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I spent seven hours sitting waiting to be called to pull on a jumpsuit and a harness to go skydiving.

Sadly though the weather conditions were against us and the decision was made to give up and come home. The skydive will now take place as soon as Yvoone and I can get a date sorted out where we can both go back to St Andrews to complete our jumps.


It's 5:33am.

And due to the heat I can't sleep. So, instead of staring at the back of my eyelids hoping for sleep to come I'm sitting here typing. Exactly what I'm going to end up typing about isn't clear at the moment so I'll just plug on and see where we end up.

It's a strange situation sitting here typing and not knowing where the destination is. I'm fucked if I even know where the departure point is but that's not the point really. Some of the best journeys in my life have started with no idea of the destination. This makes for a lot of uncertainty, for sure.

But it also makes for a lot of fun.

One such weekend of mayhem and madness started inconspicuously enough with a few drinks...

A friend of mine named Ian, who was as keen on vodka as I was on scotch, and I stumbled out of work and headed for the watering hole of choice. Within half an hour we had went from singles to doubles and were headed in the general direction of triples with very little mixer.

An hour and a half later and the boozer had been cast aside like a bad betting slip and we had sojourned to the off license to grab a couple of bottles. A liter of cheap vodka and a liter of rotgut scotch was bought and we wandered along the road to find a park bench to polish them off.

After this point things got a bit hazy. All I know was that I woke up three days later in Glasgow Central Station with no money and a head that felt like It'd been used as a football in the local derby. Ian was nowhere to be seen. I searched the station concourse but to no avail. I was all on my own forty-five miles away from home with less money than a crack whore.

Getting back to Edinburgh was something of a challenge. I hopped on the first train out of Glasgow and shut myself in the toilet. Everytime a ticket collector knocked on the door I yelled about not being able to take a shit in peace and I was left alone long enough to make it to the first stop in Edinburgh.

I found Ian a day later at his place. He told me that there had been something of an argument between his girlfriend and I and I'd stormed out of his place. All the while I was yelling at his girlfriend that she was a tight bitch because she wasn't up for a two-up fucking session with Ian and I.

So it goes. Sometimes when a journey starts you don't know the destination. Or where it'll all end up.

Laugh? I nearly wet myself.

♫♪♫ Oh happy day. ♫♪♫
♫♪♫ Oh happy day. ♫♪♫
♫♪♫ When ______ watched. ♫♪♫
♫♪♫ When ______ watched. ♫♪♫
♫♪♫ Watched my blog all day. ♫♪♫

And so the latest part of the saga that is the life and times of Dr Ross Douglas comes a'skipping along like a pebble skiffed over a smooth pond.

Ripples are caused where the stone makes contact and boats are rocked when the ripples become waves at the side of the pool.

But, fuck it. I'm loving it.

Have you ever...

Wanted that special gift for that special someone but have been unable to decide what to get them?
Are you sick to the back teeth of searching around shops desperately trying to find them something out of the ordinary?

Thanks to you can now get them their own personalized chocolate bar.

Watching you, watching me.

To enlarge click on the picture.


The few, the proud and the brave...


On Saturday I'll be out of bed at the crack of dawn to make my way to Skydive St Andrews to jump from an aircraft.

I'm looking forward to it this time, the last time I done a parachute jump I was somewhat nervous as I was convinced I was about to make an impression on the scenery to rival the Barringer meteor crater.

Yvoone however is shitting bricks. And I'm not making it any easier by telling her that she's going to be falling at around 125mph with nothing to prevent her from bouncing than a piece of silk with strings attached.


The Hearts are havin' a party...

After a break from going to football matches of about fifteen years I returned to the faithful fold of Hearts FC as they took on NK Široki Brijeg tonight at Murrayfield.

Although Hearts looked shaky during the first half they more than made up for it by scoring three times in the second half.

Champions League, we're havin' a laugh.

Beware Bloggers.

