition. It didn’t win, because it was a bit rubbish and may have been a bit too long, but it was the first time I have actually sent a TV script out, so it felt nice in some way. I hope to send out many more in time.

I probably did some other stuff.

I have forgotten now. I do not have much of a memory.

Anyway, I hope to try and get back to blogging more often now, as it was a way to keep my mind a bit active. I bet that having said that, I’ll now go another 4 months without publishing anything. I will try though. And it will be incredible*.

*Read: Average**.

**At best.

Starburst and Shanghai.

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Things I have done since my last blog:

- Given up on attempting to write 30 stories in 30 days. It was not as fun as I imagined it might be, and it was leaving me little time to do anything else really. I may just write and release stories when I find the time, rather than setting myself some kind of absurd, almost masochistic challenge that was always going to be kind of tricky.

- Eaten a garibaldi biscuit. That was yesterday. It wasn’t brilliant.

- Had a job interview. I am now fairly certain that I have now been invited back for a second interview, though to be fair, prior to the interview I ate an entire pack of Starburst, then strolled in, talked about how much I’d enjoyed the Olympics this summer (they took place two years ago), and used a moment of silence to excitedly blurt out ‘The Apprentice is on tonight!’. Professional as ever. I would still like to find a home at a company, though at this rate I’m starting to think that perhaps it would be easier to just start my own business. I’m not 100% sure what the process to do this is, but I’m fairly sure it involves stealing a priceless jewel from a heavily guarded museum. Of course, if I could do that, I probably wouldn’t need to flog socks from a shopping trolley in the rain. Maybe I’ll just stick with the jewel idea.

- Thought about going to Tokyo. Or Shanghai. I’m not sure which one I’d rather go to. Not just for a few days. For a few weeks, maybe even a few months. Possibly to try and learn a bit of the language. Apparently they’re pretty much the two hardest languages to learn though, Japanese and Mandarin, requiring around 2200 hours of class tuition to master. This seems kind of intimidating, but nothing is impossible. Apart from me having money it would seem, which makes this purely fantasy, as travelling to learn these languages on an intensive course in either Shanghai or Tokyo requires thousands of pounds. Which I do not have. Until I steal the jewel/sell lots of socks in the rain. They both look like interesting cities though, so I’ll hopefully go in some capacity at some point. Probably just on a holiday for a few days one day. Anyway, this is something I have been considering. I have also, on a slightly lesser note…

- Thought about buying some crumpets. I stared at some crumpets for a bit today. I thought about buying them. They were 89p. I had 67p. I cursed my having not brought my debit card, and swore that one day, I would enjoy some crumpets, sat at an oak table in a meadow, as bees swarmed about me complimenting my frugal butter usage and choice of scarf. That could be how it pans out. Alternatively, I could end up just abandoned in a meadow in the middle of nowhere, fighting off angry bees as I tried in vain to tuck into some overly dry crumpets. That sounds more realistic.

- Considered buying more Studio Ghibli films. ‘My Neighbour Totoro’ apparently has a cat that doubles as a bus. He is called Catbus. How could anybody fail to be entertained by that?

- I watched the X Factor. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about, and see whether it was actually any good. It was not. Indeed, I was surprised by just how poor it was. I didn’t really enjoy it, and for some reason, it seemed like each contestant had been told to dress as a different member of the Jetsons. Maybe it gets better, I don’t know. I’ll probably just stick to watching The Apprentice.

That’s probably about it actually. I should probably do more stuff. Looking at crumpets doesn’t really count as an activity in most people’s book. Today I may do some writing, then tomorrow I have a gig. That’s something I guess.

Scones and stories.

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I have scones. I will have stories.

I have, somewhat foolishly some (including myself) might say, decided to set myself the challenge of attempting to write and release 30 new story podcasts in 30 days, starting this week. I have decided to do this to attempt to break myself out of a writing rut, and, in a way, to attempt to prove to myself that I still can. Anybody who was aware of the ghost stories from university will probably be aware that they were often written around an hour before we actually went on air, such was the sheer professionalism of our show, and it is that same spirit of hopeless unprofessionalism and blind panic that I am hoping to channel again now. It is inevitable that the quality of these stories will be fairly low, at least at first. I’m hoping that by the end they will be of a higher quality. We will just have to wait and see. Of course, all the stories that I wrote at university fell into the category of horror. These will probably introduce some new genres: romance, thriller, err… thrilling-romance, ghost-romance. I can’t really think of any other genres of st- MYSTERY! THAT’S ONE! CRIME! CRIME ROMANCE!

