Just because.


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Dry dreams.

Right. This has got to stop.

I tend to always have weird dreams. It's a side effect of spending 80% of my time sleeping and I'm used to it. But suddenly I'm having incredibly strange dreams about obscure laydee celebs.

It all started a month or so back when the sleeping me met Kelly Osbourne. There were a few of us sat on beanbags in a room watching episodes of The Simple Life which Kelly had burned onto disk from the internet. She was lovely and said she'd see me around.

A few days later, in what I thought was my subconscious collecting the whole family, I saw Sharon Osbourne in a play (Acorn Antiques: The Musical) whilst on a school trip. Although Sharon was actually Rula Lenska (she had at least Rula's body and hair, but it was somehow definitely Sharon).

Earlier this week I dreamt that I'd had a phone call off my mate Kayleigh to say that she'd just seen the legendary Midlands Today weather girl, Shefali Oza, buying tights in Marks & Spencer.

And then last night I had the weirdest one of the lot.

I think I was watching Finding Nemo, because it had (possibily cgi) fish and I was seeing it all through a television screen. It started with what looked like a plate of spare ribs but actually turned out to be two fish pretending to be spare ribs. They then put a sign in front of the remaining plateful of food saying it was free, and suddenly a fat version of Irene from Home & Away (!) was sat behind it, with a napkin tucked into her top and being speedily fed to food by the two fish.

This is not at all right.

I haven't even watched Home & Away for 6 years, nor thought of Irene since. I remember her as the slighty "council" lady who looked after all the spare kids. Like Susan Kennedy, but with gold hoops and on 30 a day. Apparently she's still in it.

BUT:

1. Why am I having these dreams?
2. Will they stop?
3. What do they mean?
4. And why can't I have nice dreams about buff hotties?

I'm hoping they do come to an end before it all gets out of hand and I end up waking up in a cold sweat after witnessing Janet Street-Porter doing her trick with the ping pong balls.

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Mr Needstogrowthefuckup.

At 4 this morning I was woken up by a fox redecorating our front lawn with a pheasant's insides. I couldn't get back to sleep and ended up reading 32 Mr Men books.

Here are my favourites:

I then spent a good hour or so looking for our copy of Mr Bump (one of my all time favourites), to no avail. I was nearly crying.

The 4 year old me learnt a helluvva lot from the Mr Men. I'm sure it's symbolic that I never took to the Little Miss series.

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Who rah.

Once upon a time there was a god. His name was Noel Edmonds. He lived in a big house and every Saturday night he'd have a great big massive fuck off party. It was great. There was lots of gunge and every now and then the door bell would ring and it'd be someone from The Bill, or Barbara Windsor. This was all shown on TV and everyone was happy. Until some Beebcunt decided to axe it.

Then there were wilderness years, where Saturday nights were filled with darkness (or actually going out) until:

Oooo-weee-ooooh...

Yes, tonight sees the return of one of last year's greatest shows - Doctor Who. I am very excited.

This series will be even better than the last one, I can feel it in my waters. That and the fact I've been watching the red button previews enough times to qualify me for geek status. A lot of this series' greatness will be because of the new Doctor, who's not as gormlessly happy, northern or "a bit crappy" as the last one(who I'd say was the most annoying character in series 1, if it wasn't for the absofuckinlutely awful Mickey*). David Tennant would also definitely get a dicking, which certainly doesn't harm things.

Tonight's eppy sees Lady Cassandra back, and a race of evil cat-nuns. Smashing.

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*As Mickey happens to be black, I should point out that I'm not a racist - some of my best friends know black people.

Dear The Man in Gap,

You overcharged me by 15 quid for those jeans this morning.

Obviously my total fear of confrontation meant that I said nothing to you about this, and wished you a good day before leaving, but please know that I'm a teensy bit pissed off with you.

It's this type of behaviour that'll see you working with the peroxided gays in Topshop.

Bestest Wishes,

Gareth


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Easter is cancelled.

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My heart will go on.

INT. OFFICE AT FILM STUDIOS, LOS ANGELES USA.

The head of 20th Century Fox is sitting at a big desk, covered in lots of executive swinging ball toys. There is a knock at the door and Dallas McSwizzle, hotshot film producer, comes in and sits down.

STUDIO BOSS

So, have you come up with my summer blockbuster yet?

DALLAS

(confidently) Yeah, I think so.

STUDIO BOSS

Well, let's hear it. I'm counting on this to be the hit, after "Dunblane: The Musical" didn't really pay off for us.

DALLAS

Well it's about a Nun - a diabetic nun.

STUDIO BOSS

Oooh.