On Sunday night I was asked, by my friend Jenny, if I would be a witness at a meeting with her employer to sort out her grievances. Little did I know I would be a witness to a piece of history as Jenny became one of the few people to be sacked for writing a blog.

I wish Jenny all the luck in the world when she takes her employer to court. (Even though I may be called as a witness and would have to buy a suit or something to make myself look presentable.)
As I am not at liberty to discuss the matter drop by Jenny's blog if you want to read more about it.



Banning John Lennons classic tune Imagine from being performed at an end of term show.

How screwed up is that?

Imagine conveys a message that calls for unity amongst people of all creeds and colours on earth.

Isn't that what Jesus would be preaching if he was around these days?


It's been a while...

Since I was last at a football match but as Hearts are playing in the Champions League next week I will be dusting off my Hearts scarf and will be making the journey to Murrayfield to watch them.

It's not every year that Hearts get into the Champions league so I may as well take the opportunity while it's going.


Recent listening.

I know you lot like to see what it is I have been listening to, so here's a list.

Puddle of Mudd - Blurry.
Prince - 3121.
De la soul - 3 feet high and rising.
Moby - Moby.
Prince and the Revolution - Sign o' the times.
Pink Floyd - The Wall.
Blues Brothers - Blues Brothers.
Rolling Stones - A bigger bang.
Pink Floyd - Wish you were here.
Syd Barrett - Barrett.
Syd Barrett - The Madcap Laughs.
Never Mind the Bollocks - The Sex Pistols.
Jeff Buckley - Live in Chicago.
Neil Young - Unplugged.
Led Zeppelin - The Battle of Evermore (1977 bootleg)
Seether - Disclaimer.
Killers - Hot Fuss.
Jean Michel Jarre - Houston - Lyon.
Peter Gabriel - Shaking the tree.
Muse - Muse.
Prime Circle - Hello Crazy World.
Jean Michel Jarre - Aero.
U2 - Joshua Tree.

I have a need for some new music. Should any of you have any suggestions for what I should be listening to, leave a comment.

Wayne Rooney is a big poof.

It's official folks. Wayne "Spudface" Rooney is a big girls blouse.

The English football star Wayne Rooney has stated in his autobiography that he can't get to sleep without a nightlight and a vacuum cleaner running.
"I still not only like to have the TV and light on to help me sleep - but also a vacuum cleaner. Failing that a fan or a hairdryer will do. I've ruined so many hairdryers by letting them burn out. Coleen hates it."
Rumors that Rooney sleeps in Superman pyjamas and sucks his thumb are yet to be confirmed. As are rumors that he once asked David Beckhams wife Victoria "Posh Spice" Beckham to show him her "Flower" if he showed her his "Pee pee."

Defining my world.

I have in previous posts refered to the mystical figure The Grand Whazoo without providing an explanation for what The Grand Whazoo is.

This is no more the case as I have now provided a definition in the urban dictionary.

I'm sorely tempted...

To tell you about the actions of a powermad fuckwit who tried to strongarm me into doing something I didn't want to do.

But, I'm not going to go there as aforementioned powermad fuckwit reads this blog and he'd no doubt get his frilly little girly knickers all in a twist.

Fuck him and all those like him.

Life's too short to worry about barely evolved fucktards such as him.


Blue skies.

What the fuck is going on? I demand to know! What's the gig with all this sunshine? This isn't right. Edinburgh isn't supposed to be basking in sunshine like a Mediterranean country, it's supposed to be soaking wet and grey.

The locals are freaking out due to the heat baking their brains. I keep expecting to see the evening news covering stories on the impending ice cream and booze shortage.

Only this morning I looked out of my window to see a seagull fall to the ground with it's wings aflame like Icarus after his attempt to escape from the labyrinth. It's not right. Seagulls may be the shitehawks of the skies but surely it's not right that they are combusting due to the heat and are plummeting out of the skies screeching and squawking in the last moments of their flaming death plunge.


Fucking pigeons.