Ok, I think that’s it now. I’m basically walking around a virtual Waterstones in my head, and those are the only genres of literature that I can think of. I keep walking into the ‘books for dummies’ section, and then I end up in Botany. Now I can’t find the stairs. Where the hell are the stairs? I can’t walk past the counter again, they already think I’m mental since I’ve circled it twice without browsing any books, staring deep into their eyes in a sinister fashion on every pass. The stairs have to be around here somewhere. What’s this? Oh, wait, that’s the fire escape. I guess when I find the stairs they won’t be alarmed. Still, since the door is open I may as well go down it now. I hope it leads to the street. Ah, here we are. The high street. Victory is mine.

Anyway, yeah, stories. They should all be available through the Llamageddon podcast feed at http://llamageddon.jellycast.com , and I’m hoping to put them up on iTunes too. They’ll either start tomorrow, or possibly on Wednesday, as Monday and Tuesday are busy with gigs and the like, so I may not be able to release a story then, and it would be such a shame to fail at my challenge within the first day. Why not also download the Llamageddon podcasts from there if you’ve never heard them. They’re unique, that’s for sure. We should really do some more of those, they were a lot of fun. Anyway, it’s about time I ate a scone, so I’m going to leave it here, safe in the knowledge that I have completed another outstandingly boring blog post. Well done self.

I have gone to America.

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I am back now, and desperately trying to adjust to the temperature difference. Everything is cold in England now. I remain confident that soon I’ll be back to being like a blast furnace in stupidly chilly temperatures though, capable of being overly hot in even the coldest of temperatures. Anyway, America, yes. Allow me to briefly explain the highlights and lowlights.

HIGHLIGHTS

1. Yosemite National Park.

Here I scaled great heights, and met a bear. I celebrated the glorious return of my knee, who allowed me to traverse the rocky terrain without exploding. When I got to the top, me and my knee poured ourselves some mojitos from a flask, toasted our success and regaled each other with stories of good times past we had had. Alternatively, the altitude may have made me delirious, and none of this may have happened. I’d like to believe that it did though. I certainly got to the top of something, then I went off track and half-suspected I was going to die. The path at Yosemite can be pretty basic at the best of times, but when you suddenly start scaling slippy rocks without any kind of security, in the mistaken belief that you’re Spiderman, it can get pretty dangerous. Thankfully, danger is my middle name. Well, that and ‘Completelackof’. It’s double-barrelled.

2. Six Flags Magic Mountain.

This was a cool theme park. I was curious as to how it would compare to the magical beast that is Alton Towers, and it certainly compared favourably, despite the fact that on just about every ride I went on I accidentally pulled my harness down so far I practically suffocated myself. Here, I was also interviewed about Halloween by some scary clowns and a TV camera. I can’t be 100% sure, but I’m probably now pretty big in America. I think that if I were to check my email, there’d probably be an invitation to appear on the Jay Leno show waiting for me. Or alternatively, there may be nothing, as I bumbled my way through, talking rubbish. I can’t even remember what I said now, I think I just looked baffled, mumbled something about clowns and stared at my feet. Then me and my knee went and had mojitos. Or something. Anyway, Six Flags Magic Mountain. Mega fun, even if after a mix-up booking the tickets there was a real danger that I was going to have to pretend to be from some country called Dijbouti. Thankfully my phenomenal lack of ability to slip in and out of various aliases like an inept, work-experience Jason Bourne was never called upon.

3. I sang with a tramp.

When I got to L.A., I met a lovely tramp in the street who told me he was going to sing a song for me. At this point, I half-suspected that this was some kind of hustle, and he was going to smash me over the head with his guitar and take my wallet, but I was proved wrong, as he struck up his guitar and launched into the song ‘Stand By Me’. He asked me to join in, and, naturally, being the berk that I am, I didn’t need to be asked twice. I now found myself stood in the street dancing with a tramp whilst we both sang Stand By Me to passers by. It was at this point that my friend Hannah arrived to pick me up in her car. I’ll be honest, it’s a wonder she didn’t keep on driving as she surveyed the demented scene taking place outside my hotel. I think myself and the tramp just sort of stared at the car for a moment in silence, then I handed him two dollars, which he seemed disappointed by. I think he was expecting some kind of lucrative recording contract. One day Mr Tramp, we will work together again, on our supreme album ‘Music To Ruin Passing Civilians’ Day By’. And it shall be glorious. Anyway, this leads nicely onto point 4.

