Lets deal with cricket first of all. So, it’s alleged a few quid has been made by a few skint cricketers. So what. Last week the world was dipping into its pockets to help the poor people of Pakistan who are wallowing in floods. Britain has given the most. This is not surprising as we have a huge Pakistani community and the Brits are among the most caring people in the world…even though we take the piss out of most of its inhabitants!

What puzzles me is all the fuss made about the alleged offences – what difference does it make to the result if a bowler throws a few no balls?  And by doing so, can make himself a nice few quid, perhaps to send home to his struggling relatives.  To ban these young cricketers for doing something that really most of us would do (well I would!)  is silly. We all make mistakes. I made mistakes; once I ate a type of food that made me suffer for years…wedding cake!

Now then, let’s talk about Tony Blair.  I’d had enough of the Labour government and when the Inland Revenue withdrew their sponsorship of me, I buggered off.  I’m never happy with a socialist government.  Never have been and never will.  You see, I can’t work out why people who work hard have to pay a bigger percentage of their reward for doing so.  Socialism is the cause of this country’s problems.  There are so many ponces in this country, just look at the Jeremy Kyle show.  Most of his people look as if they’ve never worked in their lives and not all of them are Liverpuddlians!  Have you noticed you don’t see any black underclass low life morons on there?  There must be some somewhere, or maybe they have too much class or respect for themselves?  Or they’re too busy being in gangs!  Whatever is the case, the white under classes of this country need a good sorting out.  I would stop benefits immediately and while I’m at it, scrap the Old Age Pension and cancel the NHS.  That way we can build our aircraft carriers without sucking up to the French.  Anyway…

I personally believe that Tony Blair really did think that Sadam Hussein had weapons of mass destruction.  I have letters from him regarding the entertainment of the troops and I wrote to him with my British Forces Foundation founder’s hat on suggesting things we could do to make the troops life a little better.  To my mind, based on these letters, the Prime Minister came over as genuinely concerned for the troops well being and was totally convinced that the Iraqi’s had some nasty stuff that would soon be found.

I didn’t like his policies very much and I certainly didn’t like his successor, however, you have to have respect for the job.  So, although it’s very easy to go Blair-Bashing I won’t be first in the queue to do so.

The other thing people are moaning about is his donation of five million pound to the Royal British Legion.  This of course will not bring back our friends and loved ones but it will help their mates in the future.  I think it’s a splendid gesture and no one is more cynical than me.  If I was Tony Blair and read all this criticism and moaning I would think, ‘fuck it, I’ll keep it then.’

We all feel pain when our soldiers are killed and injured and we all do our best to help.  I’ve lost many friends and I’ve many friends that have lost their sons.  War is a terrible thing.

I wonder if Winston Churchill got such criticism.  Mind you, he had a war forced on him.  I suppose Tony Blair did too.  George Bush is the one I would moan about.  I wonder who he’s going to give the money for his memoires to.

Let’s hope that the British Forces will soon be coming home when they have completed the task they set out to do – God bless them.

Jim

Anyway, off we go to Torquay train station and buy three first class tickets to Weston-Super-Mare.  The three of us, now looking like a Royal Marine raiding party, move our way to the front of the platform where I assure Goose and Bill the first class carriages will be.

The train that turned up was designed by Hornby and consisted of four carriages and it stopped two carriages away from us, where the first class ones should have been!  A quick check revealed that there were no first class carriages – there were only these four council house ones.  The guard was very apologetic and sat us down amongst the poor.  We set off towards Weston-Super-Mare, where to our horror, on looking out of the starboard window, we saw that the sea was like a millpond!

