Hidden meaning in I'm A Celebrity shocker!

The reason I'm paying an unhealthy interest in the current run of I'm A Celebrity...Get Me Out of Here! is that I know the producer of the bush tucker trials. She's one of my sister's best friends, and the same person who got us into the audience for Big Brother last year. My sister has been exchanging text messages with her friend since she (the friend) went to Australia for the show. In tonight's bush tucker trial, Antony Costa's challenge was to sing a bunch of songs while being showered with creepy-crawlies. It's my sister's friend who would decide what the songs are. One of the songs was Neil Diamond's 'Sweet Caroline'. And what's my sister's name? Yep. It's too much of a coincidence. My sister has just said that she thinks so too...


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Quite possibly.

There's only one news story that matters today tomorrow.

Let me feel the wonder of all of you!


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Not a quote I ever imagined coming from the lips of the fragrant Jilly Goolden, but there you go.

Is Carol Thatcher the most fearless woman in the world? I think she might be. I'm off to have my tea now, but it won't be including any kangaroo testicles.
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...and my Great Aunt Marjorie.

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Today, I had to make a terrible decision. I’ve been agonising over it all weekend and it’s been tearing me in two. I think I’m doing the right thing, but I wish I’d never had to make the decision in the first place.

Ten days ago, on Friday 11th, I went out to a friend’s birthday party. Despite not finishing work until 7pm, after a really crap working week, and feeling like I’d rather lie down on the settee and watch TV all night, I went to the party because I had said I would weeks ago, and I like to keep my word. Especially when the friend having the party is Birmingham’s fiercest (and most creative) drag queen. You just don’t do that. I also fancied drowning my sorrows after the death in the family earlier in the week, and the central heating was playing up, only staying on for ten minutes at a time before the pressure dropped, so the night in front of the telly didn’t seem such a comfortable option anyway. Might as well go out and enjoy myself.

So, I walked down to DV8 as it was an exceptionally mild night for November and went to the private party. Our host introduced me to someone who I was getting on very well with, so all was looking good as we chatted. He bought me a drink, we chatted some more and then I decided to visit the toilet and told him I’d get us both a drink when I came back. As I was leaving the toilets, I overheard someone I only know by name say to someone else, “Are you going to Pat’s funeral?” I turned back and looked at him, knowing that he knew the Pat that I knew, but I thought no, don’t be stupid, you misheard, it’s just coincidence and anyway they were deep in conversation. I went out and stood at the bar. Must find the birthday boy. Nowhere to be seen. I stood at the bar, surveying the dancefloor, getting more and more agitated. I got served, took the drink to my new friend, told him what I’d heard and said “I’m sure it’s not, but I just have to go and find…” “Yes, of course you do,” he said, very understandingly and pushed me off. To cut a long story short, I then had it confirmed by our host, while standing on the dancefloor, that our mutual friend had died. I can’t think of a good way to find out how a friend has died, but overhearing it in the toilets was pretty horrendous. There were lots of mutual friends at the party, so I spoke to a few, blubbed in front of the man I was trying to chat up, and generally felt numb. It seemed like everyone knew already, and I was cursing the gay grapevine for failing miserably on this occasion, when it turned out Pat had died eleven days before the party. Thankfully, the funeral hadn’t been held, so there was still chance to pay my respects.

The birthday party ended with me discovering that my favourite jacket, which contained my favourite baseball cap in the pocket, was stolen from under my nose, even though I had kept my eye on it until about fifteen minutes from the end. There are some nasty bastards out clubbing, and this was a private party as well (which was the reason there was no cloakroom option). We staggered back, me wearing just a shirt, to birthday boy's flat, where I got slaughtered on his vodka and passed out eventually on an airbed with some complete strangers. In the morning, I got the bus back home, still quite drunk, discovered that the central heating had completely given up, and went to bed, depressed as could be, where I slept for five hours through Saturday afternoon.

Over the weekend, I had to break the news to two other friends who knew Pat. Back at work last Monday, I warned my manager that I would be going to a second funeral, but no date was set. ‘Knowing my luck,’ I e-mailed him, ‘they’ll both be on the same day’. No word for the whole week, and then, on Saturday, it was confirmed. Patrick’s funeral is tomorrow at 12.30 at Birmingham Crematorium. My Great Aunt’s was already scheduled for tomorrow, at 12.00, in Coventry. I have spent the rest of the weekend absolutely despondent. I want to rip myself in half and go to both, but it’s impossible. Family, or friends? What a bloody awful decision to have to make. I haven’t had to go to a funeral for over a year. Then two people die within five days of each other, both funerals are unusually delayed, but they both happen within half an hour of each other, ten miles apart. How can this be happening? It’s torture.