4. I met my friend Hannah.

Who succeeded in reminding me that bowling is not my sport. I scored about 150. This doesn’t sound too bad, until you realise that this was my combined score across two games. I think the real problem lay in the fact that they don’t have the aiming slide in America, the philistines. How am I expected to score 300 if I don’t have a tool intended for children that helps me aim? Still, this presents a business opportunity, as I shall shortly be importing these slides into the country, which should assist me in making millions of pounds. We shall see. She also somehow succeeded in stealing my most prized possession: my waffle crown. I’ve prided myself on knowing what I thought was the best waffle shop, but she knew a better one in L.A. I was stunned. Having also lost my cupcake crown to another friend, I now only have my alcohol crowns remaining. It’s only a matter of time until they too are stolen, then I shall be forced to wander the earth, a crownless peasant begging for money, singing his hideously out of tune version of ‘Stand By Me’. The waffle defeat also came as something of a disappointment because it’s a shame to know that this superior waffle place is so far away from me that I may never see it again. What a shame. It was delightful to hang out, but unfortunately Hannah found herself busy with work a lot of the time, however this gave me the opportunity to venture along to one of the other highlights of my trip.

5. I went to Sprinkles Cupcakes.

It was delicious. Whether it beats the delicious cupcakes you can find in Brighton is hard to say however. One day I shall have a proper cupcake showdown to decide. I had to venture a long way to find these cupcakes though. They were in Beverly Hills, I was in the middle of nowhere. I had to get on a bus, which was fun, as they have trivia questions on their buses in America. During my brief stay on the bus, I learned that squid have ten legs, the thinnest skin on the human body is on the eyelids, steel is alloyed with chrome to make it stainless, and various other facts too, which I have now completely forgotten. There wasn’t too much time to take in this information, as I spent the majority of my time on the bus wondering how the hell I was meant to stop the thing. There didn’t seem to be a button to press, yet everybody else seemed to have no problem dinging a bell and getting the driver to stop where they needed him too. I eventually came to the conclusion that they were all using telepathy. When I saw my stop approaching, I tried to communicate with the driver via the power of my mind to ask him to stop. It was only as we careered past my stop that I realised that this had not worked. It was then that I discovered everybody else was pulling a string on the roof. Nobody had informed me about this, the cads. I telepathically swore at them, and got off the bus in the middle of nowhere. Here, I dined on Argentinian cuisine, and asked a taxi to take me to Sprinkles. It was good.

6. The Getty Museum.

I went to the Getty Museum in Los Angeles. It was nice. I’m not a particularly cultured person, and am unable to recognise what is brilliant art beyond the childlike view of ‘that one has some pretty colours’, or ‘that looks nice’, but I enjoyed this museum, there was some lovely artwork that even I could appreciate was fantastic, and I also had a tasty hot dog. It was great.

LOWLIGHTS

1. Las Vegas.

This was strange, as Las Vegas has been somewhere I’ve wanted to go for ages. It always looks like such fun, and yet in reality, I actually found it to be quite a depressing place. There’s very little to do but gamble, and I really don’t enjoy gambling. I did have one token $10 gamble on a roulette wheel, but then instantly lost it, and walked away. Later on in the evening, indeed, it was at 4 AM in the morning, when I was slightly drunk and tired, I decided to walk down to the Strip to place a large bet on a roulette wheel just to see what would happen. Where I was staying was off the strip, in a dark area. I had to walk around a mile or two just to get to the strip, down dark backroads, alone. I was later informed that this was quite dangerous, as people are constantly being mugged here. Thankfully, I avoided this, by giving anybody I walked past my most threatening look. I say most threatening look, I don’t really have many, if any, in my arsenal. It’s like being glared at by Bambi. Still, it worked a treat. What also worked a treat was jogging down this street for much of it, thus being so speedy that any potential vagabonds could not assault me if they wanted to. My knee had returned to form. When we got to the strip, we drank mojitos from a flask etc etc. Actually, that’s not true. When I got to the strip, intending to put my bet on, I walked into a casino and was instantly engulfed by the depressing atmosphere of the place. People still sat at slot machines at 4 in the morning, gambling away all their money. I decided not to bet at all, and simply got a taxi all the way back to my hotel. This particular part should actually be filed under highlights, as myself as the taxi driver spent the journey discussing Paul Scholes and Ryan Giggs, as he was a Manchester United fan. When I mentioned that I was a Middlesbrough fan, he said that he liked them, as he thought they played nice football. I was thus forced to come to the conclusion that he had never actually heard of Middlesbrough. I gave him a tip though, as he was highly entertaining.

Oh, and I paid $17 for a double Jack Daniels and Coke at a casino bar. SEVENTEEN DOLLARS. When they informed me of the price, I was tempted to have a sip of my drink, and then spit it out, 1980s surprise style. As it happened, I simply mumbled to myself, drank my drink, and then made a note to just order water from that point on. And I did. FOR FIVE DOLLARS. FIVE DOLLARS FOR A WATER?! DO YOU NOT HAVE TAPS IN LAS VEGAS?! Disappointing.