The choo-choo arrived sometime later and we made our way to the hotel.  I was given a key to the Princess Diana suite, which consisted of imitation furniture in a sort of white lacquered finish.  There was so much of it crammed into the room that I had to leap over a table and two chairs to get on to the bed that was designed and made before comfortable mattresses were invented! The widescreen TV bolted on the wall looked completely out of place.  However, it did boast 4 or 5 channels, some of which the quality was watchable.  The rest had a digital interference that presented David Dickinson’s face in a dark orange mosaic!  As it was the afternoon, there of course, was no food to be had.  The chef had obviously passed away in the night, however, a homely girl called Carla who worked behind reception, made me a chicken sandwich accompanied with curly wurly chips – how nice.  The gig was walking distance from the hotel, although this was Weston-Super-Mare, which has a bigger crime rate than Kabul!  Weston-Super-Mare also boasts that it is the rehab centre of the world…hmmmm.  The two greatest things about Weston-Super-Mare is the theatre, which is beautiful and ran efficiently, and a little bloke who plays rugby. I’ve never really caught his name but he’s always in the bar next to the hotel and always buys me a pint and we have a good ole natter.

The show was great and we returned to the hotel bar at a minute past eleven, to find it shut!  One of the staff, a young girl of about 8, told us we couldn’t have a drink and she didn’t really care ‘cos her shift was over.  A nice night porter arrived and seeing the expression on Goose’s face, presented us with three pints and ushered us to another bar, which was also shut.  So we faced the security grill over the bar, drunk our beer and went to bed, annoyed that hotels in our country are run so badly.  When I asked for the manager, I was told that he was in Poland – obviously recruiting some more staff for his truly appalling hotel!  Is this the best Britain can do?  It really needs sorting out.

After breakfast of deep fried bacon and a hard-poached egg, we were greeted by a Liverpuddlian taxi driver, who sat behind his steering wheel and watched us as we struggled to get our bags into the boot of his car.  He then, in true Liverpool style, proceeded to piss us off with his quips and his Liverpuddlian banter.  We arrived at Weston-Super-Mare train station to be informed that our train was stuck in Dorset.  Its probably on the A31 and broken down, or been nicked for speeding!

Another choo-choo arrived with two carriages.  This didn’t have first class…or second class!  In fact it looked like one of those trains that you see Indians hanging off of in Mumbai but it got us into Temple Meads Station where we boarded a proper grown up train with first class carriages.  We were then informed by someone with a Bristolian accent and a speech impediment saying, ‘Nish twayne mil awivin hat Wedin aht eneven-tirty…hank hugh.”

I had a cup of tea and a small carton of UHT milk, free – don’t they spoil us in first class!  Anyway I arrive home to find that the Mrs has demolished half of our garden in an attempt to improve it.  I, foolishly, mentioned that I weren’t too keen on the improvements, so now I’m typing this from the dog house!

Jim

PS: Don’t forget I’m still looking for volunteers for the posters! Email me at enquiries@chalkstreamentertainment.com

Dorset is getting on my tits!  I did a gig the other evening in Truro, Cornwall and the following Saturday morning at 8 o’clock I jumped in my car and drove back to Southampton – it took 7 hours!  It was all going swimmingly well until I turned off the M5 towards Honiton and there, as Devon ended and Dorset started, so did the shit storm!  The traffic jams were horrendous.  As I called home to say I’d be delayed by some 3 or 4 months, I heard the sound of a rare police car.  I immediately pulled over to allow these law enforcement officers a chance to pursue their prey – guess who their target was, me!  I had been seen using my mobile phone – bollocks!  A nice friendly policeman smiled when he saw it was me and said, “I was in the military and I saw you in Abu Dhabi.  What you do for the Forces is brilliant however, you’re nicked my son!”  I was then given a ticket and told I would get three points and a 60 quid fine or I can go to a ‘learn how not to be an arsehole lesson’ and pay 100 quid and get no points.  So I’m off to a classroom somewhere to be lectured on road safety by some 12-year-old policeman.  I made my farewell to the policeman and resisted the temptation to tell him to shove his police car up his bottom and sort out the roads in Dorset, and proceeded to cover the next five miles in an hour and a half!  By then I had turned into Michael Douglas in the film Falling Down (lets hope he gets better).  I was just about to leave the car in the traffic jam and walk home when low and behold a dual carriage way.  Both the car and I rejoiced as we sped along the uncluttered highway, only to be photographed by a fucking police van!  I arrived in Southampton looking and feeling like Ranulph Fiennes!  I am never driving on the A35 or the A31 again – well, not for 6 months anyway!

