Age Before Beauty?

The recent conviction of sixty-four year old actor Martin Shaw's sixty-six year old stalker has highlighted the whole issue of geriatric sex. "Just because the body is aged, the desires and urges don't vanish," opines top sexologist Tom Booblander. "Sadly, because of society's ageist prejudices, opportunities to express one's sexuality become scarcer as we age. Frankly, with an ageing population, I'm afraid that incidents like the stalking and sexual harassment of Martin Shaw by a pensioner will become more and more common, as sexually frustrated senior citizens, denied more conventional outlets for their urges, turn instead to deviancy." Whilst most teenagers would find the idea of anyone over thirty indulging in sex, there are a growing number who actually find those of pensionable age sexually desirable. Indeed, it has been claimed that convicted peadophile and geriatric glam rocker Gary Glitter's recently abandoned appeal against court-imposed travel restrictions, was to be based on the assertion that he had suffered a miscarriage of justice, and had actually been the victim of a gang of such so-called gerontophiles.

"Far from being the dangerous sexual predator portrayed by the press, Mr Glitter was, in fact, the victim,” explains Roland Greene-Farte, of Bigg-Wang Associates, the law firm engaged to present the appeal. “Far from having spent the past forty years harassing young girls, we aimed to show that Mr Glitter was himself being victimized by a group of young women obsessed with having sex with older men.” Greene-Farte and his team had planned to show how, over the course of nearly four decades, a series of girls, some as young as thirteen, had flung themselves at Glitter, seducing him with promises of sweets and the opportunity to play with their Barbie dolls. "It was appalling - they'd use their apparent innocence and alluring school uniforms to lull my client into a false sense of security," says the lawyer. "Once they had his trust, they'd strike! One minute they were a harmless child sitting innocently on his lap, the next thing he knew, they were forcibly performing oral sex on him!" However, the defence foundered when Greene-Farte was unable to produce any of the alleged gerontophiles and police were unable to confirm the existence of any organised gerontophile rings. Forced to abandon the appeal, the solicitor blames ageism its failure. "It's institutionalised - the entire criminal justice system refuses to acknowledge the existence of these gerontophiles, simply because the idea of anyone over sixty having sex, or even worse, being seen as sexually desirable by someone younger, is considered socially unacceptable," he declares. "Why can't the much older man or woman be desirable to the young? It seems obvious to me that the young would see the vast sexual experience accrued by the elderly, over a lifetime of good hard shagging, as highly desirable."

When Celebrities Go Nuts (Part Three)

Doctor in the House star Robin Nedwell was not the first make-believe medic to attempt to live out his screen role in reality. During the 1940s noted horror star Boris Karloff portrayed so many mad doctors and scientists in B-movies that he began to live the part in teal life, conducting bizarre experiments in makeshift laboratory he constructed in the garage of his Beverley Hills home. “He was always concocting strange potions and getting his friends to unwittingly test them by claiming that they were new cocktails”, recalled Peter Lorre in 1966. He once gave Basil Rathbone a strange smoking concoction which resulted in the Sherlock Holmes actor’s pubic hair falling out and his penis turning green and becoming grotesquely swollen.

Horror film actors seem particularly prone to confusing their real and celluloid lives. It has been well documented elsewhere how in 1934 Claude Raines came to believe that he actually was the Invisible Man. For several months he ran around Los Angeles stark naked, waving his penis at women and urinating on studio executives, in the belief that he couldn’t be seen. Lon Chaney Jnr suffered similar delusions when, in 1944, he took to shuffling around the dark alleyways of Hollywood in full Egyptian mummy make-up, occasionally leaping out at passers by and attempting to throttle them. In 1945 a local prostitute told the Hollywood Reporter that Chaney had visited her in his mummy costume and insisted that she dress up as ancient Egyptian Queen Nefertiti and lie in a sarcophagus whilst he masturbated over her. “Even his penis was bandaged up like a mummy - he was truly obsessed”, she told the newspaper. “When he ejaculated, a huge cloud of dust erupted from his whang. I’ve never figured out how he managed that!”