2. The Grand Canyon.

To be fair, I was only there for about half an hour. I saw the sunrise come over the Grand Canyon though, and it was at this point, when I was staring out onto the sun rising over one of the most amazing natural wonders, that I came to the conclusion that I am essentially a robot. I didn’t feel any kind of emotion of ‘oh, this is so wonderful’. I just thought ‘this is kind of boring, I wish the sun would hurry up so that we can all move on’. To spite the Grand Canyon, I took a photo of some Condor Socks, and a bin. That canyon certainly won’t be the star of my photo album, the scoundrel.

3. I realised that there is no escape from my problems.

A holiday is nice, but it is only temporary. Until I fix all the problems that continue to hold me back, I won’t be able to fully enjoy such excursions, as in the back of my mind, I know that soon I will be returning to the same place that I left. In many ways, I expected America to refresh my mind. In reality, it has probably only further destroyed it, by showing me the kind of things I could have in an alternative world, and how far I appear to be from them at the moment. One day though perhaps, we shall see. I would like to believe that eventually, everything will work out, though it’s up to me to ensure that happens. I know what I want, and I will try my hardest to achieve it, so we shall see how things go.

Now I’m going to go and check my inbox to see if Jay Leno has emailed yet. Fingers crossed.

I am going to America.

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Tomorrow I’m going to America for about two weeks. I’m flying out to San Francisco, where I’m meeting around 8 other travellers, and we’re going around the West Coast for a bit. Naturally, despite this all sounding great, the thing I’ve perhaps been most excited about is the fact that I may be able to watch a film on the plane. They don’t have this on Easyjet. I’m moving on up, slowly but surely. It’s only a matter of time until I’m John Travolta, flying my own plane about, and dancing awkwardly on stage with a football at World Cup Press Conferences.

Anyway, yeah, I’m going to America, somewhere I’ve wanted to go for years. I start adventuring in San Francisco, muddle about a bit, see the Grand Canyon, go to Las Vegas, and eventually end up in Los Angeles, which apparently has a Magic Mountain. It should be fun, though potentially disastrous for me to go to Las Vegas. I’m going to try and only gamble small amounts (that shouldn’t be too much of a problem, given that I only have small amounts), as previous experience has taught me I’m horrifically bad at gambling, and should not do it. In addition to this, I fully expect the Le Chiffre-esque scar above my eye to start leaking blood every time I get good cards, thus completely ruining my ability to bluff (I say ability, I basically chuckle to myself and punch the air every time I get good cards anyway. If other players can’t read that, they shouldn’t be playing poker).

I have been warned that I may run into a bear at some point. The warning also told me that I can’t outrun a bear. Being the idiot I am, I see this not so much as a warning, more of a challenge. I did once see a man outrun a giraffe, on a TV show hidden away on ITV4 called ‘Man vs Beast USA’, but to be fair, the giraffe only lost because he stumbled a bit at the beginning. I do not know how fast a giraffe is compared to a bear. I did however, see a bear defeat the speed hotdog eating champion of the world, so have learned that if nothing else, I cannot eat a plate of hotdogs faster than a bear. This is information I have retained over the years. Can I tell you anything about my degree? No.

Oh, and an orangutang is a lot stronger than a sumo wrestler. More useful Man vs Beast facts.

Other things I intend to do:

- Try not to smash my face on a roundabout.
- Try not to stumble into a ravine.
- When I get to Las Vegas, gather 10 other people and form ‘Ward’s 11′.
- Inform the police that ‘Ward’s 11′ was not my idea. Pin the blame on somebody else.
- If allowed out on bail, immediately form ‘Ward’s 12′.
- Wait to be deported.
- Fly back under an devlishly clever alias. ‘Wandy Bard’ ought to do it.
- Turn up at Universal Studios. Pitch them ‘Wuther and Heights’.
- Return to hotel, wait for phone to ring with lucrative three-film deal.
- If phone does not ring. Return to Universal Studios. Try pitching ‘Ward’s 11′ instead.
- Wait to be deported. Possibly watch Iron Man 2 on the plane.
- Return to country dressed as Jafar.
- Go to Disneyland. Kick Aladdin in the face. Run away.
- See whether they have Toblerones. If not, hastily put together business plan importing Toberones.
- Go to harbour. Watch as boat full of Toblerones is sunk by renegade bear.
- Inform bear that he has ruined everything. Fight bear.
- Go to hospital to have lungs re-inserted. Perhaps take off Jafar costume beforehand.
- Book a slot on that David Letterman thing to discuss Wuther and Heights.
- If allowed on show, tell hilarious anecdote about Ward’s 11 and how we got away with $30 million.
- Wait to be deported.
- Fail to have enough money to return to America. Sit at home and pen Wuther and Heights.

It should be good anyway. Who knows, perhaps I’ll win several million dollars in Las Vegas after accidentally getting myself involved in a game of high stakes poker. Then I may even be able to watch ‘Up’ on the way home. It’ll be great.

I like my scar.