I am dictating this whilst on my holidays!  Me, Goose and brother Bill decided to give our 36ft sports fishing boat a run out.  Our plan was to leave Southampton and arrive in Torquay a day later.  We didn’t envisage any trouble, unless we ran aground on the A35 or A31 in fucking Dorset!  The weather report was fine, with north westerly breezes and a sea state slight.  This weather must have been predicted by Stevie Wonder, as a slight sea was a swell of about 6ft.  This caused us to divert to Poole Harbour where we waited for 2 hours for the weather to calm down.  The wind did eventually drop and full of hope and Chateauneuf de Pape we set our course for Weymouth, arriving at 6pm.  By 7pm we were totally pissed and feeling no pain!  Brother Bill was poured into the cabin and Goose and I slept on the deck of the boat.  I was awoken 2 hours later by a body dropping on me like a tonne of hot horseshit!  Screaming in pain and clutching my several broken ribs, I leapt up to find it was brother Bill, who on the way to the Stern for a call of nature had fallen on me.  Things are about to get worse.  0330hours our personal alarms went off and not knowing where we were, who we were, why we were there, or what we were doing, we set off round Portland Bill in the dark.  This has to be done very carefully ‘cos if you get the course wrong you end up on the rocks, or worse still, out to sea in the Portland Race, a dodgy patch of sea that has claimed many a brave seaman.  At the break of dawn we rounded the Bill and steered due west for our 40 mile trip across Lime Bay. We celebrated with a tin of Kronenberg – it was 6.20am!  The sea was very rough as we made our way slowly towards Torbay.  We covered the first 22 miles in an hour.  With 18 miles still ahead of us I noticed that our fuel gauges were dropping at an alarming rate – shit, we’re going to run out of fuel.  A decision had to be made.  As Captain, it was up to me to take command and show strength of character and instill confidence into my crew – I made my decision – I started crying!  In nautical terms we chucked a right-hander and aimed for the nearest coast 15 miles away. We were going in the wrong direction with no fuel not knowing why we were bothering to do this.  Suddenly the A35 and A31 would be welcome.  We arrived off the coast of Sidmouth and were protected by the wind from the cliffs, which enabled us to slow down and conserve what little fuel we had left.  Bill, who had promoted himself to Second in Command, instructed Goose to dive in the water with a rope and tow us to Torquay.  Goose said he couldn’t do this as he left his swimming trunks in Southampton!  Goose reassured us all that the fuel gauges were wrong.  We knew he was talking bollocks but we all nodded in agreement.  We limped into Torbay at 0800hours and celebrated with a bacon roll!  We are now going to make the journey to Weston Super Mare by train, as it would seem that it is no fun travelling through Dorset by road or by sea!  Huge Firley Fernley Whittington is welcome to Dorset!

Stay tuned…From your Captain Jim!

PS: Have you booked your tickets for Stand Up And Be Counted in Southampton yet?

PPS: Sorry to anybody who had tickets for Scarborough.  I had to cancel because of sudden family emergency – it is very rare that I have to cancel a show but in this instance I had no choice.

Let me explain: three years ago the Inland Revenue put me back on my feet.  They made me sell my cars.  Not only did they do that, they gave me a lecture about not buying cars.  Now, I tried to explain to them that me, being an ex-celebrity, cannot just queue up with the poor and get on a bus that’s full of the public!  I think they thought I was a snob. So now what I do is just drive the car that my production company hires for various tours and gigs.  I have become great mates with the car hire man as some days he lets me drive his DB9.  I have longed for the day that I pull up to Jeremy Clarkson at the traffic lights where he looks at my car and me and gives me a thumbs up and a nod. It hasn’t happened yet but I bet as soon as I’m out in this bloody Opal I’ll bump into him immediately.