DALLAS

Well one day Lorraine, that's her name, eats too much sugar. She has lots of Christening cake, or whatever it is that those nuns eat. We'll iron out the details later. Anyway, as a result she has to have her leg amputated. BUT! Due to an hilarious mix up at the hospital she ends up having the recently severed leg of Linford Christie - coz he'd been in a car crash- attached to her. So when she wakes up, this leg has power over her, and she can't stop running. And she runs and she runs across america - well mosly New York, L.A. and Vegas - until the army have to shoot her in the head. Six times. In slow motion. But it's all really sad because on the way she's fallen in love with a struggling single father of an autistic child, and taught him to love life again.

STUDIO BOSS

(stunned silence)

I LOVE IT!!! I'm imagining Charlize Theron as Lorraine, with Sean Penn as the spakka's Dad. They'll do anything to get another Oscar. (Stops to think, and starts to look deflated)

But wait, hang on. The middle-class religious pressure groups would reject to a nun having a black man's leg. It'd be commercial suicide to make it.

DALLAS

Oh. Shit.

How about we just do the Titanic sequel then?

And so it came to pass.

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"He's my favourite paedophile."

Goodness me.

Usually when a new band adds you on MySpace, they're guaranteed to be shit. Quite why I get hundreds of fake angsty shouty bands from the rough suburbs of Shropshire thinking that I want to be their friend when my music list includes Abba, Girls Aloud and Savage Garden is beyond me.

But today I got a friend request from a band who can only be described as "refreshingly different". The two songs on their page are both totally kickass, which means that I'm liking 100% of their material and by rights makes them my favourite band of all time. Or something.

There's the brilliant Paedom - aka "Gary Glitter: The Musical", which just demands the stage show treatment and includes Gitter being executed to the sounds of Celine Dion. And there's Christmas Anthem which totally blows that Slade song we end up playing every year out of the water.

It's all terribly immature and reeeaaally tasteless, but that's no bad thing.


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I am fucking terrified.

Bird flu schmird flu. My life is currently underthreat from a different animal danger.

I haven't seen a single spider since last August. Being severely scared of the spindly fastmoving deathlords, you may think that this is a good thing. I did too until recently. But then I realised...

This is far too good to be true.

There's aproximately gazillions of spiders in this world, and for me not to run into (and subsequently away from) one in 8 months in frankly absurd.

They've changed tactics. After realising that one of them running across my bed when I pull back the duvet is not enough to destroy me (and only make me scream like a girl and spend the night in a spare room), the spiders have retreated to gather together an army big enough to wipe out mankind. Thousands of them will soon march through our cities, making the streets run red with blood and, y'know, covering the place in unsightly cobwebs.

I urge the government to drop everything and act now. The dead swan was obviously just a spider planted decoy.

Personally, I'll make sure that my trusty spider catcher* is never out of reach. And I'm hoping that the secret spider army hq is not inside of me, perhaps as the result of all the ones that I've swallowed in my sleep getting jiggy. It's one of my major fears to start coughing up spiders.

Do not dismiss these as the paranoid rants of an unstable boy. Be afraid. Be very afraid.


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*Honestly, it's not a sex toy.

We're all ganna die!!! etc...

Well that's what you'll think if you pay any attention to ITV News, or similar sensationalist scare mongering media sources, such as The Sun. As a result the lower class housewives are shitting their Velour tracky-b's, and phoning in to ask if they can still feed the ducks and serve their kids chicken nuggets.

Honestly, talk about over-reacting. And even if we are all going to cark it, it's much easier to do so in a laid back manner.

I'd have preffered a big comet - chickens with the sniffles just aren't exciting enough.


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Made merry man.

How exciting.

Autumn 2006 sees the return of Robin Hood to our tellybox screens. He'll be filling Doctor Who's slot for 13 weeks.

This will be brilliant. Here is why:

• It's ganna be on the BBC, who do this type of thing quite well.
• It's written by the brother of that guy who directed that film with Jude Law and Matt Damon, and that film with Jude Law and Nicole Kidman. And those other film's with people in.
• As seen from the above picture, Robin Hood is well buff.
• Pretty much any Robin Hood media so far has been brilliant. Examples include Disney's Robin Hood and Maid Marrion and her Merry Men.
• Friar Tuck won't be in it. This is no loss whatsoever - he's all fat and holy.

Right, I'm off into the attic to dig out my childhood Robin Hood costume. Although it's got no arrows with it because Mum confiscated them. She had a great uncle who lost his eye after being shot with a toy arrow. Which is hardly a valid excuse I'm sure you'll agree.


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