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Sort of. I mean, it really looks like it’s going to turn out quite pathetically (if at all), and you actually have to look pretty closely to see that it’s there, but I still like that for now I have it as a reminder of what a clumsy berk I can be. And of course, it being so close to my eye, it does give me a vague air of Monsieur Le Chiffre from Casino Royale. Admittedly, as far as Bond villain scars go, it’s really not up there with the best of them. I dare say the other Bond villains would somewhat frown upon me.

“I got my scar fighting with a shark. It tore my hand off and now I just have this metal atrocity for a hand.”

“Yeah, I know where you’re coming from, a man slashed across my face with a knife and tore half my cheek off… So tell us Mr Ward, have you any scars of your own?”

“Well, yeah. Isn’t it obvious?”

“Isn’t what obvious?”

“This!”

“What? What am I looking at?”

“This! Here! Look! Above my eye!”

“Is that a scar? It just looks like part of your face.”

“Ohoho! Well, let me tell you, there’s an pretty death-defying story behind this…”

“Go on…”

“Well, I was in Poland this one time, and we’d just had lunch I think. I might have had one or two beers, because they were kind of cheap. Anyway, I got to playing ping pong for a while. ‘Ping. Pong. Ping. Pong. Ping. Pong.’ Went the ball. This continued for around 20 minutes. ‘Ping. Pong. Ping. Pon-’”

“Mr Ward, is this story going anywhere?”

“Oh right, yeah. Anyway, then I saw a child’s roundabout, and thought that would be kind of fun. So I got on, and two other people spun it round. Very fast I might add. Anyway, this is where it gets really exciting…”

“Yes, yes…”

“I fell forwards and banged my head.”

“… and?”

“And it cut my head open. And that is the story of my scar.”

“Is that it? That’s your story?”

“Did I mention that I’d only brought a limited number of plasters on holiday?”

“Get the hell out of our poker game.”

I actually have a collection of ridiculous scars. Indeed, every scar I have has a ridiculous story behind it. I think I still have one on my leg, due to a piece of cartoon theatre that wouldn’t have been out of place in a Road Runner cartoon. I have one on my chin which I gained by punching a rocky hill with my face, and I have one on my hand which was another piece of classic slapstick. Surprisingly gory slapstick, but slapstick nonetheless. My body is basically a canvas dedicated to what an idiot I am. I’m pretty certain I’m not done accidentally scarring myself yet, indeed, I reckon that by the time I’m 30 I’ll probably have managed to accidentally burn the word ‘oops’ into my chest with a blowtorch, and perhaps have even nail-gunned my ear to my shoulder.

Anyway, I’ll probably only have this ‘scar’ (and I do use that term fairly loosely, people have probably cut themselves worse whilst shaving), for about another week or two, so I figure I should make the most of it. I might take to wearing an eye patch, and regaling people with tales of the roundabout as if I were a Vietnam War veteran. Heck, if ever I were going to set up a SPECTRE-esque criminal organisation, this really is the window of opportunity right here. I’d better get to work on building my lair. And buying a white dinner jacket. The two staples of all good villains.

That and a vague degree of competence. I’ll just buy a second dinner jacket to compensate for that.

Cherries do not disappoint.

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Today’s snack of choice: A black cherry Muller Fruit Corner. Unlike coconuts, this exceeded my expectations. Well played cherry. Very well played.

Just discovered that the laptop contained what my anti-spyware software describes as ‘level 10 threats’. Basically, super high-level viruses. What good news. Well, actually, I say that with a degree of sarcasm, but the fact is that when it comes to identity theft, I’m practically bulletproof. Not because of my incredibly tight secure measures or anything, unless you count being completely inept as a tight security measure. The fact is, my identity is actually more hassle than it’s worth. There’s no money to take. I’m not the CEO of a massive global company. I just sit down and eat yoghurts. My identity is essentially a trap. If somebody takes my identity, I’ll just create a new one for myself. I figure my new identity will be that of a retired scientist, who, content with having achieved all his goals by the age of 24, now just travels about the globe eating chicken and tiramisu. This will be my new identity. It’s all set, so if anybody does want to take my old identity, this is the new one that I’ll be stepping into.

Of course, I’ll need a suitably glamorous scientisty name to accompany my new identity. I’m thinking ‘Reuben Fandango’. PhD. As for my experiments, they were both numerous and lucrative, but I’ve turned my back on science now after accidentally torching my face off with a bunsen burner. Now I’m just a flaming skull who enjoys tiramisu. It’s sort of like that film with Nicolas Cage. Ghost Rider. Except instead of Ghost Rider, the title is ‘Dr Reuben Fandango PhD’. And I don’t ride a motorbike. I’ve instead used my stash of cash to purchase myself a Vauxhall Astra with flameproof seats. I’d have gone for something better, but I figure I already stand out due to my flaming skull. If anything, an Aston Martin would only distract from the spectacle. Of course, this does mean that I’m only able to take part in high speed pursuits up to about 90 miles an hour before the car starts shaking and the windscreen wipers disintegrate, but I don’t let that hold me back. I mostly just use it for attending film premieres anyway. I’m not invited to many anymore though, since a giant burning skull tends to render fading the cinema lights down null and void. I distract from the illusion of cinema. The escapism of Bad Boys 2 is slightly ruined when you notice that you’ve accidentally set your bag of liquorice allsorts alight on the man in front’s head.

