You might as well face it, your addicted to.......

Jack watched the rain run slowly down the window, as he looked at all the people in the street below. All the happy people, with friends, lovers, purpose and hope. He turned and scanned his dimly lit bedsit, and coughed as he tightened the belt around his arm. As he did so, he couldn’t help but notice how dirty his fingernails were, and how much nicotine was staining his trembling fingers. Sweat dampened his lank black hair, and as he pushed the needle into his raised vein, he looked up and stared at himself in the mirror.
How had it come to this? Where was the Jack he had lost sight of? Very soon his drug of choice would take affect, and for a short while he would be free from this hell, but not really free, just a temporary freedom.

This goes to explain somewhat, how I feel when I am watching the ‘X Factor’!

‘Experts’ in the field of addiction management etc etc, would tell us that it is usually necessary for an addict to hit ‘rock bottom’ of whichever pit of addiction he or she has stumbled into, before we can start clawing our way back up the sides, and clambering on to the road to recovery. They would also tell us, that it is necessary for an addict to admit to his or her problem, before they can make the journey of recovery.

So, Here I am. I am going to take the plunge and admit to the world, and more importantly to myself, that I watch far too much reality TV!

There I have done it. I know the shock and repulsion may be a little too much for some of you to bear, especially any relations reading this, but don’t desert me now, I need your support.
Every recovering addict will probably be able to tell you, when and what made them realize that they had reached the bottom of their ‘pit’.
My own pit realization moment came on Saturday night, brace yourselves, this is going to be ugly, I found myself watching ‘American Idol’. Just before you pass out completely, let me get it all out in the open. Not only was I watching ‘American Idol’ but I was watching ‘American Idol’ that I had recorded on Sky Plus!
(Wipes the tears away from his puffed and bloodshot eyes, and looks to the heavens for forgiveness)
I couldn’t even claim to have stumbled upon the program by accident, and then not be able to turn it over due to a faulty remote. No, the horrifying truth of it was, I had purposefully recorded the program, and left early from my Grandmothers funeral to sate my compulsion! (I made the funeral bit up, it was only a memorial service!)

Reality TV is just like any other drug. Alcohol, Heroin, cigarettes whatever, it’s always the same. You start of with a little, and it escalates into full blown addiction. It was like this for me. I started off with just a little recreational reality TV, you know how it is, maybe the odd bit of ‘Dancing on’ ice, or a casual glance at ‘Celeb air’, but unfortunately I didn’t get off of the road to addiction while I had the chance, I saw the signs, why did I choose to ignore them?

Before I knew it, I was watching the lot, you start off with the lighter stuff, and before long you are scouring the channels for harder and harder material. Then the day finally comes when you watch ‘American Idol’ and immediately turn over to ITV2+1 and watch the whole damn thing again! It is then time to get help…….sigh.

Watching the X Factor is bad enough, but watching the American version is just shameful. My God they are irritating with their whiney American voices, and there bleached teeth, high fiving, and whooping and hollering, and that’s just the judges (Boom boom). Of course we have Lord Cowell on the far left of the panel. Keeping the stiff British end up, refusing to high five anyone, and generally being the last bastion of decorum in the whole bloody circus.

Listening to Brits balling their eyes out, and telling their mothers over the phone that the judges are all know nothing cretins (Dani Minogue – fair enough) is one thing, but listening to whiney, spoilt, brattish, daddy’s little darling, stage school, shiatsu preening, ego maniac little American girls is just the absolute pits.

Now, there is undoubtedly some talent on this show, some of the singing is very good, but then they have to go and spoil it all by talking!
"I’m just so happy to be here today, it’s a great experience to meet all you guys. I’d like to thank God for giving me this talent, and I just love you all…….giggle."
The American judges of course suck all this up with glee, it is of course left to Lord Cowell to tell the little brat to shut up and get on with it.

If ‘American Idol’ is my Heroin, then ‘Master Chef’ must be my cocaine. Again, for some reason compulsive viewing, and immensely annoying at the same time.
For non addicts, the basic premise of the show is thus. Members of the public have to cook meals, which two blokes then judge. These ‘judges’ are an Australian chef, and some baldy, pseudo cockney green grocer bloke. How did he get that gig? Was there a producers meeting one day, and they said "What we need is a couple of top flight chefs," and some bright spark at the back piped up, "No, lets have one chef, and a green grocer." And everyone for some reason thought that this was a good idea!