I have good news and bad news.  Bad news first – I am not going to do Sinderella 3 this year after all.  I’ll tell you why, and its quite simple – its too bloody expensive, especially as that VAT has now gone to 20%. Also, as I have said before, a lot of theatres stick on a box office ticket fee of GBP 3.50 and a restoration fee of a pound.  This means for me to break even on the cost of touring Sinderella 3 the tickets would have to be GBP 756.50 each!

So guess what… I am going to tour a new comedy play called Stand Up And Be Counted.  It’s a play ‘wot’ I wrote in Dubai last year.  It relates to comedians attitudes to one another and is set back stage at an Aids Benefit Concert.  Eddie Pierce is a middle aged, old fashioned, bigoted comic (played by me of course!) He is joined by Earl T Richmond who is young, politically correct, handsome, hysterical…and black!  NOW I’ve got your interest haven’t I?

I won’t tell you too much about the rest of the play but I’m very proud of what I’ve done.  We do the initial launch the first week of September but tickets are on sale now for the week of  7^th March 2011 at the Southampton Mayflower.  To book your seats call the Mayflower….or pop into the box office personally…oh and don’t forget to take advantage of the concessions – that means if you’re a one legged old aged pensioner student we give you a free ticket and ten quid to spend – just kidding!

You can contact the Mayflower on 02380 711811 or via the website http://www.mayflower.org.uk/event.asp?show=STAND11

What I have managed to secure, joined with The British Forces Foundation, is to offer a GBP 5.00 reduction per ticket (maximum of two) to Armed Forces personnel on the proviso that they show their warrant card when picking up the tickets.  That’s good init?

The play runs for a week in each venue and we’ll be going to such exotic places as Dartford, Glasgow, Dunfermline, Croydon and Swansea.  We’ll announce officially at the beginning of September but I just wanted to let you know in advance because you’re my mates.

Anyway, as I said in the last blog, I’m looking for some volunteers to help me with the poster campaign.  We can’t just stick them up anywhere as we’ll all get nicked but what I’m after is for volunteers to ask shop owners etc., if they would display posters in their windows.  As the play runs for a week at each venue it’s a lot of arses on seats!  If you can help, please email me at enquiries@chalkstreamentertainment.com and we’ll arrange to send you some posters.

I hope you’ll enjoy it. It certainly is different to anything I’ve done before and I hope with your help we can persuade people to come along.  Do you like the picture along with this blog of me as Eddie Pierce – I think grey hair suits me?!

Please leave some of your comments for me and I’ll try and answer them in next week’s blog – oh, and by the way…the new Davidson Superstore is being formatted at the moment and should be on line in the next week or two so you can buy all your merchandise directly.

Take care

Jim

The summer season is upon us yet again and I’m looking forward to seeing you all at the great British seaside piss up!

Did anyone see ELP in London on the 25^th? Please let me know how they went. I couldn’t force myself to see them after my huge bust up with Greg. I hope they went down well. You can’t beat talent; talking of which…

…Rick Wakeman played for us at the British Forces Foundation ball and had everybody opened mouthed. He is fantastic and a great bloke. I wonder how many pop stars are masters of their instruments, as they were in my day? Emerson, Wakeman, Clapton – they were truly talented blokes. Still, Jordon means well and I heard she sang a bit on her new record!

I’m off to visit one of our newest warships HMS Daring soon.  She is what’s called a type 45 and is truly awesome. I hope the government don’t scrap our two new aircraft carriers. I really think they would be a tremendous asset to our security – and great ships to do shows on!

I’m working on an exciting new project that you’ll love. I can’t say too much at the moment but in the next blog I’ll give you the lowdown. I will also be looking to form an army of you lot, to help with the marketing and promotion of the project. So, hold fast and all will be revealed in a bit.

So sad Alex passed away. What a character he was and a really gifted snooker player.  Isn’t it funny, the real geniuses have strange other things going on in their heads as well?

I’ll see you in Great Yarmouth…and beyond!!!!!