As the weather here is so unbe-fucking-lievingly hot I've been forced to throw my windows open to the world to try to get the house down to a temperature that's more bearable.

This morning, however, I awoke to find two pigeons fucking on my bedroom shelf.

As the heat during the night had sapped my strength all I could manage was a halfhearted shout of "Get the fuck out!" in an attempt to shoo the flying fleabags away. This was ineffective. I lay on my bed feebly flapping my arms and legs in an attempt to freak them out but this was as useless as trying to stop a horny dog from humping your leg by tickling it's balls with a feather.

I began pelting the procreating pigeons with whatever lay within arms reach. After hurling two lighters at them and failing to put them off their stroke I resorted to the heavy artillery. A well aimed remote control later and they had abandoned their amorous activities and had absconded into the morning light.

Having dealt with the propagating pigeons I lay back down and attempted to get some more sleep. Twenty minutes later as I was drifting off into the land of nod I heard the "Coo" of a pigeon and opened my eyes to see the same two pigeons banging feathers on my shelf.

I yelled and began thrashing around on my bed like a man possessed but once more this didn't have any effect. I groped around for something to throw and lobbed the first thing that came readily to hand. I watched with horror as my throw went somewhat askew and my pack of cigarettes sailed out of my bedroom window and down into the back garden.

Then I lost the rag. I ignored the pigeons who were fucking on my shelf and dragged myself out of my bed. I walked to the livingroom, reached up to the top of my bookshelf and got a hold of my kevlar flak helmet and put it on. The next object I picked up was my cricket bat.

I walked casually back to my bedroom and stood in the doorway. "Ok pigeons, it's thumping time." I said, pointing at the pigeons with the fat end of a size 5 cricket bat. "I'm going to be fair here, I'll give you to the count of three to get your feathery fucking arses out of my bedroom." I said, and began counting.

"One... Two..." I paused. "Don't say I didn't give you a fair chance... Three. Ahhhhrghhhh!" I yelled like a soldier going over the top of a trench and attacked.

I lunged at the pigeons and time seemed to slow. I could see in the eyes of the top pigeon that a decision was in the process of being made. Luckily for the pigeons the desire to live outweighed the need to finish fucking and they took to flight and made for the window as I thrashed wildly with my cricket bat. In doing so I succeeded in knocking my hat collection off the opposite shelf and giving the shelf that the pigeons were fucking on a mighty whack.

I closed the window and crashed out on my bed like a whale dropped from a crane where I slept or lay dozing in the heat for the rest of the day.

Just for the laughs.

I insist that you click here and watch this video.

The big plunge.

On Saturday the 29th of this month, that's less than two weeks away, I and my pal Yvoone shall be plunging towards earth at a rate of 125mph as our charity parachute jump is almost upon us.

Should any of you out there feel like making a donation to Seeds for Africa drop by their site.

A bag of frozen peas...

Is sitting defrosting underneath my bollocks.

It's so hot that there is a grave danger of me losing all the water in my body. A river of sweat is running down my back at a ferocious rate. So much so that there is a puddle gathering on my seat cushion and I fear I may have to hang it out to dry on the line. And this will not be a good thing.

Not because I live in an area where guerilla interior designers roam the streets in search of unguarded seat coverings and throw cushions to decorate their hideout, but because my cushion is in a horrible condition. I'd hate to subject my neighbors to the sight of a semen crusted seat cushion dripping the sweat that has made its way down my back and through my asscheeks.

But, enough of that guff... If I'm ever to make anything on this blog readable I really should stop writing these horrifying scenes involving irrational behavior, masturbation on a grand scale and the use of hard drugs that can make your brain swell up like an infected hemorrhoid and cause aneurysms.

Perhaps I should steer myself in the direction of intelligent journalism. You know, abandon the random jabberings of a crazed loon and write something which has purpose behind it. But then again...