I distracted my thoughts on Saturday by seeing the Harry Potter film and then went out on Saturday night, mainly to see Richard, but it also gave me chance to chat to other friends of Pat, where at least I was able to tell them about the funeral and confirm that they would be going. It was some help.

I’ve spoken to my manager and stayed off work today. I was in no mood to concentrate on work. I feel angry – without having a target for my anger, and deeply sad. I had an emotional phone call with my Mum this afternoon and I’ve made a decision. To my surprise, when I’ve actually explained my morbid dilemma to four of five people, none of them have said, ‘the decision’s up to you – I can’t really say’. They all said I should go to the person’s to whom I felt the closest. So, tomorrow, I’m going to Pat’s funeral, because, when it boils down to it, he was the closest of the two. I’d known him since 1989, I think. ‘You can choose your friends but you can’t choose your relatives,’ people say, but that sounds cruel, as if there’s some implied criticism of my Great Aunt, and there isn’t. I wanted to be at what may be the last family funeral of its kind. The end of an era. The last of her generation. Our family is so spread around the country that we’ll probably never all be together again, but I’m going to miss it.

I’m aware that there are friends and family who are closer than I was to both of the people who have died, and that this isn’t about me, it’s about them. There’s a danger of creating my own little melodrama here which will seem ridiculous, given time. But this is currently painful and I’ve shed so many tears over the last few days. There is no right answer over what to do tomorrow. Either way, I’ll feel like I’ve let someone down, but I’m going with the option that seems less wrong. Does that make sense?

If nothing else, it has helped to write this. Please excuse my introspection.




Pat with Graham Norton, February 2005 and outside Prague bar, May 2005.
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Chig has just returned from seeing Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Wow! It's superb. I only ever read about a third of the first book, before giving up on the whole lot, so I have approached all four of these films as a virgin viewer. Apart from a few clips on TV, I knew very little about what happens in this one and so I could enjoy it without any expectations. It doesn't seem anywhere near the two and a half hours that it is. I never once wondered what the time was, so it must be good. And the dragon fight scene is fantastic!

Some observations:

It's fascinating watching Frances De La Tour as Hagrid's love interest, but how does the casting for these things work? "We need a French giantess. I know - the woman from Rising Damp!"

I would never take any under 10s to see this film (although there were plenty there this afternoon). Some of it is far too frightening, especially the amazing dragon scenes and Harry's fight with 'you know who'. Some of those kids won't be sleeping tonight and may even be scarred for life.

Doctor Who fans MUST see this film, for reasons I can't go into here. After watching the excellent 'linking scene' for Doctor Who on Children In Need last night, and this film today, there's something which I feel I've now seen twice in 24 hours. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink, eh viewers?

I loved the little satire on the nature of tabloid journalism that's contained within the film. It's very well done.

It's probably very wrong... [Chig checks IMDB.com. Oh, he's 20. Acceptable. Ish.]... but there's a bit of totty in this film too. Stanislav Ianevski (left) as Viktor Krum is the strong, silent type, who looks as sexy in a big Bulgarian coat and hat as he does in a vest.
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He won! Richard Carr, representing Birmingham's Nightingale is the new Mr Gay UK! Here's another photo of him, from this year's Birmingham Pride, where he was selling drinks. Chig has spoken to Richard this lunchtime and he's back home in Brum already, delighted, but rather hungover. He'll be making an appearance on stage at the Nightingale tonight. Guess where we'll be later? (Even if it is Miss Wet T-shirt night and we were going to give the Gale a miss, because we remember what it was like when Alex Parks was on, if you get my drift.) Well done Rich!

Regular readers (both of you) may be experiencing a strange sense of déja-vu if you remember what happened at last year's Mr Gay UK final, which Chig attended at G-A-Y. Let me just say to anyone thinking of entering the competition next year, you know who you need to make friends with first. Chig is ready and waiting. [Cheeky wink]

No one else from my top 5 yesterday made the top three, but they were my favourites anyway, not predictions. Second was Terry Clarke, representing Boulevard in Portsmouth. Third was Jason Smith of the Flamingo, last night's home venue in Blackpool.