Absolutely Not a Football Blog

The world of football has been rocked by claims that, as part of his attempts to lure the Honduran midfielder to the club, Spurs manager Harry Redknapp attempted to strike a deal to secure the release of Wilson Palacios' kidnapped brother. "Harry's the master of wheeling and dealing, he's always prepared to go that extra mile to get a player he really wants, so I wasn't surprised to find that he'd opened negotiations with the kidnappers, with an initial bid of three million quid," alleges top football pundit Jimmy Nobbend in his blog, From the Nobb End. "But they made it clear that they weren't going to budge for less than nine million, and Harry decided that the lad just wasn't worth that much. He reckoned he could secure the release of at least two top quality Iraqi hostages for that price." However, the wily Tottenham boss soon came back with a new proposal - six million pounds, plus striker Darren Bent. "The kidnappers were interested and accepted the bid," says Nobbend, who made over three hundred appearances for Pedigree Chum League outfit Ball's End Road Rovers, mainly in the refreshment kiosk, but occasionally as a substitute grounds keeper. "The move eventually broke down when Palacios' brother couldn't agree personal terms."

Whilst Palacios' move from Wigan to Spurs was eventually completed without the release of his brother, there are fears that Redknapp's negotiating tactics could set a dangerous precedent. "It's only a short step from using kidnapped relatives as bargaining chips in transfer dealings, to clubs actually trying to force players' hands by abducting their relatives themselves," opines Nobbend, who was forced to retire from the game after his feet were scalded by a leaking tea urn. "Even as we speak, Harry Redknapp and Spurs' chairman Daniel Levy could be sticking a sack over Kenwyn Jones' brother's head and bundling him into the back of a Mercedes. Next thing you know, they'll be telling Sunderland to take the six million they're offering or they'll start cutting his fingers off! A million will come off the price for every finger they slice off!" Both Redknapp and Spurs have rejected Nobbend's claims out of hand, with the former Portsmouth and West Ham manager saying, "He's talking bollocks." However, the club refused to comment on press reports that Redknapp had approached the Cuban Communist Party with a part exchange deal which would see David Bentley moving to Havana and top left-winger Fidel Castro coming to White Hart Lane. "Harry clearly reckons Fidel can bring some much needed pace down the left," says Nobbend. "He's clearly the perfect compliment to Lenin, who they've already got on the other flank."

Funny Peculiar

With many commentators declaring the British TV sitcom dead, I'd like to present a couple more ideas for the kind of edgy comedies which could breath new life into this moribund genre. Actually, I can't claim credit personally for these concepts, that honour has to go to my brother. The first of his proposed scenarios is a new take on the old Odd Couple format, but with a political twist. Originally, the series was to be called Idi and Me, and feature former Ugandan dictator Idi Amin exiled to London and forced to share a council flat with a refugee Ugandan Asian. Much hilarity ensues. "Surely this must be political correctness gone mad," exclaims Idi, when he is told that he can't eat Asians. But, with Amin now dead, the series would either have to be a retro, 1980s set affair, or a still living hate figure substituted. The most obvious alternative would be Osama and Me, with the al Qaeda leader seeking political asylum in London, and finding himself sharing a flat with a Gulf War veteran. Much hilarity ensues. "Surely this must be political correctness gone mad," exclaims Osama, when told that he can't poison his nuisance neighbours with anthrax.

If that idea doesn't excite the TV executives, then my brother plans to submit an even more radical concept - Nonces. This would be the everyday tale of a group of sex offenders are - through some civil service cock up - released on licence into the community. Much hilarity ensues as, week-by-week, we follow their attempts to pass for normal. In one episode, for instance, a nonce convicted for stealing and sniffing women's underwear finds himself on a work placement in a launderette, where he has to handle women's underwear. Imagine the laugh riot which would result from his probation officer walking into the laundrette to find him dressed in a bra and panties. In another hysterical scenario one of the offenders could find himself put in charge of a children's play group. Oh,how funny! You know, I think there's a good chance we could sell this one to BBC 3. Damn it, they showed the awful Coming of Age, didn't they? Not to mention commissioning Grownups for a third bloody series! And remember, if you are in any way offended by these sitcom proposals, blame my brother, not me.