Talking of injuries, I have broken a bone in my right hand – I think.  I was clowning around with my three sons (sounds like a TV programme) and decided to enlighten them with some Jujitsu as taught by Master Mick Gould (check his website www.mickgould.com).  Anyway, instead of a killer blow to the jugular vein, I very cleverly and expertly missed daughters boyfriend head by a fraction and with dramatic effect thumped the floor of the garden shed!  I since found out that hardened pine wood is much stronger than skin and bone.  Unlike those spindly little Kung fu Shaolin monks, who can punch through titanium without any pain – I now have the knuckle of my little finger up by my elbow.  It looks like my arm has grown a nipple – must take more water with it in future!

Been really busy.  Sam and I produced Stevie Lamprell’s birthday party at the Grosvenor where along with Jethro, Bobby Davro, Kev Orkian and the brilliant French painter Jean Pierre Blanchard I had the pleasure of directing and producing Katherine Jenkins and Lionel Richie all with a 60 piece National Symphony Orchestra conducted by the brilliant Steve Sidwell and the effervescent genius Allan Rogers.  Funnily enough, as I was booking Lionel Richie and dealing with his offices’ demands, i.e. airfares, hotels, dressing rooms etc., I was finishing my first novel, Joined at the Hip, and it amazed me how similar the two events had become.  The novel Joined at the Hip, which will be available at Christmas, is a story about booking Lionel Richie and the Commodores to appear in concert in Barbados in 1978.  What was happening in fiction was happening to me for real – where do you find organic nasal spray?

The party was a great success thanks to my production team of Rick Price, Nigel Catmur and Robert Garofalo.  At one stage we had 100 crew working on the production and to let you know the scale of it, the crew ate 368 hot meals during the 24 hour period – greedy buggers!

Last month I also put on a show starring Mike Osman, Jethro, Bobby Davro and Kev Orkian at the Southampton Mayflower for the benefit of the James Shears and Alan Bannon Memorial Fund.  It was a cracking show.  Bobby Davro reminded us all of how brilliant he is – I’m glad I wasn’t following him!  Jethro couldn’t give a toss – on he went and paralyzed them.  Kev Orkian was sensational, as was Southampton comedian Mike Osman.  I went on last and was the best – so there!  Mike and I presented the Red Watch Firefighters at St Mary’s in Southampton of a cheque of GBP 35,000 – a job well done.

The coalition government seems to be working well.  Unfortunately we all have to tighten our belts to get the country out the poo.  So, next year the ticket prices will go up because VAT will increase to 20%.  I must just clear up some misunderstanding; on my last tour I tried to keep the tickets at GBP 20.00 however certain theatres added a booking fee of GBP 3.50, they also then added a pound restoration fee.  You have to pay for this and I get none of it.  There’s nothing I can do about this and you must take it up with the theatres if you have the hump.  It’s nothing to do with me, honest. 

Next month we’ll be launching our new onsite supermarket, where you can buy every piece of old shit I’ve ever recorded.   You can also place your order for the new novel Joined at the Hip and the cookery book Davidson’s Council House Cook Book.  I’m looking forward to that.

The Australian tour has been put back to October and I’ll be playing the same venues as last year – details will be announced in a week or two.  I’m looking forward to seeing all my Aussie fans and having a beer or two after the show.

Well that’s it for now but stay tuned as we will have a major announcement for you within the next two weeks – it’s really exciting!

Keep the comments coming – I love ‘em.

The van made no attempt to stop the offending vehicle from speeding, it just took its picture and let it go past and perhaps kill someone in another county. Speeding is dangerous isn’t it? And one would think that all counties and their police forces would do their utmost to stop it. Unless of course it was a going concern. I believe that somewhere there is a “Britain’s richest camera” site that lists all the really good money spinning speed cameras.
Anyway.. time passed, and your fearless leader…me, was sitting in his dressing room at Frome on the third of December, six months later, when a bloody great copper walks in and states with a grin like a Cheshire cat, “You’ve been nicked my son”.