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Tonight! Live! In Blackpool! At Flamingo's! Hosted by Philip Olivier! It's the annual fleshfest that is the Mr Gay UK final. Chig has cancelled his plans to be there, but would like to wish the best of luck to 'our' man, Richard Carr (above), representing the Nightingale. Whisper it quietly, but I think he actually stands a good chance. He is rather sexy AND a lovely bloke. What more do you need? (Well-filled Speedos, I suppose.) Surely this couldn't be the second year running that Chig knows the winner?

Here's Richard being made to look even better by standing next to an ugly bloke. Good luck matey!


Goodbye sailor? Read about the Royal Navy's ridiculous attitude to tonight's contest.
Check out all the competitors.
Chig's favourite, second, third, fourth and fifth.
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Oh Robbie, Robbie, Robbie, why didn't you just bite the bullet and save yourself more years of therapy (and thousands of pounds) by turning up for the reunion for tonight's documentary? Such a damn shame, for you, for the other four, and also for us. It would have made a much better ending to a really good programme.

I thought the nicest bits were seeing Howard and Gary with their respective children. Perhaps I'm just feeling broody. I also can't quite believe how Jason's speaking voice has become less 'Manc' but much more camp in the process.

I really enjoyed the programme, but sadly it wasn't immune from a little bit of shoddy research at the end. So, it's the return of...

Pop Bollox!

The narrator ended the programme by saying that Take That achieved, "eight consecutive number one hits, with eight singles"

No, that's wrong. Their longest run of consecutive number ones was 'only' four, but they did it twice. They had a total of eight number ones in a run of nine singles. They were scuppered by 'Love Ain't Here Anymore', which only made number 3 in the middle of the run. You only need to look in the Guinness Book of British Hit Singles And Albums to know that, or search on everyhit.com. Couldn't the scriptwriters manage either of those?

Not even the Beatles ever managed eight consecutive number ones - their longest run was seven - so it would have been big news indeed if Take That had done it, but they didn't. Abba's total of nine number ones included two hat-tricks, but never more than three in a row. Elvis Presley's longest run was four. Even Westlife stalled after equalling the Beatles on seven, while Madonna's eleven chart-toppers include three pairs, but she's never managed three in a row from consecutive releases. Cliff Richard has also never achieved more than two consecutive number ones.

So, you get my point. It was a big claim indeed for Take That, but it was pop bollox. Sack the researcher!


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It's Take That Day - part two! Here are more previously unseen photos by Chig. This lot were taken at an early Clothes Show Live! at the NEC in Birmingham. It was definitely December, so it must have been 1991, just a couple of weeks after their second single, and debut hit, Promises, had failed to set the charts on fire, relit or otherwise, by peaking at number 38. I knew very well who they were though, and sensed that they were destined for better things, so I made a point of going to see them on the Radio 1 Roadshow stand. That's Jakki Brambles presenting. Younger readers may not realise she used to be on Radio 1, long before she became Hollywood reporter for GMTV (and changed the spelling of her name).


You're probably wondering what on Earth that young woman above is doing. You're not? I'll tell you anyway. She was playing a game whereby she was blindfolded and had to recognise by touch which of three topless young men was her boyfriend. Except that, while she was blindfolded, her real boyfriend was replaced by Hunky Howard! What a cunning wheeze! This game, Feel The Boyband Member, is played out regularly to this day by at least one member of Westlife and one ex-member of V. Let's just take a moment out to think about that. Mmmmmmm.


Where was I? Oh yes, Global Hypercolor t-shirts, remember them? Well they were de rigeur in whatever year it was that these pictures were taken. (Oh, how I wish I labelled my photos properly.) They changed colour as the body inside them heated up. Or, they changed colour when you went into a club and then stayed that colour, so there was no real magic about them at all. Anyway, they were so trendy that Take That were promoting them at the Clothes Show Live. And here they are.


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I despair. Is it just me? (Chig is particularly interested in hearing from any teachers on this one.)
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They're Back, Back, Back For Good!* Hurrah! It's Take That Day! The regurgitated greatest hits album is in the shops this week and the documentary's on the telly tonight. To celebrate, here are some EXCLUSIVE, NEVER SEEN IN PUBLIC BEFORE PHOTOS of the group before they had had a proper hit single. How does Chig know they've never been seen in public before? Because Chig took them, that's how! And they've been sitting in an album on Chig's shelf for nearly 14 years! Hurrah for the internet! Chig would like to point out the copyright signs on these photos. Fansites, feel free to use them, but leave the credit on, or there'll be trouble - and no selling them, okay?