When Celebrities Go Nuts (Part Two)

It is not just TV cops who suffer delusions - screen medics are equally likely to confuse fact and fiction. Many British TV viewers will doubtless fondly remember ITV’s Doctor in the House series and its many sequels during the 1970s. However, few will be aware that their star, the late Robin Nedwell, became so immersed in his role that he actually believed himself to be a doctor! He would frequently stroll into London hospitals wearing a white coat and carrying his prop stethoscope and examine unsuspecting patients. Suspicions were aroused in 1975 when three young women complained that they had been subjected to full gynaecological examinations at St George’s Hospital in Chiswick, despite only having visited the Accident and Emergency department with sprained ankles. “I thought a cold compress and elasticated bandage would be the best treatment”, commented one. “But he insisted that it was vital that he poured yoghurt into my vagina. Of course I agreed - he was a doctor!” Nedwell apparently also participated in several operations before his subterfuge was discovered. Fearing adverse publicity, the medical authorities hushed up his activities and confiscated his surgical tools.

Undeterred, the confused thespian promptly set up his own health clinic, where he used a home-made set of medical apparatus to treat private patients. It was finally closed down in 1977 after Nedwell inadvertently removed a patient’s healthy left testicle whilst performing an appendectomy with converted potato peeler. Staff at the clinic were amazed to learn that their boss had no formal medical training. “Of course we thought he was a doctor - he had a certificate saying he’d graduated from medical school”, said one nurse. “Although I suppose we should have been suspicious of the fact that the X-ray machine looked suspiciously like a photocopier. In the wake of this scandal other bizarre facts emerged - Nedwell had once treated a man for venereal disease by boiling his genitals in vinegar, for instance. He had also used a tin-opener to make surgical incisions, used craft-knives instead of scalpels and used a desktop stapler to close wounds.

Peeping Tom TV

Whilst pondering on how best to utilise that webcam I bought over Christmas, I hit upon the idea of 'Peeping Tom TV' - voyeurism for the Web 2.0 generation. After all, anything seems to be OK if it is posted on YouTube (just so long as you aren't infringing somebody's copyright with your choice of backing track, of course) - dangerous driving, life-threatening idiotic stunts, grievous bodily harm - so why not voyeurism? We're not talking about spying on celebrities here - I've only got a webcam and laptop,for God's sake, not a whole surveillance suite! No, I'm thinking more along the lines of spying on my neighbours. Not puerile stuff like filming their underwear drying on the washing line, mind. Oh no! I'm thinking about the full-fledged peering in their windows-type stuff. After all, I'm sure some of them must get up to something exciting in the privacy of their own homes. Obviously, there are some technical difficulties to overcome - looking through their downstairs windows would be pretty straightforward (barring net curtains and blinds) - but, let's face it, nobody does anything racy in a downstairs room (unless they live in a bungalow). It's the upstairs we need access to, that's where all the action takes place, after all.

In order to get an eyeful of what's going on upstairs, I've come up with an amazing technical innovation - a long wooden pole. Basically, I'm going to attach the webcam to one end of the pole and, with the aid of USB extension cable, hold it up outside my neighbours' houses and peer through their windows. I reckon that, even at night, I should be able to see something, even if it is only through the crack in the curtains. Of course, the most interesting action could well be taking place in the bathroom, where the frosted glass traditionally utilised on bathroom windows could prove an obstacle. However, working on the principle that most people have the top light open when taking a bath or shower, I should be able to manipulate the pole so as to get the camera through this opening, although I might have to fix a periscope-type arrangement of mirrors to it, so as to be sure of being able to see the bath and/or shower. Mind you, the humidity could cause problems by fogging up the camera lens. I'm hoping that if I gather enough footage, I'll be able establish my own channel, and encourage others to follow my example. Pretty soon we could have the whole nation's bedroom antics on film. I'm sure nobody would object. It's like they say about those CCTV cameras - if you've nothing to hide, you've got nothing to be worried about.

