It was fun watching Ian Paisley Jr trying to find something nice to say about the late Mo Mowlam on Newsnight last night. He would have been better off keeping his mouth shut. Mind you, keeping one's mouth shut is hardly a family trait.
Junior is clearly being groomed to take over the reins of the Democratic Unionist Party once the old man finally goes to shout at that great (protestant) pulpit in the sky. Fair enough, I suppose: he's got the same name, the same accent, and the same obnoxious views. All he needs to do now is get someone to give him a back-street ordination, start calling himself Reverend, and receive an honourary doctorate from a friend's joey christian fundamentalist university. Then he'll be ready to wear the sash his father wore.
Me (back left) and Carolyn (far right) at a birthday party of my kid sister (front row, hairband) in the early 1970s.
My mum found this old photograph last week. It was taken at my kid sister's birthday party in the early 1970s. For anyone who harboured any doubt that Carolyn and I go back a long way, I'm back left (blue shirt, no beard) and Carolyn is far right (purple dress). Where did it all go wrong?
No bouncy castles and shite like that in those days. We used to have proper kids' parties, with salmon sandwiches and drinking straws—and the boys all wore ties.
I include this photo for the benefit of Carolyn's children, who won't believe me when I tell them that their mum was really naughty as a child.
R: I see the A-Level pass rate has gone up yet again. J: I believe so. R: That's the 23rd year in a row. But they're not getting any easier, of course. J: Of course not! R: 23 years. Amazing. That means the trend started in… J: 1983. R: Hey, I took my A-Levels in 1983! J: I took mine in 1982. That means yours were easier than mine!
As has already been established, I don't know much about betting on horses. I first realised this while visiting Hitchin in Hong Kong in 1999. We went to the races, where I came up with what I thought would be a sure-fire betting system:
The number 4 is seen as incredibly unlucky in Hong Kong. So I reasoned that the locals were unlikely to bet on number 4 in a horse race. That being the case, if a rational human being such as me, who doesn't believe in unlucky numbers, were to bet on number 4 to win, he should get far better odds than he deserved (because nobody else would be betting on it). Although such a betting system was unlikely to be successful in any one race, I reasoned that, all else being equal, if I bet on number 4 in every single race, it was bound to pay off in the end.
I lost my shirt.
I had failed to take into account the fact that the superstitious Chinese allocate the unlucky number 4 to the worst nag in each race. Well, that's my theory at least.
In all the excitement, I forgot to take any photos at Newbury, so here is a photo of Ann & Bill's gay dog instead.
Anyway, yesterday, Jen and Ann and Bill and I went to Newbury Races. In her absence, I decided I was going to place a bet for Carolyn. So I came up with a new betting system: I would pick a horse whose name reminded me in some way of Carolyn…
And there it was—No.7 in the third race—Penny Black… It reminded me of Carolyn for two reasons: (1) a few weeks ago, I gave Carolyn my lucky penny (no, I don't believe in that sort of thing, but I thought Carolyn might), and (2) I have often told Carolyn off for not calling either of her daughters Penny (in which case, they would have been named Penny Farthing, geddit?) So I placed my bet: a fiver on number 7 to win at, ahem, 50:1.
It came in just before the start of the fourth race.
But for that, I could have won Carolyn two-hundred and fifty big ones.
In the meantime, Jen and Ann and Bill had been placing bets for our four-person syndicate, using some bizarre system involving something they called the horses' form.
Our syndicate won £102.
From now on, my sure-fire system is going to be to take along some people who know what the hell they're doing.
The following conversation (more or less) took place, albeit without hyperlinks, as Jen and I were driving through Oxfordshire on our way to visit Ann and Bill on Saturday:
R: Ooh, look, a sign for Blenheim Palace! J: What about it? R:Winston Churchill was born there. J: Was he? R: Yes, Blenheim Palace is the Churchill family's ancestral seat. It's owned by the Duke of Marlborough. He's one of their lot. J: Is he? R: Yes. Blenheim Palace was named in celebration of the Battle of Blenheim, where the First Duke of Marlborough totally snotted the French. J: Is that right? R: …He was allergic to cabbage, you know? J: Are you making this up? R: No, it's just one of those bits of trivia I happen to know: the First Duke of Marlborough was allergic to cabbage. J: Are you absolutely sure you're not making this up? R: No, I'm not making it up: it was in a book of trivia that Irish Mick owned when we were at school. It said the First Duke of Marlborough was allergic to cabbage, and that Birmingham has more miles of canals that Venice. J: …So was he just allergic to cabbage, or was he allergic to the brassica family as a whole? R: How the bloody hell should I know? J: Well you knew about the bloody cabbage!
Radical Jordanian cleric Abu Qatada and nine other foreign nationals said to pose a threat to the UK's security have been detained, pending deportation.
As Jen pointed out yesterday, the British public needs to start taking more Vitamin E: it's supposed to offer excellent protection against free radicals.
A 4ft-tall Nevada man has admitted he lied about playing an Oompa Loompa in the original 1971 Willy Wonka film.
Actor and hairdresser Ezzy Dame said he first made the false claim 20 years ago when his agent advised him to "pad" his resume with the bogus acting credit.
OK, I know I probably shouldn't tell you this, but I have also played an Oompa Loompa. Not in the 1971 film, but in the 1974 Christmas concert at my old primary school. Anyone who was in the audience is bound to remember my performance: I was the only Oompa Loompa wearing a hat.
I was also the only Oompa Loompa who didn't need padding.
Unlike Ezzy Dame, I have proof of my Oompa Loompa role: my mum still has the photo on display in her living room. No, you can't see it. Fortunately, she has lost the clipping from the local newspaper.
I'm not into any of that Sigmund Fraud bullshit, but I'm beginning to realise why I turned out the way I did.
You'll be seeing much more of this little fellow below in the future, as he's the new Neighbourhood Gardener mascot. If you can think of the perfect name for him, you could win a digital radio. Send in your suggestions to with the subject title 'competition', by the end of September.