Yes, that really is Robbie with a baby-smooth chest. Did Nigel make him shave it, or was it just pre-puberty? I've always wondered.

If you're good, there may be more photos later tonight, from another pre-fame appearance. (Clue: It involved Global Hypercolour t-shirts and Jakki Brambles.)




*Or until Friday, at least. Catch all four of them (sans Robbie) on Colin and Edith, Radio 1, Friday afternoon.


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Last night's X-Factor eviction was an absolute disgrace. Sharon Osbourne was quite right. Walsh chose to evict the talented Maria over the far less interesting Conway Sisters, simply because they're Irish. There is no other explantion, because the difference in talent between the two acts is quite clear. It was written all over his face. He was thinking, I know I should reject the Conway Sisters, but I need to be able to show my face in Dublin. So, instead of doing the right thing, he took the coward's option. Shameful.

The real question is why the judges weren't choosing between Chico and Nicholas, or one of them plus the Conway Sisters, because they're the three acts who aren't up to the same standard as the others.

Maria, you're better than them, and you should have made the last four or five.
Louis Walsh, you have no integrity whatsoever.


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So Close

It’s been an emotional day today. Firstly, I’ve discovered that my Mum was even closer than I had thought to those bombs in Amman last night. I knew she had been on holiday in Jordan until 24 hours before and I knew she had been in Petra, in the south of the country, but it turns out she was also in Amman for a few days. Not only that, but she was in the Days Inn hotel last week; one of the very hotels that was blown up last night. It’s quite possible that people she saw last week – holidaymakers and staff - have now been killed. That’s too close for comfort and it makes me shudder. My sympathies are with the people of Jordan and everyone else who has been affected.

Generations of Love

In the same phone call today, my Mum told me the news I really hadn’t wanted to hear. Let me just rewind a little. A year ago, the second last of my Grandad’s siblings died – his sister, my Great Aunt Irene. (My Grandad died in 2000.) After Irene’s funeral, I chatted to the last remaining one of the 13 children in my Grandad’s family, Great Aunt Marjorie. She was lively, entertaining, wonderful and nearly 90 years old. She told me on that day that my Great-grandmother, her mother, had actually been French, not just able to speak French, which is as much as I had known from my Grandad, her brother. After the funeral, my sister and I said we should definitely go and see Auntie Marjorie sometime soon. After all, she only lived in Coventry, ten miles away from each of us. She had so many stories to tell, and I should take my tape recorder, in my role as our family’s genealogist, while she still has full control of her faculties. I did nothing about going to see her, except for thinking about it quite often.

Ten days ago, just before my Mum went away, she told me that Marjorie was in hospital, but it wasn’t life-threatening. “We must go and see her when you get back,” I said, “we keep putting it off.” We would, agreed my Mum.

Too late. She died on Saturday. She had leukemia. How can you have leukemia and not know, and die within two weeks? Life is so unfair. I am not only upset that she has died, I’m really, really angry with myself for not going to see her while we had the chance. She was the last of a generation. Thirteen children, all gone. And she was lovely.

Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today.

I’ll never forgive myself for not getting off my lazy arse and going to see her. All I can say is, if you have elderly relatives, make the most of them while you have the chance. Regret is a terrible thing, and I'm currently full of it, and quite tearful tonight. Goodnight.


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21:40

Five Live is currently having a discussion about homophobia in football. I texted six of my footie-loving gay friends an hour before, and urged them to text or e-mail the programme. (Yes, six! Between us, we have Aston Villa, Glasgow Rangers, Chelsea, Tranmere, Southend and Bristol City covered.)

Guess which one of us had their e-mail read out, right at the top of the programme? Five Live, Chig loves you!


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00:33

After Tony Blair's first defeat in the Commons yesterday, on the 90 day clause in the Terrorism Bill, he has taken the obvious step to make sure it doesn't happen again. He has cancelled all future elections.


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22:15

Bloody hell. I'm feeling slightly sick, after turning on the 10 O'Clock News and seeing that there have been bombs at three international hotels in Jordan tonight, killing at least 52 people. My Mum only returned from holiday in Jordan last night. When she had told me she was going, I was concerned, and I told her, as did her brother, but the timing of this has just turned my stomach.