When Celebrities Go Nuts (Part One)

Whilst many actors are completely unlike the characters they portray on screen - John le Mesurier, for instance, who portrayed mild-mannered bank-clerk and Home Guard Sergeant in the popular 1970s BBC sitcom Dad’s Army was revealed by a TV documentary to have been a dope smoking sex-maniac in real-life - others sadly confuse their screen personas with real-life. Whilst it is well-known that Jack Lord refused to film a thirteenth season of Hawaii Five-O unless producers allowed him to use real bullets in his gun, less known is the fact that British actor Jack Warner - who played PC George Dixon, the avuncular title character of long-running BBC police series Dixon of Dock Green - would frequently wander around Soho wearing his police costume, propositioning prostitutes on the pretext the he was “pursuing sensitive enquiries”. “At first we thought we was a real copper, trying to get a special rate”, says Brenda Blower, who worked the Soho area as a prostitute in the early 1970s. “A lot of that sort of thing went on in those days - the Vice Squad were notorious for ‘taking you in for questioning’ then letting you off after a free ‘knee trembler’ in the cells”.

Indeed, one of Warner’s favourite opening gambits involved cautioning prostitutes that they’d been a “naughty girl” and proceeding to frisk them in their back alley. “He’d often then claim that he had a warrant to search your premises and insist you took him to your flat”, recalls Blower. “Once there he’d start playing games - sometimes he’d be the good cop, others the bad cop. When he was the bad cop he’d handcuff you, then whip out his huge truncheon and try and menace you with it by slapping it repeatedly into the palm of his hand. He’d also do tricks with it, twirling it around and such like - it was always very well oiled! Finally, he’d make you squat down on his big blue bobby’s helmet.” When playing the good cop Warner would apparently get the prostitutes to strip naked, then make them a nice cup of tea. “When he was ready to have sex himself he’d stand stark naked in the middle of the room with his striped policeman’s duty armband hanging from his knob”, According to Blower, who also claims that Warner had some peculiar sexual preferences. “He’d insist you blew his big shiny policeman’s whistle as you climaxed - the noise was deafening, as he’d insist on imitating a police siren as he ejaculated!” The much-loved TV cop would, allegedly, sometimes prefer to take a submissive role, paying prostitutes to dress as policewomen and handcuff him naked to radiator before beating him with a lead-filled length of hose.

Now Then, Now Then...

Jimmy Savile - superannuated former DJ, marathon runner, wrestler, mother-obsessed weirdo and the subject of more urban myths and rumours than just about any other celebrity I can think of. For some reason I was told yet another bizarre rumour about him the other day. This time it was that the bleach-blonde haired octogenarian's longevity was down to his draining the bodily fluids from patients at Stoke Mandeville hospital (where he still works as a volunteer), and injecting them into himself. Clearly nonsense, as he obviously doesn't vampirise helpless hospital patients any more than he dresses up in his dead mother's clothes, or that he dug up said mother and mummified her. Obviously. Just like he isn't a necrophiliac peadophile. Of course, the real question is just why he attracts such stories? After all, he seems to have worked tirelessly for various charities, raising huge amounts of money over the years, had a hugely popular kids TV show in the 1970s and gives freely of his own time as a volunteer. However, there's no doubt that he's just, well, creepy. It's nothing you can quite quantify, but there's just something about him which seems weird.