It would seem that the Devon and Cornwall police have been writing to me for 6 months. They sent the stuff to Dubai, to theatres, Franksie the car hire bloke, even to my ex manager and agents various. I had seen none of this.
My arrangement for cars is simple …… I haven’t got any.

Since the Inland Revenue suggested that I sell my cars to pay their tax, I never bothered getting any more.  I simply hire them for whatever tour I’m doing. I get a 4×4 for the production team and trained killers, and one for me. Sometimes I scrounge the hire company’s boss’s Aston…very posh.

I have a Dubai driving licence as I live in Dubai (till June 14).  So, when the nice policeman gave me the summons to go to court, I pleaded guilty and said I’d pay any fine and enclosed a copy of my Dubai licence!
The Magistrates heard the case in my absence and decided they wanted to see me to, perhaps, ban me from driving.
I called the court and asked if there were any expenses for travelling from Dubai. They laughed.

So down I went , and faced the bench. They were very nice. They are aren’t they?  I ended up telling them I pleaded guilty because I did not want to waste any more police time ….although I wasn’t sure it was me.  A photo was produced; I was still not sure if was me. It looked like Brad Pitt was driving.

The magistrates showed great common sense and gave me their verdict.  …Mustn’t grumble, but…..
How much did it cost for that copper to chase me all over the world?
Could he have used his time arresting baddies?
I know speeding kills.   …..So why didn’t they stop me speeding?
If it’s money they’re after, and we all know it is, why ban people?
It would be better to keep all the speeders on the road. They’re the ones bringing in the revenue, not the sixty year old English teacher in a Morris Minor.
Now we know that speed traps are money making things, rather than safety devices, we should have more – not ban constant offenders …. and to hell with safety. It would seem the Police aren’t too bothered.

This is the first coalition government since Churchill.  Churchill, as you know , was the last white bloke to be called Winston.  Is it me, or am I the only one who notices that Nick Clegg is a ringer for Pike in Dad’s Army?  He even talks like him – stupid boy.  Its funny isn’t it – they’ve spent the whole campaign slagging each other off and are now saying, “Well, I think they’ve got some policies we could work with”.   Let’s hope that David Cameron’s ambition to get into Number 10 has not outweighed his judgment and that Stupid Boy’s determination to move his party forward hasn’t made him a toothless tiger.  Someone told me once, we need a good strong opposition and Margaret Thatcher would be the first to agree that the Conservatives made Labour electable.  We now have probably the best set of young minds that Britain can produce (those who want to earn bugger all anyway) in the new cabinet.  Let’s hope that this coalition government learns the art of talking to one another, learns the art of compromise, and learns an important lesson that this country, our country, is in their hands.

If they bugger up, or fail to impress, Joanna Lumley and I are standing by with a brigade of Gurkhas and tanks!
If you tried to imagine what those negotiations between Dave and Stupid Boy were like they pale into comparison with trying to leave Dubai!  This morning I tried to pay my final electricity bill.  I was told I can’t pay that until it has been disconnected and then have to wait four days for the bill.  It is 41 degrees here, without air conditioning one turns into a wrinkled prune within hours.  I explained this to the woman who looked at me as if I was mad.  Not only that I can’t leave the country until I’ve paid all the bills and I don’t get the bills until 4 days after I’m due to leave.  You couldn’t make it up!

Anyway, I’ll be back in a couple of days to carry on with my enormously successful tour.  Hope to see you there when we can all celebrate the fact we have a new leader – may God bless him.

All Star Tribute Evening in aid of James Shears & Alan Bannon Memorial Fund

Jim Davidson presents an evening of laughter and music, all in aid of the James Shears & Alan Bannon Memorial Fund. Starring Bobby Davro, Mike Osman, Jethro and Kev Orkian with Special Guests still to be announced.

James Shears & Alan Bannon were two of Southampton’s finest firefighters from St Mary’s Red Watch, who tragically lost their lives in the line of duty. This show is the brainchild of Jim Davidson who has gathered together entertainers from across the business to raise money for this worthy cause.