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It gives me a handy excuse to show this young spunk* who was one of the hotel staff at my friends' wedding last week in Edinburgh, but I just wanted to let you know that I have finished editing my photos. After much discarding and copyrighting, plus some cropping and red eye reduction, there are 77 pictures available for public viewing right now, on my flickr website here (or click on the throbbing thing on the left). Do not, ON ANY ACCOUNT click on the gallery below the wedding photos, as it includes NAKED RUGBY PLAYERS IN THE SHOWER! You may not be able to control yourself.

*He's Australian - it's a legitimate word.


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By Chig, age 39 1/2.

Quite brilliant, I'm sure you'll agree.
A career in graphic design surely awaits.

Can you do better?

Let's be honest, you could hardly do worse.


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Driving home from work this evening, listening to Simon Mayo's album chart show on Radio 2. He played 'Your Latest Trick' from a 'new' Dire Straits/Mark Knopfler compilation, rehashed released today. That's the track with an instrumental intro that's longer than most hit singles in their entirety. And I found myself thinking, "this is quite good actually". This is Dire Straits, who epitomised everything we were supposed to hate about music in the early 80s (even if I do have a 7" copy of 'Private Investigations'). Aaaaaaagh!


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So, what’s this new project all about then? Thank you for asking. Exactly six months from today, Saturday 6th May 2006, will be Chig’s 40th birthday. This is such a frightening and depressing thought, that I am in need of some constant daily activity on this here blog to perk me up and interact with you, my readers. (Both of you.) Hopefully, this will also be fun for you to play along with during the long, dark days to come. (Ignore that if you’re in the southern hemisphere, but you’re welcome to join in too.)

Here’s the plan. Every few days, starting with 1966 (my year of birth), Chig will be giving you a list of between 5 and 10 songs from that year. They could be my favourite tunes, or songs which have special memories attached for me, or acknowledged classics, or just the biggest songs of that year. At least one song from each year will have a Eurovision connection, but don’t let that put you off.

All you have to do is tell me, in the comments, your top 5 songs from the choice given. I will then give them points; 5 for your favourite down to 1 point for your 5th favourite. The voting will stay open until that year’s piece slides off the bottom of this page into the archives, and then I will add up all the points and declare the winning tune for that year. All the winners will be listed in the sidebar and, after 41 sets of voting, you’ll all be bored senseless and will have stopped reading we’ll have a fabulous 41 track compilation album, which will then be given away to people who have contributed and possibly in some silly competitions too. It may also form the soundtrack to a party I’m tentatively planning, but that’s all a bit hush-hush so keep it to yourself for now. So, not quite as pointless as it seemed at first, is it? It might even be fun.

There’s another bit though. See where I said I’ll suggest ‘between 5 and 10 songs’? That’s because there will be wildcard entries, suggested by you! All you have to do is name your favourite songs of the year which I’ve missed out, and some of them will be added to my list, so that we’ll be voting on ten songs from each year. This is really just because I might have forgotten something an exciting way to ensure ‘reader involvement’ so that I know you’re still there.

This whole project is a blatant rip-off of two of Mike’s best ideas on Troubled-Diva; his 40 in 40 Days project (but I’m far too lazy and uninteresting to write 40 stories like that), and the voting from his annual ‘Which Decade Is Tops For Pops?’ game. I never claimed to be original and I hope he forgives me.

There was also a tentative plan for me to publish a photo of Chig taken in each relevant year, as we get to it, just so you can have a laugh and maybe come back to look at the next one. However, this idea has been temporarily stalled as I’ve realised that the baby photos I had scanned are currently trapped on the hard drive of my old PC. I can’t get the originals from Chigmother for a while, as she is currently doing something that Peter André does on a regular basis. She’s exploring Jordan.

[Pauses for laughter.]

Anyway, when she returns from the Middle East, rest assured that Chig will be ransacking the family albums in order to amuse you.

First things first though. The songs from 1966 will follow in a few days. Yes, it is prepared, thank you very much. I’m not stalling for time, but we need a name first. Every name I’ve come up with has been a bit rubbish. Names considered so far include;

The Tunes of Chig’s Years (blatantly ripped off from Ken Bruce’s ‘The Tracks Of My Years’ on Radio2.)
Chig’s Choons
Chig’s 40 Years / 40 years of Chig’s Choons (both problematic, because 1966-2006 will actually give us 41 tunes, not 40, as you’ll have realised already.)
The Soundtrack to my Life (too overblown and pretentious)
The 40 Years Project
1966 and all that

Please feel free to suggest anything better, or choose one of those, because I know which one I’m edging towards at the moment. When we’ve decided what it’s to be called, we could also do with a logo. So, any of you creative types, please feel free to design one, because that kind of thing is beyond my technical capabilities. There will be a prize for the one we use.