What probably contributes to the urban myths surrounding Savile is the fact that he, himself, has a tendency to talk absolute bollocks about himself, making all kinds of incredible claims about his involvement in the Middle East peace process, his role in trying to prevent the break-up of Prince Andrew's marriage to Sarah Ferguson and being a confidant of Mrs Thatcher. Most ludicrous of all, he claims to have invented the disco. Apparently, back in the 1940s he used to charge money to let off-duty servicemen dance to records he played on a portable gramophone in church halls. At least, that was his story when he and five naked sailors were pulled from the rubble of a bombed out Salford church in 1941. It must have been a magnificent sight seeing all those soldiers, sailors and airmen 'getting jiggy' to the big beat of the Tommy Dorsey Band or George Formby. He also claimed that he invented 'mixing' when he used two turntables. Presumably that was when he came up with his innovative club remix of Glenn Miller's 'In The Mood' featuring Kay Kyser's 'Three Little Fishes'. So preposterous are such claims, is it any wonder that people would rather believe that the shell-suited, gold chain wearing Top of the Pops presenter is actually a cross-dressing, vampiric sex offender?

Puritan Pleasures (Part Three)

The threatened closure of its TV station is simply the latest blow to strike the League of Public Decency, which appears to be on the verge of collapse. The League’s leader, Ezekial Deacon - who once called for the destruction of the millennium Dome because it resembled a gigantic woman’s breast - has recently been accused of hypocrisy, after pornographic images were apparently found stored on the hard disc of his computer. Engineers repairing the computer at a branch of PC World were amazed to find several hundred images of naked women’s bodies the head of the late Mary Whitehouse placed on their shoulders. “These are some of the best faked celebrity nude photos we’ve ever seen”, said a PC World spokesman. “You can hardly seen the join!” The pictures invariably unite the TV clean-up campaigner’s head with the body of a large breasted woman, often in an explicit lesbian encounter with other fake celebrity nudes, including Britney Spears, Barbara Windsor and Celine Dion. At least one picture shows her apparently taking it up the arse from the late Cardinal Hume.

The most disturbing images show Whitehouse as a whip-cracking dominatrix subjugating none other than Deacon himself. The images of Deacon - in which he is frequently chained, being urinated on, or is dressed only in giant nappies - appear not to have been faked. Deacon has claimed that the pictures were planted on his computer as part of a conspiracy by gays, liberals and pornographers to discredit the League. His supporters say that it is unthinkable that Deacon could, in any way, be involved with pornography, pointing out that he is so moral that he will not allow any sexually suggestive objects in his home. Indeed, he once burned a pepper grinder he deemed too phallic and sealed up his letterbox claiming that it was an “obscene caricature of a woman’s vagina”. However, critics believe that this kind of behaviour simply confirms that Deacon is actually so sexually repressed that he can only gain sexual satisfaction through viewing obsessive scenarios of subjugation and punishment. “If he wasn’t a moral campaigner, he’d probably be stalking around Whitechapel murdering prostitutes, or at the very least, showing them his knob”, said one leading psychologist.

Moose Dick

What could it mean? I asked myself. These mysterious words - 'Moose Dick' - which had appeared, written in the frost and ice on the cars parked along my street last week. Was it some advertising campaign to herald the imminent arrival of some Canadian wrestler who wore antlers as part of his costume - hence the professional name 'Moose' Dick. - perhaps? Then again,I reasoned, maybe the strange symbol scrawled next to these words on some of the cars were a clue: a cigar shape with two roughly spherical objects at one end. Could it be that these words had a literal meaning? Could they really be referring to the genitalia of a large deer-like mammal? If so, why? Had they been written by someone who believed that their own genitalia were akin to those of a moose? Did they write them with said appendage? Indeed, is having a 'moose dick' something to boast about? Not being familiar with the reproductive organs of such creatures, I don't even know whether they are large or small.

Assuming that having a 'moose dick' means possessing a large penis (otherwise why would anybody boast about it?), it still leaves the question of why anybody wishing to boast about such a thing would do so by writing it on the frost on several cars on a quiet residential street? After all, as he didn't sign his work, how are we to know who the owner of this presumably magnificent protuberance is? Perhaps we are supposed to recognise him from the crude illustration he provided to accompany his scrawlings. However, if he wanders about with it on public view, then there surely is no need to announce it on people's cars in this way. No, I really must confess to being mystified as to the motivation of the mysterious 'moose dick'. What did he hope to achieve? Certainly not fame or notoriety, as nobody has a clue as to his identity. If you are going to write things in snow and ice on cars, there should be purpose behind it. I cannot deny that I once wrote in the snow some comments regarding my views on the size of the manhood of the sort of people who drive BMW roadsters on the bonnet of one such vehicle one winter. The key difference was hat I knew whose vehicle it was - it was driven by a neighbour who was making my life hell with their loud music and shagging into the early hours of the morning. (I relied on the fact that he'd never seen my handwriting,so he wouldn't know for sure it was me - nevertheless, I did get some peace and quiet for a few days afterwards). Still, I'm sure it seemed a good idea at the time, when 'moose dick' put his moniker on the cars of complete strangers.