So anyway, the contestants slave over a hot stove with these two blokes wandering around asking them if "They really want it" and then when all the cooking is done, we watch chef bloke, and grocer geezer stuff their chubby cheeks, and tell them that they haven’t seasoned it properly. While we are on the subject, if anyone out there can enlighten me as to what putting salt and pepper into something actually does, more than just making it more salty and peppery, please tell me. I genuinely don’t get it.

The best bit of the show, is when the contestants are sent to a real ‘Top flight’ restaurant in the heart of London, to cook lunch for some unsuspecting diners. I don’t know about you, but if I was some city boy (Spit) and I was going to some swanky restaurant for an overpriced plate of salad leaves and a ‘pan fried’ something, I would hope that the person cooking it was bloody qualified.
I don’t know why chefs bother going to catering school for God knows how many years, and toil away in steaming kitchens, working their way up the ladder, because apparently you can just walk in off of the street, and with ten minutes tuition, do just as good a job!

Then it’s back to ‘Master Chef HQ’ for the final verdict. Chef bloke and grocer geezer go in to some back room and confer. They mull it all over, and try to come to a decision about who is going through to the next round, and who is "going home." It’s at this point that the chef bloke always starts to throw his weight about a bit, and starts using the "I’m the chef, and your just the bloody green grocer" card. Because however much they disagree, chef bloke always gets his way. Their deliberations are always fairly amicable on camera, but I bet once the cameras are turned off; i bet it goes something like this…….

Please read the following section with Australian and cockney accents where appropriate. Thanks.

Chef bloke – So, What do ya reckon to this bunch of no hopers then mate.

Green grocer – Gawd bleedin’ blimey, I have never tasted such a load of old fucking crap in all me bleedin’ life.

Chef bloke – No what ya meeeeaan mate, not a fuckin’ shrimp in site, and what was that bloody thing that the fat bloke cooked up?

Green grocer – Don’t ask me treacle, tasted worse than my wife’s beef curtains after a heavy session in the gym.

Chef bloke – Anyway, got to put one of them through I suppose. I say we put the tart through.

Green grocer – Did somebody make a tart?

Chef bloke – No you fuckin’ cockney wanker, the tart with the big tits, I think the tits are enough to get her through.

Green grocer – What did she cook guvnor?

Chef bloke – Aaaaaaw Christ, I don’t fuckin’ know. Some bloody pasta thing, tasted like bloody shoe laces, but who cares, don’t ya wanna cop an eyeful of those baps again cobber?

Green grocer – Course I fuckin’ do, but hey this is a cooking competition after all. I say we put the lifter through. He may be savaloy jockey, but his beef Wellington was an awesome plate of food.

Chef bloke – Don’t forget who the bloody chef is here baldy. Your just a bloody green grocer.

Green grocer – Oh don’t start with that shit again, it’s not bleedin’ fair, you pull this chef shit on me every week, I’ve ‘ad it up to ‘ear.

Chef bloke – It’s big tits or your out on your ear. There’s plenty of fuckin’ grocers about mate, are we riding the same wave? surfing on the same board? Eh?

And so big tits goes through!

I was watching the penultimate episode of bloody Master Chef last night, and it had to be the worst yet. The podge brothers were barking at them, that "This is going to be the hardest day of their life." and "It doesn't get tougher than this." ....... Dear God, i think that the bloke half way up Everest, or the African mother dying of AIDS, or the husband and father who has just been made redundant would all have something to say about that crass remark podgy!

The bloody contestants were crying just because some ultra poncy chef had said that he quite liked what they had cooked. All of you, take a step back, look at yourselves, and get a fucking grip! I have not watched the final tonight out of protest.......I wonder if there is a BBC1+2?.......no stop it.......

I prefer the good old days of master chef. If you are going to poncify food, then do it properly with the prince of poncification, Lloyd Grossman. Now there was a man that new how to poncify. I always thought he would make an excellent third ‘Crane’ brother.
Talking of poncifying food, you do hear some nonsense spoken in the world of TV chefdom, but the absolute epitome of ponciness, has to be that spiky haired bastard Gary Rhodes. Oh dear God I just want to skewer him, and slowly spit roast him with an apple in his gob. We are all familiar with the usual non sensical crap that these chefs come out with, pan fried, sun dried, drizzled, frothed etc etc, but Gary Rhodes committed what in my opinion is the most heinous cheffy bullshit remark to date. He actually said that he was going to "Introduce the gravy to the potatoes." Introduce…….What a bastard!