Jim will be the compere for this entertaining evening, so book now and support our fallen heroes.

Click here to book

The first thing to go was alcohol.  Along with it went my reason to live.  I’d done this before. For six years! Fucking hell!  I can do this I told myself as I searched the drug cupboard for heroin or something stronger.  This is no problem.

Day One

Woke up knowing that this is the best I’m going to be feeling all day.  It is nine o’clock, I stagger to the bathroom with legs that have gone stiff in protest.  My hair is quite long, like the old days.  I don’t look so bad,for my age!  Considering I’ve lived dog years really.  Dogs being the operative word sometimes.  I poke my tongue out and recoil in horror.  It looks as if I’ve been sucking a Victory V tablet all night.  On top of that I have a spot on my chin, on the left.  I must be detoxing.  I’ve noticed over the years that left of the chin is a zit hotspot.  I give it the good news.  Nothing happens, except a large bruisey thing appears around the spot making it look like a fried egg.  Shit!
The shower is cold and then hot and then scalding.  I dry myself and have another look in the mirror.  The dog looks and runs off!  It’s the first time he’s seen me make it out of the bathroom without a look that says never again.  I feel no different.  I should do really as I had only one glass of wine last night.  I should have had a vineyard knowing I wasn’t going to have any for a while. But then I’m not stopping because of drink problems ….not really, this is for dieting purposes only.  I won’t drink today, no problem …nothing a quick serenity prayer won’t sort out.
Breakfast is a fry up  …Rome wasn’t built in a day.
Went to the gym lunchtime …and had a burger!
The evening saw us sitting in front of the TV watching Private Practice.  When she went to bed I had a couple of episodes of The Shield to bloke myself up.  I went to bed at eleven and got to sleep at four.  Must be the jet lag.

Day Two
Up at 0600 and went for a run… Just kidding!
Woke up at 0900 and staggered into the bathroom shielding my eyes from the mirror.  I think back to all the girls the newspapers said I’d had and thought about would I still have had them if I looked then how I do now?  Probably all the one’s with dodgy mince–pies …. or the really desperate buggers.  Still, C’est la vie as the Italians say!
Breakfast is two boiled eggs and soldiers.  I’m playing golf today with the Dogs.. The Dessert Oilmen’s Golf association.  12 30 at the Ell’s course, a right bastard of a place.  I caddied there once (for one hole) as the mighty Ronnie Corbett took on Ernie Ells for charity and got fucking hammered.  I think Ronnie’s still in the bunker on the ninth.  I’ll play well, I’m sure of it.
Not too bad really.  I hit a couple of three hundred yarders and missed a few two foot puts!
The lads were going off to a barbie.  I declined and went home.
No booze.  A salad, and Private Practice with the wife …A fucking nightmare.

Day Three
Up at 0730 feeling great! Really.
I do a couple of hours work on the Sinderella script.  It’s really coming on.  I sit and giggle to myself.  The words just seem to flow from me.  Whenever I write, I picture my old friend,the writer Brian Blackburn and think to myself ‘What would he have written?’.   It seems to work.  Quite what he’d think of a black fairy called Fairy God-mother-fucker is anybody’s guess.
Went to the gym with my new felt greatness and did a bit of P.E. I’ve lost the will to do it, as a friend said to me that when you are over fifty you cannot build new muscle ….so what’s the point?
Early to bed, with a book about the true story of The Man Who Never Was.

Day Four
Michelle says my skin looks better even after three days.  I imagine that in three weeks I’ll look like Brad Pitt.
More P.E.
Two o’clock sees me sitting at the computer adding some bite to a script called Comics.  It’s a great story about an old mainstream comic playing a new comic venue.  It’s not based on me particularly but it’s pretty much what us old guys think of the new guys and vice versa. (Fuck knows how you spell that, even the spell check can’t do it).
Two episodes of The Shield and then to bed with the dead body floating in the sea off the coast of Spain.