Black Day for Britain?

Conservative leader David Cameron has denied that his condemnation of Prince Harry's use of the term 'Paki' to describe an Asian colleague is politically motivated, and that he is merely trying to jump on the publicity bandwagon. "He is dissin' my people, cos I am black, too. Innit?" the old Etonian declared. "We got to show solidarity in the face of this kind of racism. This honky has to be told, jus' cos he da Prince, don't mean he can dis da brothers." Cameron denied that his donning of black face to make his condemnation was in any way offensive, saying that he was merely demonstrating a united front with Britain's black community, rather than making a desperate, and misguided, attempt to appeal to the black vote. "We got to show that if the man attacks one of us, he attacks us all - we all black under the skin!" he claimed. The Tory leader also poured scorn on allegations that his statements, with their embarrassing attempts to imitate ethnic 'street language', simply showed how out of touch and confused he was on issues of ethnicity. "It da Fresh Prince of Buck House who da one outta touch," he retorted. "Dat man he callin' a 'Paki' is clearly Indian. He shouldda bin callin' him a 'wog'! No Old Etonian woulda got dat wrong - we know da correct etiquette of racial abuse. Is insultin' to everyone when you call dem by da wrong name!"

Fellow Old Etonian, Mayor of London and general buffoon Boris Johnson was also thought to be towing the party line when he was spotted in Camden, covered from head to foot in black boot polish, wearing only a grass skirt and a bone through his nose, carrying a spear and a Zulu shield. "I'm sure it was him - that gormless look is unmistakable, even under a layer of polish," said street sweeper Dan Hobbshirt, who claims to have confronted Johnson over his bizarre get up. "But he just claimed that he was going to a fancy dress party organised by the local Young Conservatives." When pressed on the issue, the blacked up figure denied being Boris Johnson. "He reckoned he was Joseph Bumpo, recently arrived from Bongo-Bongo Land," says a perplexed Hobbshirt. "He then ran off down the street waving his spear and shouting 'Um Bongo, Um Bongo, they drink it in the Congo'. Even though he tried using a really bad Nigerian accent, he still sounded like an Old Etonian." A spokesman for the Mayor's office categorically denied that Mr Johnson had ever worn black face, let alone attended a fancy dress party as a Zulu warrior. "Such conduct would be highly insensitive on the part of a politician who represents such an ethnically diverse community as London," said the spokesman. "Obviously, Boris Johnson would never do anything so crass."

Puritan Pleasures (Part Two)

The Independent Television Commission (ITC) has condemned Puritan TV’s output, stating that it “presents sexual torture, degradation and humiliation in a highly salacious manner with the clear aim of titillating viewers”. The ITC has particularly objected to the programme Its a Sin!, in which viewers are invited to nominate someone of their acquaintance who has allegedly bullied, humiliated, cheated, robbed or otherwise mistreated them - this individual is then kidnapped off of the street and subjected to torture, (including the rack, hot irons and thumbscrews), until they confess to their supposed sins. They are then forced to apologise to their ‘victim’ and perform a penance, which can range from wearing sackcloth and ashes to being tarred and feathered. Many of the contestants on Puritan TV’s programmes have also complained, claiming that they were under the impression that they were to take part in normal reality TV shows, and were given no indication that physical punishment would be involved. Several are now threatening legal action.

