I had a terrible nightmare last night. I thought that someone was in my room.
I was dreaming that a man was standing in silence at the foot of my bed and that he was there to do me harm. ‘Wurhurrrr! Audrey!’ I called for my little dog, but she was hiding under the bed and refused to help. I managed to open my eyes slightly and realised that the intruder was in fact Hollywood heartthrob Christian Bale.
‘I’m Batman,’ he said. ‘The Dark Knight.’ He sounded like Scooby Doo.
I sleepily moaned a question. ‘Yes, it is a dark night, isn’t it – what do you want?’
He held out his hand. ‘Can you do me a favour and lend me ten quid?’
‘Look, Batman . . . Christian . . . whatever – I don’t negotiate with terrorists, please leave. And anyway, why are you dressed as Einstein? And what the hell are those!?’ He could have been the famous scientist’s identical twin had it not been for the fact that he had grown a pair of enormous breasts.
He moved closer. ‘After I’ve given you a good hiding,’ he barked, ‘I’m off back to the Batcave to work on my theory of Relativititty.’
Suddenly, he wasn’t so frightening. ‘You’re crazy,’ I told him. ‘No wonder you got arrested.’
Another mysterious email – this one from someone called David Domino (who are these people?) – landed in my inbox this morning. The subject line declared: Jessica Alba Loves It Huge. Again, I did not read the body of the message; I am becoming far too paranoid. I deleted it immediately and then decontaminated my computer with a litre of Domestos.
I do wonder, however, what the actual object of Jessica Alba’s enormous love is. If it’s a giant mug of morning coffee then she is a girl after my own heart. (Jess and I would probably have many things in common – I may begin stalking her.) I have just had the biggest, creamiest, full-fat latte you can imagine – and then I had another one straight after! That’s the kinda crazy guy I am; not for me the unremarkable life full of disappointment and heartache, no sir.
I get so much spam these days; the sending out of these annoying and frequently obscene emails seems to be the norm. Everyone used to hate it but now it seems generally accepted. It’s like buggery or lying to Parliament – it used to be considered morally wrong but now it’s just an amusing and diverting fact of life.
There is a dispute raging at the moment over whether Elvis Presley ever paid a proper visit to this country.
Veteran singer Tommy Steele recently acknowledged a story that he took Presley on a secret tour of London. But Lamar Fike and Marty Lacker, two of Presley’s inner circle of friends, insist the King never travelled to England.
Well, let me tell you, it is a little known fact that Elvis did indeed come here. He visited the East Midlands at my invitation a month or so just before he died and he really enjoyed his little self. He stayed with me and Nelson in Derbyshire for a week and was thrilled for us to show him around the muddy highways and byways of the exciting little coal-mining towns and villages of the area.
It was slightly awkward at times because I was only a small boy back then and we couldn’t get into certain places because of my age. Elvis was keen to sample as many of the local ales that he could get his famous lips around but he was disappointed on a few occasions.
The Saturday he arrived, he insisted on watching Alfreton Town Football Club play a seventh round local league match against Bentinck Harriers on the colliery sports ground. Afterwards I suggested that we go for a lunchtime pint in the Lamb and Whippet but the landlord refused to serve us. Elvis threatened to smack his head in but Nelson and I managed to calm him down. ‘Leave it, El,’ I remember Nelson saying, ‘He’s not worth it.’
On the Friday evening, we managed to get into the Pinxton Miners’ Welfare And Working Men’s Club where Elvis enjoyed a round of darts and a game of bingo with the locals. Later, he helped himself to three portions of steak-and-kidney pie and mushy peas (smothered in vinegar, of course – he did like his vinegar, did Elvis!). ‘Eee, that were lovely that were, me duck,’ he said, licking his chops. We did laugh.
It was sad to see him go.
What is it with the Americans’ obsession with former tabloid editor Piers Morgan who has just won the US version of Celebrity Apprentice?
In the final programme, he described himself as an ‘evil, obnoxious, disgusting Brit.’ His assessment of his own character is nothing if not completely accurate. I would, however, replace the first two letters in Brit with a single g.
I met him once in London when he was still editor of that egregious tabloid organ The Daily Mirror. He rudely pushed past me to dive into a taxi that I had just hailed outside the offices of EMI Records in Manchester Square.
Americans, wise up: he is a revolting arsehole who ought to be dumped in a filthy canal at midnight; or perhaps you would be so kind as to find someone with a big needle and have him put him down. Either way, just put him out of our misery.
I dreamed last night that Angelina Jolie and Jennifer Anniston were fighting over me. They were really going for it. There was lots of hair-pulling, face-scratching and even a few karate chops and well-aimed heavy punches. It was great.
It then got even better when Sophia Loren from 1960 suddenly appeared and stepped into the fray. ‘Forget about him, girls, he’s not worth it,’ she snorted.
But this was just a clever ploy; she actually wanted me for herself.
When the fighting was over, 1960 Sophia Loren took me gently by the hand and lay down with me on a big, soft leather chaise longue.
I woke up kissing my pillow again.
Crap singer, appalling fashion designer and amateurish chat-show host Lily Allen has angered organisers of the Isle of Wight Festival by cancelling her appearance at the last minute for what all agree are unacceptable reasons.
In an interview with BBC 6 Music, promoter John Giddings said that she had been booked since November but has pulled out because, according to her spokesman, her album is behind schedule.
It is no secret that I am not an admirer of Ms Allen and her execrable music and have found some of her previous marketing techniques and her general attitude towards her young followers and devotees to be truly deplorable, but on this occasion I think she has outdone herself. Her actions are shabby and inglorious at best, immoral and sickening at worst.
When performers like Allen are booked for shows, it is the artist themselves that are being paid to appear, not the record that they are currently working on.