Day Five
Up at 0700 and drive to Muscat in the Oman.  I am paying a visit to some of our troops.
Mark Cann the director of BFF is flying in and I’m meeting him at the hotel which is 487 k’s from my house in Al Barsha.  It’s right across the dessert.  Thank god I have a Range Rover.
Fucking Range Rovers! About an hour out of Muscat, the car turned into a truck.  A light came on which read Engine systems failure.  Shit!  What now?
The road to Muscat is a good road, and it’s busy so if I explode someone will help, I hope.  The temp gauge is showing normal. Everything seems ok… ish, but I’ve no acceleration.  It must be the supercharger gone up the pictures!  I am going, but getting no-where; rather like Nick Clegg.
I speed along at 80 kph and reach Muscat at 1 30 time for lunch with Mark Cann.
The gig is in a secret place so don’t ask!  We arrive in the middle of nowhere and set our little p.a. up in-between some portacabins.  There’s only me on the show so I’d better be good.  I was, I think.  After much back-slapping and photos on mobiles we set off back to our hotel and a bit of supper.
Apparently, according to the man at Range Rover, the supercharger will be ok when cooled down.  Fingers crossed.  Oh….I had a sip of beer with the troops after the show.. But that don’t count!!
For those of you who haven’t seen the BFF web site …please do (www.bff.org.uk )

Day Six
The car’s working so Mark and I set off into the main part of Muscat to find something to do.
We were back within the hour and went to sleep.
Tonight’s gig was local to Muscat, 150 of Her Majesty’s finest.  After a 5 mile trip that lasted an hour (got lost) we arrive at our location.  Mark sets up and on I go.  This was a really good gig.  The troops were young and hadn’t seen me before.  The squadron leader had only just started shaving by the look of him.  It went great and we were soon setting off back to the hotel leaving the happy troops to get shit faced on their two can allowance.
The troops are in fine form.  I can’t tell you what they’re up to because they never told me but, whatever it is, you can bet your arse they’ll be doing it well.
God bless our armed forces.

Day Seven
I’m sleeping well.  Like a baby in fact.  Sleep for an hour then cry all night.
The journey home is a non event until I miss the Oman UAE border.  So when I produce my passport at the border post, I am told in no uncertain terms to bugger off back to Oman and get an exit visa.  Problem is I’m out of Oman so now I have to get back in.  This could be a problem.  I would then have two entry visas and no exits.  Fuck it .. I’ll brass it out, as they say.  Off I go back to the Oman border (about 4 k) and bullshit the guard with a mixture of Arabic, English and Stanley Unwin.  He lets me through and even salutes!! I get an exit visa and set off at warp speed only to have the Range Rover pack up again.  I zoom along the mountain pass with overtaking Pakistani truck drivers calling me an arsehole in Urdhu!
I arrive home to a hero’s welcome from the Misses.  And am rewarded with a glass of diet coke and more Private Practices.  Fell asleep on the sofa …And farted apparently.

Day Eight
I feel really good now and do fuck all, all day.
The trouble with doing nothing is, you never know when you’ve finished.

Day Nine
Got confirmation at last.
I’M GOING TO GLASGOW FOR A PANTO THIS DECEMBER!!
Yes fans your hero is off to the Pavilion to star in Robin Hood a family panto.  Check their web site!!
Celebrated with a stick of celery and a diet coke.

I weighed myself and have put on two pounds! How’s that work then?

Day Ten
Tried the Samaritans….. engaged.
It’s got to the stage now that if I wanted a drink I would have to force it down.  I am a non drinker!
Had a meeting with my pal Ian Fairservice who is going to publish my first ever novel.  It’s called Joined At The Hip.  It took a year to write.  My manager said that he wouldn’t show it to any publishers until I changed some of it.  I didn’t want to do that, so bollocks to him …in the nicest possible way.  I got Motivate Publishing here in the middle east to publish it.  It will be available after the summer.  You’ll love it…I hope.
Still no booze …..and now no nails either.

Day 11
Hasd llittol dfr7nk lunstine so fuccit hic!