Nonetheless, the League of Public Decency - which last year gained notoriety for the attempted lynchings of several TV executives it accused of being pornographers and for its violent campaign to outlaw Father Christmas, which it considered to be a pagan symbol of commercialism - has vigourously defended it’s channel’s programming. “It is highly moral - those who sin are inevitably punished, whilst the righteous are rewarded”, says a spokesman, pointing out that the Bible is full of examples of God testing his servants’ faith by visiting appalling misfortunes, disasters and temptations upon them. “ We believe that the station is setting an excellent example for the youth of today”. The ITC disagrees, citing the recent case of a Macclesfield teenager who, inspired by Puritan TV, set up his own torture chamber in his parents’ garage and proceeded to subject neighbouring children to inquisitorial sessions as he sought to find out who had stolen his bicycle.

Puritan Pleasures (Part One)

Cable channel Puritan TV - set up only a few months ago by the League of Public Decency, a militant offshoot of Mary Whitehouse’s National Viewers and Listeners Association, to help promote their campaign for higher moral standards in the media - has been branded ‘depraved’ by TV watchdogs, and now faces closure. The station specialises in producing ‘morally adjusted’ versions of those mainstream programmes branded ‘immoral’ and ‘indecent’ by the League. Typical of its programming has been a version of Temptation Island, in which young couples are tempted into infidelity by beautiful, scantily-clad models. At the end of each edition the contestants make a video confession as to the extent of their temptation - they are then punished according to the manner of their ‘sins’. One young woman who admitted to having sexually fantasised about one of the male models was subjected to a bare-arsed spanking that left her cheeks glowing red, whilst a male contestant who confessed to kissing a female model found himself being rigorously horse whipped.

In a similar vein, the station’s version of Big Brother featured ten contestants living together in a converted church under the scrutiny of TV cameras and being set tasks - such as not becoming sexually aroused by pornography - to test their moral fibre. Those caught ‘sinning’ would be dragged off to the ‘torture chamber’ by masked guards for punishment. Those failing the tasks would be dragged off to the ‘torture chamber’ by masked guards for punishment - one girl who failed the porn test when her erect nipples were spotted through the fabric of her T-shirt as she gazed at a naked photo of David Beckham, for instance, had her ‘impertinent’ breasts severely whipped. Other ‘sins’, such as breaking wind or leaving floaters in the toilet bowl, were also punished, with one contestant - a labourer from London - being forced to immerse his genitalia in a bucket of ice cold water for thirty minutes after being caught masturbating under the bed sheets one night. Doctors later said that he was lucky not to have lost both his testicles to frost bite.

Caught on Camera

Some cynics have called into question the existence of my Christmas tree, mainly on the basis that I've never bothered putting up decorations before, and that nobody but me saw it. In order to quell such ludicrous rumours, I felt forced to take a picture of it - with my newly acquired webcam - before I took it down for twelfth night. See, I even had the lights illuminated, not to mention the Christmas cards artfully arranged around it. I must admit that, so far, this is just about the only picture I've taken with the aforementioned webcam. I'm not sure why I even bought it, other than the fact that it was cheap in a sale.

I have discovered that, due to the light levels and low angle I was holding the camera, it makes my living room look like a particularly seedy serial killer's den. In fact, I can make it look even more sinister by putting the feed through Windows Movie Maker and applying the 'old film' filter, to simulate scratches and the like on it. Perhaps I'll edit a 'tour' of my house down to a two-minute film and release it on YouTube with no explanation, and see which serial killer's house people think it is. Otherwise, I'm still not sure exactly how I'm going to deploy this webcam. Maybe it'll be the first step on the road to me producing feature films, sleazy ones, of course.

Doctor Who?