The life of Dr Reuben Fandango PhD is a lonely one. Unlike Nicolas Cage, I can’t really turn my flaming skull off. Well, I mean, I probably could, if I stopped spraying myself with flammable aftershave, but I wouldn’t want to smell inadequate, that would detract from the refined image of Dr Fandango. Dr Fandango is a complicated man, and nobody understands him but a woman who specialises in the psychology of perpetually aflame skulls. I am yet to meet such a woman. I do however, keep myself occupied by participating in many activities. I enjoy beekeeping (requiring not a mask to keep the buzzy beasts away), baking scones (requiring not an oven to preheat), and driving my Vauxhall Astra over bubble wrap (just because). Tiramisu calms the pain. Mostly because it’s riddled with morphine. I like to refer to it as ‘Tiramorphu’, because I’m hilarious like that. I once sold the formula to Carluccio, but after a week’s trial in-store, and a number of lawsuits, it was eventually decided that they were going to remove it. Probably because it actually tasted quite good. I’m sure I’ve ranted about Carluccio’s food in a previous blog post. His range of cakes really are staggeringly bad. I did not enjoy them one bit.

I hope nobody steals the identity of Dr Reuben Fandango. Otherwise I’ll just have to go to one of my further backup identities. I mean, realistically, Reuben Fandango probably should be my last resort. I don’t imagine the logistics of keeping my skull perpetually aflame, whilst not damaging any of the material contained within, would be easy to work out. Unless I actually were Dr Reuben Fandango, in which case I would have no problem at all devising a formula. It’s really a Catch 22 situation here. If the identity of Andy Ward topples, I’ll instead retreat to the relative safety of becoming Jonathan Apollo, full-time accountant. Part-time wizard. It’ll be glorious.

Coconuts disappoint me.

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I just had a bit of coconut. Coconuts promise so much, and yet they’re so rubbish. It was basically just like eating fabric samples. I shall try to remember to avoid them in future. Unless I find myself strolling down some kind of exotic beach, at which point the novelty value of finding a coconut in the sand and eating it will surely take precedence, even if I do have to sit around eating it and muttering to myself about fabric samples. It’ll still make for a lovely scene. Perhaps it might even make it onto a postcard. Me sitting on the beach looking glum, munching on a coconut, alongside the caption ‘wish you were munching on fabric samples as well’. How romantic. And lucrative.

Tomorrow I am going to Poland with a few friends. It should be excellent. Yesterday I went and bought myself lots of Polish Zloty at the bureau de change in Marks & Spencers. I bought so many Polish Zloty that I could hardly close my wallet. I considered this a moment of complete triumph, indeed, in retrospect, I should have made more of this than I did. I should have just ambled around the store shouting “OH MY GOD MY WALLET IS SO FULL OF CASH THAT IT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO CLOSE. WELL THIS CERTAINLY IS EMBARRASSING, I HOPE NOBODY NOTICES THAT MY WALLET IS SO BULGING WITH CASH THAT IT’S CLOSE TO BURSTING. HEY YOU! KNOCK KNOCK! … MY WALLET! … MY WALLET THAT IS ALMOST LITERALLY EXPLODING WITH ZLOTY. [SILENCE] ANYWAY, BYEEEEEEEEEEE!”

Anyway, I think it’s safe to say that this may be the last time my wallet is so full of cash, even if the exchange rate means that the hundreds of Zloty I have is considerably less impressive when translated into British pounds. Anyway, I am going to a town called Gdansk. From what I’ve gathered, it’s near the coast, and may have a shipyard. Since finding out it has a shipyard, I have been unable to picture it as anything other than the second series of The Wire. If I am not personally welcomed off the plane by the man who plays Frank Sobotka, then I’m going home. Or sticking around to discover that my perception is actually massively off and enjoy cheap food and drink in a lovely picturesque town for a few days. Like I say, it should be good.

