Road To Nowhere

So, Jade Goody has died. In the early hours of Mother's Day.

Having spent some time studying the culture of celebrity during my MA I've grown to view Ms Goody's life with interest and sadness.

If you want to read a thoughtful obit, check out today's Guardian newspaper. If you want to learn more about the cult of celebrity in society try Ellis Cashmore's book, Celebrity: Culture.

Had a fab time at the races on Saturday.

For those of you who have never been it really is a great day out, if only for the spectacle.

Haydock lies between Liverpool and Manchester and it's very handy for Warrington, Runcorn etc. Let's put it this way - you see some sights.

Personally I like to dress for exploring the arctic, because that's what the weather is like in the middle of a field in March when the wind's up. That and the fact I have no wish for my nipples to be so far away from me they get lost. Like I say, you see some sights. Mostly in satin-esque prom dresses.

But I had two wins, which isn't too shabby and if I hadn't tried to be a clever dick and put a reverse forecast on a second place and what turned out to be a donkey, I might have done better. However, my friend Kelly, who picked a horse because it's name sounded a bit like her daughter's, cleared up with a £89 win, and she picked up £40 somewhere else.

So much for studying form!

I had a very pleasant evening out with Miss Rowtheboat last night, which was nevertheless marred by two incidents.

Getting into her car, some woman who was trying to tap me for bus fare money asked me if Row was my daughter.

How to ruffle the feathers of a woman staring down the barrel of 44 next Thursday.

Needless to say I directed Mrs Tactless-Baglady to the nearby police station.

And then this morning I had weighed myself to discover I had miraculously gained seven pounds over night.

Perhaps I swallowed my pride at some point in the evening.

But if I didn't enjoy her company so much I would seriously reconsider playing out with her.

Three weddings to attend this year.

Frocks are being scouted in preparation.

Actually the first is pre-festivities only, the bride taking herself off to Vegas for the nuptuals.

So this weekend I'll be at the Haymarket hen-do, occassionally bobbing into the champagne bar between the serious business of betting on horses.

Having enjoyed Cheltenham immensely, albeit from my desk, I am still up on my Kauto Star flutter and so piggy bank has some spends for me.

I shall have my nose in my Racing Post from Friday. Come on!!

More CSI trauma.

Our lovely CSI man has run off to Costa Rica to hang out with that Sarah and take photos of monkeys. Forever.

How very... boring.

How long before the primate disappears, only to be found mysteriously dead in a Port Limon brothel, clutching a gekko and smelling of coconut rum?

Still, we get Lawrence Fishhburne. So the girly eye-candy equilibrium remains constant.

As spotted opposite Whitworth Park, Wilmslow Road, from a 41 bus on an extremely chilly Monday teatime...

Navy shorts, fishnets and flip-flops. Lard-white legs as well.

Not even Kate Moss could carry off that ensemble.

Walking up to work from the train station yesterday morning, I counted 176 worm corpses all along the pavement, over about 50 metres.

There's landscaped grass area by the path, so I don't think they plummeted from the sky. They have, in all probability, come from the grassed area.

But why the mass, and clearly lethal, exodus?

... climbing across your computer screen!!

CLICK HERE

Yes, you can feed it, you can move it... how the hell does that work then?

Magic!!!

We all do, and the more the merrier if we want to be significant earners, apparently.

Though if you want that cash you've got to start early with those friendships - it's how popular you are at school that counts, according to a new study.

CLICK HERE

A study of students - 10,000 of them, over a period of 35 year period - claims the richest people are those that had the most friends at school. Each extra schoolfriend added 2% to the wages.

This may explain why I live in a cosy terrace and have as much chance of seeing a six-figure salary as I have of keeping my no-sweeties Lent vow.

But in a digital age how do you define 'friends'?

We have online friends we never meet - I have 59 blog chums, of which I've only physically met three. Are our blog friends really friends? Are they more 21st century penpals?

Why am I asking a string of questions in the annoying manner of Carrie Bradshaw, giving the impression that the same intro style for each weekly column is really acceptable in a modern publishing world?

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of chocolate, I will fear no Sainsbury's special offer: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, well they make me think of chocolate fingers suddenly, but I can do this...

So, yes. Lent thing going great *grits teeth*.

Bobbed into supermarket to buy Guardian this morning to be confronted by hundreds of Lindt chocolate bunnies, all staring at me, flanked by boxes of Roses, Malteesers and Thornton's selection boxes. Yes I can ID chocolate brands at 50 paces.

Thankfully God has invented strawberry-flavoured lipgloss. I have so much on I look like I've escaped from Atomic Mutton.

I have given up sweeties for lent.

And puddings and cakes and cookies and biscuits.

Well it's all empty calories isn't it and the pragmatist that lives inside me (and should be suffocated right now!) points out that sweeties, cakes, cookies and biscuits are just rubbish food. Empty calories with no nutritional value.

Which is a great shame as they are lovely.

I am beginning to resent Jesus a bit now for spending a whole 40 days and nights in that dessert... I mean desert.

I know. Wife jokes. But funny so I'm going to share - x

***********

My wife sat down on the settee next to me as I was flipping channels.

She asked, 'What's on TV?'

I said, 'Dust.'

And then the fight started...

**********

My wife and I are watching "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire" while we

were in bed. I turned to her and said, "Do you want to have sex?"

"No," she answered.

I then said, "Is that your final answer?"

She didn't even look at me this time, simply saying, "Yes."

So I said, "Then I'd like to phone a friend."

And then the fight started....

**********

Saturday morning I got up early, quietly dressed, made my lunch, and

slipped quietly into the garage. I hooked up the boat up to

the van, and proceeded to back out into a torrential downpour. The

wind was blowing 50 mph, so I pulled back into the garage, turned on

the radio, and discovered that the weather would be bad all day.

I went back into the house, quietly undressed, and slipped back into

bed. I cuddled up to my wife's back, now with a different

anticipation, and whispered, "The weather out there is terrible."

My loving wife of 1 year replied, "Can you believe my stupid husband

is out fishing in that?"

And that's how the fight started...

**********

Funniest thing to happen at Bolton train station for ages.

The sight of teenage boy running down stairs for train with half-mast-round-arse jeans sliding down as he attempted to run.

As he struggled to contain his bottom at all within his jeans I was mightily tempted to shout: 'Oy mate, those belt things, they go round your waist.'

But I was distracted by the green paisley boxer shorts... and the fact I was having problems breathing I was laughing so hard.

Makes my sky-high platform sandals look positively sane.