Never mind. Ok, so I'm not the intelligent journalist type. I don't have a bald patch and the only type of pipe I've ever smoked isn't the kind you can light in a gentleman's club without being removed by burly security guards.


What ho! I'm a reviewer, don't you know.

My review of John Kennedy Toole's book, A Confederacy of Dunces, is now on

To view it click here.


Shine on, Syd.

The word legend is touted about many people. Very few deserve the title.

Syd Barrett was one of the few who did.

One of the original members of Pink Floyd, Syd Barrett personified the sixties and took pop to a whole new level. One which may never be equaled. Or bettered.

Syd may be gone from this realm but his legend will live on.

Remember when you were young?

As I wrote in a previous post my old friend Alice came back into my life recently. So as I was off work today I thought why not? and chewed up four small squares of imported LSD and wondered where the trip would take me.

Not very far was the answer. Either I have delusional memories of acid or the tabs I got was of lesser quality than the gear I used to get back in the day.

And it's not like I'm talking about the sixties when the average acid tab contained 100 micrograms of pure Lysergic acid diethylamide, I'm talking about the mid-late eighties when the average Strawberry tab only contained around 50 micrograms of lysergic acid if you were very lucky. The only way to get the good shit was if you knew the main source for the best acid.

I was fortunate in that respect. I knew one of the bigger dealers during the days of all night raves organized in secrecy that would make the CIA look like amateurs and he always supplied me with the best gear money could buy. My friends and I often spent a lot of money stocking up for a weekend bender so The Man was always happy to see us parking up outside his flat.

Those were days of madness. Every weekend for about two years I ate acid for fun. During those days my ritual was a few joints and a hit or two from the bong and something to eat to keep the fuel levels up before I got into the acid.

When I first started tripping I'd have a half a strawberry and save the other half for a couple of hours later. After a couple of weeks I was eating two strawberry's to begin with and would eat another four when I felt the first tingle of the acid work it's way up my spine. Within six months my acid intake was something like six tabs to start and another eight when it began to kick in.

After one particularly crazy session I counted up how many tabs I had ate over the course of the weekend and I discovered that I had eaten something in the region of fifty tabs. Which made my dealer remark at the time that I should calm down for a bit. So I did. I called it a day. Cold turkey was all I ate for six months.

Until... One night when The Man told me he had laid his hands on some acid that would make your eyeballs turn inside out and make you think you were shaking hands with god. My will crumbled quicker than a rich tea biscuit in a cup of coffee and I swallowed the tab he handed me.

Two hours later I was a fucking mess. I was raving and jabbering, sweat was pouring off me and I had no idea where I was or who I was. I damn near screamed The Man's house down as he tried to calm me down while his girlfriend tried her best to keep the neighbor from phoning for the cops.

I eventually calmed down after The Man had the idea of putting a video of cartoons on and telling me to watch the TV. The neighbor stopped threatening to call the police and The Mans girlfriend made cups of tea for everyone. Meanwhile I sat laughing at the TV like a demented loon.

But that was then and this is now. Times have changed, as has Acid.


Great Scott!

I've been asked to do reviews for

It's not exactly the New York Times, but it's a start.


The big plunge.

My charity parachute jump in aid of Seeds for Africa should be taking place within the next couple of months.

Small details.

My application for press accreditation turned out to be a waste of time. But, this isn't as bad as all that. I'm just going to have to try to blag freebies or dip into my pockets and pay to see shows.

Sadly this means I may not be able to see as many shows as I hoped to.


Getting it together...

For the Festival is a bigger challenge than I thought.

In the last couple of days I've read almost every website that has something to do with the Festival, I've sent E-mails to a couple of places asking about Press affiliation and I've tracked down some useful sites.

All in all I'm rather enjoying it.

In other news...

My Boss (Willie) attempted to give me a bollocking on Saturday night. He'd been asked by the treasurer of the club to see if any of the barstaff had called contract taxis for non-staff. He stepped into the bar and yelled at me. "Right, what should I call you?"
"Huh?" I asked.
"Well, should I call you Keith or Johnny?" He said, while waving a piece of paper in his hands.