OK, I'm sure you'll all have heard the news by now, and I know you'll all be deeply disappointed. Sadly,I'm not the new Doctor Who. I know I didn't audition and that I'm not actually an actor, but those are minor points. Damn it,I've watched the programme for so bloody long and know so much about it that the BBC should have been calling me,begging me to replace David Tennant. It's obvious that I'm the ideal candidate, and not this Matt Smith person they've given the part to! This is the end of Doctor Who as we know it! Mark my words! At least, this was the gist of many of the 'opinions' being offered on message boards after the casting of Matt Smith was announced. It was bloody frightening! Truly, the knob heads have taken over the web! My favourite comment was 'Who the fuck is Matt Smith? Why no black Doctor? Russell T Davies is a racist!' It's difficult to know where to start with such idiocy, quite apart from the obvious fact that, as outgoing executive producer and head writer, Russell T Davies had bugger all to do with the casting of the new Doctor. But hell, why let the facts get in the way of a good rant? Damn it, why no female Doctor, or homosexual Doctor, for that matter? Quite clearly Russell T Davies is a big fat gay misogynistic homophobe.

Actually, I really don't understand the hatred frequently directed toward Mr Davies. The opposite should be true - without him as the driving creative force, it is highly unlikely that Doctor Who would ever have made it back on to our screens. Or, if it had, it certainly wouldn't have been the success that it has. The reality is that he has achieved the near-impossible, taking a classic TV series and updating it completely to conform with current audience expectations and TV scheduling requirements, whilst retaining its essence. Believe me, as someone who can remember as far back as Patrick Troughton, the second Doctor, this current version is still, most definitely, Doctor Who. Behind all the modern trappings, it is still quite recognisably the same programme that started in 1963. Indeed, I'd go as far as to say that it is now pretty much the programme that many of us wanted it to be when we watched it as kids back in the 1970s and 1980s.

However, we're straying from the original point of this post - the new Doctor, Matt Smith. A lot of the hostile comments seem to focus on three factors: his age, the fact he isn't black(!) and the fact that he isn't well known. Well, by the time we see him on air in 2010, he actually won't be much younger than Peter Davison was when he took over from Tom Baker, and he worked out OK, didn't he? As for the race issue, this is totally irrelevant - I'm sure the producers cast on the basis of acting ability and suitability for the role. On the issue of his level of fame, I remember when Tom Baker was cast, people were asking 'Tom who?'. Yet he turned out to be one of the most popular, not to mention the longest serving, actors in the role. Personally, I'll reserve judgement on Matt Smith until I've actually seen him in the role. That said, based on what I have seen of his work in Ruby in the Smoke and Shadow in the North, I think he'll be pretty good. I somehow doubt he'd have been cast by a bunch of level-headed professional TV producers if they weren't sure he would be.

In With the New

Whilst pondering what to put in the first post of 2009, I decided to take a look at what I wrote last year. Jesus! Something had clearly pissed me off pretty severely this time last year! I certainly seemed to have a real downer on just about everything to do with the New Year. Mind you, for the life of me, I can't remember exactly what it was that had got my goat. Still, what a difference twelve months make! Frankly, I'm even amazing myself with my good mood and positive outlook at the moment. God knows where it's coming from - it's freezing cold outside, the recession's in full swing and Spurs had a lousy run in the League over Christmas. Nevertheless, nothing can seem to dent my good spirits. You know, I'm in such a bloody good mood that, for the first time ever, I've entered a story in the annual Humorfeed satire competition. I know - what the fuck was I thinking? I'm just about the least competitive person in the world! But what the hell, I thought whilst in the grip of this strange spirit of goodwill, why not try you luck?

Mind you, the trouble is that having entered the contest, I now feel obligated to take it seriously and read all of the other entries before casting my votes. This is proving somewhat time consuming. At the same time, I'm trying to come up with a first story for the year. Thankfully, I've still got a few days off work and a lot of beer in the fridge. Mind you, I think that going back to work next week will be a stern test of my new mood of optimism. There's nothing like several consecutive days of mind-numbing routine to kick the crap out of any good mood. To be fair, I thought that maybe tonight's FA Cup Third Round match between Spurs and Wigan would destroy my goodwill. But, incredibly, Spurs contrived to win. Anyway, I've rambled on for long enough now. Doubtless, normal service (and mood) will be resumed next week, when Christmas finally ends and the New Year starts in earnest.