Well, I say that, I’m assuming I actually make it there. Being the berk that I am, I have filled my bag with tasty snacks, including cereal bars and pork scratchings. Hopefully there won’t be a sniffer dog at the airport that really loves pork scratchings, or else this will be a complete disaster. Me standing around in the middle of the airport terminal with rifles pointed at me, as I slowly and ridiculously withdraw a bag of pork scratchings from my suitcase, leaving me and the dog to look embarrassed for each other. The dog will be fired and turn to drinking, we’ll probably strike up an unlikely friendship (given that we were the downfall of each other), and spend our days sat in bars ranting about the injustice of it all and enjoying pork scratchings (the irony of the situation will completely bypass us because we’re drunk). Eventually ITV will see there’s comedy potential in this unlikely odd couple scenario and give us our own sitcom on ITV2 that’ll be scheduled between ‘Peter Andre forgets where he left his laundry’ and ‘Paris Hilton’s Top 10 boiled sweets’. It’ll be called ‘Dog Complex’, and every week we’ll get into unlikely situations involving pork scratchings. With hilarious consequences. After about 2 episodes of critical mauling we’ll be hidden away in the schedules at 3 in the morning, where our pub snack based antics will be unappreciated by the world at large and we’ll die, cold and lonely in a room stacked to the brim with unwanted ‘Dog Complex’ DVDs, rendering us unable to even get into the kitchen to heat ourselves some Campbells Meatballs on the rusty old stove.

Alternatively, I might just get on the flight without any complications. One of these scenarios is likely to play out. We’ll see which one it is. Hopefully I won’t soon be on the cover of ‘That’s Life!’ magazine gloomily holding up a suitcase and staring straight into the camera next to the caption ‘PORK SCRATCHINGS RUINED MY HOLIDAY’. We’ll see how things play out.

Strangers are fun.

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Things I have learned over the last few days:

1. Talking to strangers can be highly entertaining.

I was sitting in a park near Charing Cross, on the bench that I believe most Londoners know as ‘Andy Ward’s bench’, when I was joined by an American archaeologist called Hannah. She didn’t appear to have a hat, a leather jacket, or a whip, she hadn’t discovered any Aztec treasure, and she’d never even heard of Time Team, so I was sceptical that she was an actual archaeologist, though to be fair, so was she. She was cool though. We discussed burritos and all sorts, and decided to go on an adventure to Croydon, where I was doing a gig.

2. When it comes to stand-up gigs, I should always stick to the plan, especially when I’ve had very little sleep.

I was tired, I half forgot what I was talking about, and my self-doubt made me make a judgment that they would not be interested in my usual rambly pseudo-intellectual rubbish anyway. I’ll never know whether that was the case, as I didn’t do most of my actual set in the end. I basically just used it as a learning experience to mess about. I was pretty awful to be honest, I really was. In future, I should probably also remember that if I do invite somebody to one of my gigs, I should at least try to be half-decent. Anyway, it’s all in the past, and I’ve certainly learned from it, so it has had some use. I’ll be better next time.

3. It is impossible to explain my ghost stories without coming across as completely demented.

Hannah noticed that I had notepads. I explained that I write stories occasionally. She asked what kind of stories. I said all sorts, like ghost stories. She asked what kind of ghost story. I said “Well, there’s one about a possessed dishcloth (tea towel) who kills everybody.” I can’t remember the last time I saw somebody look so completely baffled. She warily asked how it killed everybody. I did not want to explain that it soldered them to a tree with a colander and ingested their souls. That would have made me seem completely mental, so I mumbled something like “oh, you know, it just does…” I haven’t actually released this ghost story yet. Soon I will. It does borderline make sense in context you know.

Oh what am I saying, they’re all nonsense. Still, at least I didn’t try to explain the spaniel one, that would have been even more insane.

4. Lipton Peach Iced Tea is pretty good.

They were giving out free iced tea at the station. I got two bottles. It was very good.

5. Getting asked to leave a restaurant because you’re drunk is kind of funny.

Basically, as it was Hannah’s last day travelling across Europe before she went back to America, I took it upon myself to be the bar guide of the capital. A kind of alcoholic Ambassador. We went to a variety of cool bars, and after a few drinks we got hungry and strolled into Chinatown to find food. We ended up sat in a restaurant, and were about to order food when a man angrily came up, took away our menus and told us to leave because he didn’t like the way we were “throwing our menus about” and he said we’d had too much to drink. Personally, I think he’d had too much to drink, because neither of us had actually done anything with our menus. Well, at one point I may have accidentally slapped myself in the face with my menu, but I’d like to think that he’d have appreciated the slapstick idiocy of this moment rather than got angry and said “This is too much accidental slapstick for my liking! Get them out of here!” Anyway, the last laugh was on us because on my way out I was crushed by an ACME anvil, after which I got up, slipped on a banana skin and fell into a tub of custard. Slapstick 1, Restaurant Man 0.

6. They don’t have Nando’s restaurants in America.

I was horrified.