I realized very quickly what he was talking about and burst into laughter. The rest of the staff; Jennifer, Nicky, Allison, Lyndsay and wee Ross, were understandably out of the loop so they asked what Willie was talking about.

"This idiot has been giving silly names to the taxi company when he's been calling his staff taxi to take him home. Here's one for Johnny Cash, oh, and here's one for Keith Richards. But the best one by far is the one for Mohammed." Said Willie showing them the taxi sheet.

"I couldn't resist it man... They kept asking me for a name so I got creative. And besides, it's fucking funny, you have to admit that." I said.

Willie told us he had had a hard time trying to keep his face straight while the treasurer asked him who Keith Richards and Johnny Cash were. I tried my best not to piss myself laughing and the rest of the barstaff followed suit.

I fully realize that doing so was silly and infantile but, fuck it, I'm not here to take life seriously, I'm here to make jokes and to make people laugh.


Remember what the Dormouse said?

Feed your head...

Alice has arrived in the country. Alice is an old friend of mine whom I met through a friend of a friend of a friend of Albert Hoffman.

Even though I look forward to Alice dropping by there is still the overbearing fear that she and I won't hit it off as well as we did all those years ago. Alice is the kind of trip you can sometimes have too much of and it's been a while since Alice last visited.

Alice first crossed my path many moons ago in a pub far away...

It was the week before Christmas in The Oak lounge bar. The DJ was torturing the drinkers by
playing the standard list of shit tunes to play at Christmas, the landlord was drunk on large gin and tonics, the bar staff were in a party mood and my circle of friends were all there.

Sarah, Jackie, Wendy, Steff, Andy and I were at our usual table. I was sitting writing notes and joining in the conversations that were bouncing around the table. An old workmate of mine named Jimmy spotted me and attempted to shout something over the noise of Slade wishing it could be Christmas every day.

I couldn't hear what he was saying so I stood up on my chair, delicately placed my foot into the middle of the table (so as not to knock over the drinks) and used the arm of Steffs chair to get close enough to hear what Jimmy wanted to say to me. "There's someone I want you to meet." He said.

He told me to follow him. We walked outside and I asked who it was that he wanted to meet. He shushed me and began walking around the corner to the back of the pub. When we got to the carpark Jimmy turned to me and put out his hand. I automatically put out my hand and I felt a piece of paper fall into my hand.

"When you've read what it says; eat it." Said Jimmy. He began walking back to the light and warmth of the pub. I laughed at Jimmy's cloak and dagger tactics and opened the piece of paper. It was roughly the size of a stamp and was divided into four by small perforations.

On one side of the paper was a word.

Smile. It said.

I turned the note over and laughed when I saw four smiley faces grinning at me. I opened my mouth and ate the bit of paper, as I had been instructed and walked back to the pub. I pulled open the door, stepped into the warm lounge and headed back to the table. I looked around to see where Jimmy was but I couldn't see him. I pulled up a chair, sat down and reached over the table for my Scotch and lemonade.

I laughed out loud as I wondered what the cryptic note from Jimmy had meant. Jackie asked me what I was laughing at. I told the table what had just happened and they all began making jokes about me being some kind of spy and that if at the end of the night I'm bundled into a taxi they'd let my work know I might be a little late.

As usually happened when the table began making jokes things escalated into farce and within a couple of minutes we were all laughing hard enough to cause tears in our eyes and shortages of breath. I spotted Jimmy in the corner of the pub and I waved him over.

I introduced him to everyone at the table and he did the whole shake-hands-and-say-hi thing.
I asked him who it was that he wanted to meet and he laughed. "Did you do as you were instructed?" He asked. "Yes. I did as I was instructed." I said. He began laughing and I asked "What's the joke?"

"Ross, get ready to meet Alice." He said, standing up to leave.