I would particularly like to encourage any people of the female persuasion to participate in this, because my experience is that it tends to be men who enjoy making these kind of lists. I’m not going to analyse why.

That’s about it for today, so please suggest a name and in two or three days we’ll get going with my tracks of 1966.


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Chig was curious to see where the Goldfrapp single ‘Number One’ would end up in today’s chart. Sadly, it hasn’t become a self-fulfilling prophecy, and ends up scraping into the top ten at number nine, but at least it allows us the opportunity for that seemingly unmathematical but factually correct headline.

Goldfrapp may be Madonna’s current listening pleasure (as she revealed on cd;uk yesterday), but they aren’t the first to try this trick. They were nearly the most successful though. In fact, they are the most successful humans to chart with a song called ‘Number One’, although Milo, Bella, Fizz and Jake arguably had a catchier tune. (Curiously, The Tweenies and Goldfrapp both have dog connections; Goldfrapp’s disturbing ones in video and the Tweenies’ canine chums Doodles and Izzles. Perhaps that’s the secret?)

Here are the chart peaks of all six similarly-titled hits. Note how it took 42 years for any hit with this name to appear. There are none from the start of the singles chart in 1952 until the naughtily-named US boyband in 1994.

05 Number 1 - The Tweenies(Nov 2000)
09 Number One – Goldfrapp (Nov 2005)
27 Number One – EYC (May 1994)
47 Number One – A (April 1998)
58 Number One/The Ritual – Ebony Dubsters (May 2004)
66 Number One – Playgroup (Nov 2001)


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... of Chig's new music and voting project thingy will be right here later today. In the meantime, let's have rousing chorus of "Happy Half-Birthday to Chig". Yes, that's right, I'm 39 and a half today! Hurrah!


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...but in the meantime...


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...and in preparation for tomorrow's 400th anniversary of the foiling of the gunpowder plot, why not visit diamondgeezer for the lowdown on the whole she(not quite)bang? If you do, you'll find out that the 400th anniversary of Guido's gang being caught is actually today, not tomorrow. The third part of his trilogy will, I dare to suggest, be tomorrow.

Two days to go until the launch of Chig's little project thingy...


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I've been watching the Question Time Tory leadership head-to-head and I can confidently say that David will win.


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This Sunday will be a slightly significant milestone in Chig's life, so it seems the ideal day for an uplifting, music-related announcement. Sadly, Radio 1 has yet to agree to my suggestion that the inane JK and Joel monkeys be prevented from desecrating* the so-called chart show any longer, and that they be placed in stocks outside Broadcasting House where the public can see, as well as hear, what utter twats they are, and someone decent who actually cares about music and knows something about it will be allowed to give us our Top 40 back. No, that announcement must be next month. (Surely? Please.) In the meantime, we'll have to rely on another announcement. So, at long last, three years after our splendid Fifty Years of Number Ones Project (see sidebar), World Of Chig will be announcing a brand new, interactive 'project' type thingy, which will drag on for months and months, until May in fact, ending just before the highly significant life event which is related to the significant event this Sunday. Or when people stop participating, whichever is the sooner. Confused? Good.

Suffice it to say that this new thing will be about music. Hurrah! It will involve you making lists. Hurrah again! It will involve voting, by you, dear reader, and a big Excel spreadsheet by me. Thrice hurrah! What could be more exciting? Only the prospect of full-on snogging and sexual intercourse with Shayne from 'Shayne's Path To Pop Stardom and Being Chig's Houseboy'; a fly-on-the-wall documentary which you might know as The X Factor, but that's another story.



(Gratuitous picture.)

Bet you can't wait. See you on Sunday. (There might be other stuff in the meantime. You never can tell.)


*Note to JK and Joel: that word doesn't mean 'shitting on', but it might as well.
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In fact, I've had a fantastic weekend, and ended up staying three nights in Edinburgh, not just the two I intended. The wedding was brilliant, and I've also caught up with friends, briefly checked out the Edinburgh gay scene and fallen in love with the city all over again. More later in the week, but after a considerable amount of Scots whisky last night and a six hour drive back home today, Chig needs to sleep!


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