Anyway, I really enjoyed the spontaneous adventure of the last few days, it was a lot of fun. I seem to be doing this more regularly now. I went on a spontaneous adventure with a friend the other week too. They’re great, I’d highly recommend them. I’m still thinking about turning up to an airport one day and just getting on any flight they have available to anywhere. That could be quite fun, though what with my current financial situation I’d probably end up being trapped there forever, or have to build my own raft and sail across the ocean to get back home. Again though, that could be hilarious in a ‘Tom Hanks and Wilson the volleyball’ kind of way, and it would certainly make for a stream of interesting blog posts. Maybe this will become reality.

Oh, I have also had a new sitcom idea which I’m actually quite excited about. I’m hoping it’ll be quite unique. I’ll have a draft sorted by the end of the month hopefully. Also, I may release an audiobook soon, and put the new ghost stories online. Maybe some new stories too. I wrote an idea down in my draft text messages folder last night when I was still slightly drunk. At the time I obviously considered it an idea of such remarkable genius that the world would bow down to my remarkable writing prowess. As I sit here sobered up, I realise that that is probably not the case. We’ll see eventually though, I’m definitely going to write it at some point, if just for the challenge. Something delightful to look forward to, I’m sure.

One day I may even write more Cat City. And if that’s not exciting then I don’t know what is. Literary critics have been falling over themselves raving about the first short extract. Why only the other day the Guardian described it as ‘quite literally words’, while the New York Times went with ‘this is… not… the worst thing I’ve ever read’*. Thanks everybody! See you at the Booker Prize!

*Quote may have been edited.

My new microphone had better not be rubbish.

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Not like the last deceptive scoundrel that arrived that made me sound like a robot. I’ve spent a lot more on this microphone, in the hope that it’ll provide a more cost-effective way to make podcasts, and at the same time, allow me to make more at home as well, which should be good. I’ll henceforth refer to my bedroom as ‘the studio’. Maybe I’ll get myself one of those ‘On Air’ lights and a collection of Aha records for the full Tony Blackburn effect. I’m actually going off the idea a bit as I type this thought, just because I’m starting to remind myself a bit of The Boat That Rocked. I never actually saw the film, I just remember seeing the trailers and being thoroughly depressed by them alone. I mean, like I say, I never actually saw the film, so I’m in no position to condemn it as being dreadful, but it certainly looked annoying enough. Some quirky characters on a boat having hilarious romantic comedy based japes, occasionally stopping to dance in unison. No. No thanks. Quincy had a boat, but he didn’t go around making a song and dance about it. I was even quite surprised to find out he lived on a boat once because he’d never mentioned it before in an episode. He just turned up on a boat once and you thought “Is this where Quincy lives? Quincy lives on a boat? Well this is a surprise.” He didn’t just barge through into the episode as hastily as possible after the opening titles had vanished shouting “HELLO. I AM QUINCY M.E. AND I LIVE ON A BOAT.”

No, wait a second. He kind of did. Indeed, he actually did it DURING the opening titles. I mean, without the dialogue, but the opening titles did keep featuring Quincy messing about on his boat. He hung about off ropes, and he curiously examined some woman as if he were a corpse, before the camera panned out AND HE WAS ON HIS BOAT. WITH A NOT DEAD WOMAN. Maybe he was a big boat show-off in retrospect. He probably had that all inserted into his contract. ‘Will not do show if it does not feature my boat’. That’s why on the DVD Extras of 12 Angry Men there’s just a 15 minute extra where Quincy (or Jack Klugman, call him what you want) ambles about his boat showing you how much cupboard space there is. He’s a diva.

Anyway, yeah, more podcasts soon, I think that was the point I was originally making. My word I’m tired. I met a Scottish man today who had never heard of Selfridges. I explained that it was a big department store. It was just as exciting as it sounds. I also saw a woman on the train who was reading the Radio Times. There was no evidence that she’d been shopping or anything, it just looked like she’d brought it with her from home. Many people read novels, magazines, etc, but this woman was obviously determined to read the TV listings for an hour. Don’t get me wrong, the Radio Times is fine, and it certainly contains a lot of articles that you can read, but it’s not an hour long travel companion. I mostly imagine Radio Times being confined to people’s living rooms. It would confuse me to even take a Radio Times upstairs, but to take a Radio Times on a train? I don’t know, maybe the train was her home. Maybe she was a ghost that haunted the train, in which case, that’s a pretty strange manifestation to come back as. Somebody who spends eternity reading a Radio Times on a train. It’s a half-hour read, maximum. Eternity is far too long for a Radio Times. Though to be fair, it does come out once a week, so maybe the ghost comes back with the latest edition every week. I’m not entirely familiar with the etiquette of supernatural magazine subscriptions.

Anyway, I might go sit in front of the TV, watch Howl’s Moving Castle and eat biscuits. That would be cool. Yeah. Bye!