I asked when I would get to meet Alice and he told me that I'd see her in about half an hour. I asked what she looked like. He laughed and said I'd recognize her when I saw her.

And, by god, did I recognize her.

I just hope that we can still be friends after all this time...


I'll keep it short.

As I had very little sleep last night and will have even less tonight.

After going to bed at 7:30AM this morning and waking up at 11:30AM I decided that I wouldn't lie in my bed all day and would, instead, do something more productive with my time before work. The plan was; Grab a quick shower, throw on some clothes and head into gorgie to pay the rent and the electric bill and have a nice big fry up in the Koffee Pot cafe.

The plan lasted the length of time it took me to click the UGC website link in my favorites. Then it all went to fuck.

I spotted that there was a screening of Pirates of the Caribbean II on at the UGC at Fountain Park so I ditched the whole paying the rent and the electric bill thing and decided I would go and see the film instead.

Twenty minutes later I was in the queue for the screening with a smile on my face, a glint in my eye and some juice and munchies in my bag to save me from buying anything inside the cinema as the prices usually amount to something similar to a small countries national debt.

After sitting through the standard ten minutes of adverts and the ten minutes of previews the film began. After about a minute of the film starting a guy walked into the auditorium. Nothing unusual about that I thought, some people are often late in taking their seats.

I did however wonder why he chose to sit two seats away from me as there was an overabundance of better placed seats. But I let the thought pass. About five minutes I was back in the imaginary world of Captain Jack Sparrow. I sat watching the film, trying to let the fact that five teenage girls were talking to each other go over my head.

I ignored the girls and continued watching the movie. As a particularly dark part of the movie I spotted movement out the corner of my eye. It was the guy who had sat two seats away moving around in his seat. I thought nothing of this and continued watching the movie. Then I heard the click of the snap-closer of my backpack. Which was placed on the seat between the latecomer and myself.

I continued watching the film as casually as I could but kept a look out through the corner of my eye at my bag and the latecomers hands. As the next scene in the film was one of the darker lit ones the latecomer must have decided that this was his chance...

I watched out the corner of my eye as his hand slid into the side pocket of my backpack. I quickly ran through my options. Should I...
  1. Cough discretely and move my bag.
  2. Punch him in the head and tell him to get his thieving hands out my bag.
  3. Leave him and see how far he goes before I do either of these things.
I decided to leave it for a few minutes as I knew that there was nothing in the pocket he had his hand in.

A couple of scenes later he was obviously getting more confident. I watched him pull my bag towards him very slowly. A few scenes later he had undone the front of my bag and was just about to insert his hand into it when I struck.

I whipped my hand out in the blink of an eye and grabbed his wrist through the material of my bag. He musn't have known I had been watching him as he gave a small yelp of surprise as my hand hit the bag and grabbed. I got a firm hold of his wrist and squeezed as hard as I could. I looked over at him and said in a calm and measured voice... "The next time your hand goes in my bag I'll knock your fucking teeth out."

He withdrew his hand and walked out of the auditorium without even apologizing. You just don't get proper thieves these days.

Oh, by the way...

If you want to see Pirates of the Caribbean II save yourself the money and wait until the third part is out in the cinema and rent part II on DVD. It's not that it isn't a good film, it just has the feeling of being a lead-up to part III.

How very useful...

I just stumbled across

It's a free upload site that allows you to upload files of up to 50mb to share over the net.


Did I waste the day?

Spending the day wasted?

Maybe. But then again, maybe not.

In my defense I did spend a couple of hours working on my new blog which will be documenting my adventures during the Edinburgh Festival.

Apart from that I have done nothing but listen to music, smoke and generally laze about.

A small side-project.

Has just been initiated.

With the Edinburgh International Festival coming soon I have created a blog to document my Festival tips, tricks and adventures.

To see my small project click here.


How hot is too hot?

I, personally, think it's too hot when you find yourself wishing that you had applied anti-perspirant to your scrotum...

It's been a couple of days of torturing heat here in Edinburgh, which if we're being honest, is a city more known for horizontal rain that can give you facial burns if you don't keep your eyes firmly rooted to the ground. The temperature has been in the high 70's and the humidity has been higher than Keith Richards on his birthday.

Today, however, there was a respite from the heat in the shape of a thunder and lightning storm that cleared the air and dumped a few tons of water onto Edinburgh and the surrounding area. This was a double edged sword for me. I relished the ability to breathe again without it feeling like I was inhaling air through a wet sock but hated the fact that I was going to have to venture out into the storm while wearing nothing more than a Hawaiian shirt, jeans and a pair of trainers.

I'd crashed out on Saturday night/Sunday morning at roughly 5AM and was woken up four hours later by Steff who I'd told to give me a call to get me out of my pit in time to watch the British round of the MotoGP championship. Even at this time of the day the temperature was high enough to make the first word out of my mouth be a curseword.

"Fuck." I said, throwing off my duvet to get rid of some of the temperature that my body had produced in the four hours I'd been in my bed. I reached out to the bedside shelf and got a hold of my pack of cigarettes. I lit one, got out of bed and toddled into the livingroom of my apartment.

As I hit play on my media player Have you ever seen the rain? by the Ramones began and I reached out and grabbed my packet of Rizla papers to roll my first joint of the day. I rolled my joint, lit it with the dog end of my cigarette and wandered through to the bathroom to have a shower. I switched the shower on and stepped into the water.

The water wasn't doing much good cooling me down so I turned it to it's lowest temperature setting. This didn't help much so I reached over and pulled the power cord to stop the water being heated in any way. The cold water straight from the tank in the attic was freezing but it felt great so I let it run.

I stood in the cool water for about ten minutes and then got out and toweled myself dry. I walked into the livingroom and pulled on a pair of jeans. As there was music playing I had a small silly minute and danced around the livingroom singing along with the music.

I grabbed my bag and stuffed my work t-shirt into it, pulled on my Hawaiian shirt a pair of socks and my trainers and left the house. Fifteen minutes later I was at Steffs and I was rolling another joint. The 250cc class was about to start so all talk ceased and my eyes didn't budge from the screen until the end of the race. Then the MotoGP bikes lined up on the grid and I watched the race with even more conviction than I had the 250cc race.

After the race had finished I asked Steff to hit the magic button on his remote that allows you to watch TV from the previous week. He knew what it was that I wanted to watch and within a minute the familiar theme tune of Dr Who was playing.

As I watched The Dr and Rose getting themselves into all kinds of mayhem The Grand Whazoo decided to show he has a flair for the dramatic by timing the first clap of thunder to coincide with the moment that the Cybermen are discovered in the Torchwood facility.

As Dr Who finished the heavens opened. Rain like I haven't seen in years bounced off the pavement and turned the streets into rivers. Steff laughed and reminded me that I had to go out into the rain and would get soaked on my way to work. "A wee bit rain never killed anyone." I said.

I grabbed my bag, said goodbye to Steff, Wendy and Spodge (Zoe) and began the two mile walk to my work. I walked a couple of hundred yards and was soaked to the skin. I could feel water running down my back and into the crack of my arse like I was back standing in the shower in my bathroom.

Then I rounded the corner and saw the mother of all puddles. I kid you not when I say it was fifty feet long and about thirty feet wide. The pavements at the roadside were invisible for all but about sixteen inches of the length of the puddle and I thought to myself; "You can hardly get any wetter than you already are." And on I plodded.

As I reached the middle of the puddle the water was just below my knees and I cursed aloud while I walked. Twenty minutes later I reached my work and I immediately set about shedding my soaked shirt, saturated socks and squelching shoes.

It's now an hour and a half after my shift finished and my trainers are hanging off the handle of my livingroom door in an attempt to dry them out.

The word Whovian...

Makes me laugh.

And so does this. A song about Daleks and a big yellow truck.