So, I suppose I will have to get some kind of treatment then. I wonder what it will consist of? If I was a celeb I would obviously end up in the Priory, but I suppose I will have to make do with whatever the National Health has got to offer. Perhaps they will just stop me watching completely, and I will have to go through cold turkey. The shakes, sweats, sobbing as I pathetically press the buttons on a battery-less Sky remote. "Make it work Doctor, make it work" I would plead, as I ungraciously tugged at his white coat.

Perhaps they will try to wean me off it. I’ll be allowed to watch the X Factor, but not the X-tra Factor. I don’t know, maybe they will attach electrodes to my testicles, and shock me until I no longer feel the desire to just have half an hour of ‘Strictly’. Who knows.

On a finishing note, what a tragedy for Jade Goody (Her married name escapes me) and her family. Probably the most iconic result of realty TV ever known, cut off in her prime time prime. I won’t be a hypocrite and start saying how wonderful I think she is, because I don’t. I am not a fan at all of this celebrity culture, famous for being famous and so on, but I can’t deny that it is incredibly sad. Reality star or not, a mother is a mother, a daughter is a daughter, and a wife is a wife.
See you all when I have got some more rubbish to get off of my chest!

Why?.......

Why does everything have to be such a ball ache?

Why does nothing work properly or efficiently?

Why does nobody care about the service that they are paid to provide?

Why does every bloody web site that I want to go on, require me to “Sign up”? Why do I have to fill in pages of personnel details including my blood type, house number, mothers maiden name, eye colour, inside leg and sperm count?

Why do computers carry out a task one day, and then flatly refuse to do it the next?

Why when I ask a computer to do something, does it not believe that I really want to do it, and asks me over and over again if I am completely and whole heartedly sure, that what I am requesting is the product of a rational and sane mind?

Why can’t ‘Scottish Provident’ and my Doctors clinic not get it into there collective skulls, that I no longer smoke, and therefore think it would be justified that I paid a reduced premium every bloody month? Why after a YEAR of tearful wrangling, in a world of instant communication and ‘light speed’ technology, are we still no further down the “Pay less money” road?

Why are insurance companies still allowed to get away with what is essentially legalised fraud?

Why can a once world leading country still not cope with a “Once in a blue moon” level of snow?

Why are bankers so oblivious to the opinions of the rest of the universe, when even considering allotting themselves obscene bonuses in the wake of their own induced financial melt down?

Why does every salary related to sports people or celebrities, automatically now consist of a number with six zeros after it?

Why does anyone buy Colleen Rooney’s book? …….Colleen Rooney, why?

Why are politicians allowed to get away with it?

Why does a footballer earn more than a nurse?

Why is there such a thing as ‘Sods law’? aren’t things tough enough?

Why do people hurt and abuse animals?…….simply, WHY?

Why can someone like George Bush become the leader of the most powerful country in the world? Why is America the most powerful country in the world?

Why are chips bad for you?

Why can’t they invent healthy fags?

Why is television so full of banal, inane drivel?

Why do I watch it???

Why is there a “Catch” to everything?

Why is there “No such thing as a free lunch”?

Why do people that work for councils have their brains removed on their first day?

Why are criminals more important than their victims?

Why do judges think in a completely different way to every other human being in existence?

Why do birds suddenly appear, every time you are near…….Hang on?

Why do boys with large trousers and cars with blacked out windows, not think that they are a twat like everybody else does?

Why is ours the only house in the western world that still can’t get broadband?

Why are the rules for apostrophes so pointlessly complicated?

Why did someone come up with adjectives, nouns and verbs. I know what each one is, but why do I need to know?

Why, if there are aliens, don’t they just come and say hello for God’s sake, instead of hovering mysteriously over the heads of drunk people, who are on their own down dark country lanes?

Why does God move in mysterious ways?

Why do people still believe in God?

Why can’t Muslims lighten up a bit?

Why do I live in a world, where I genuinely thought twice about weather writing that last one was a good idea or not?

Why can’t people that have been enlightened by God, not see any further than the end of their noses?

Why do I ask so many questions?

Why when I know the answer to a question, does it normally just require more questions?

Why?…….

Tomorrow, tomorrow.......

Do you ever feel that you would like to run away to join the French Foreign Legion? Or maybe look out of your window one day, and see one hundred foot alien striders traversing the landscape, laying waste to everything in their path, at which point you would have to drop everything that is familiar to you, and join a desperate resistance group?.......No? It’s probably just me then, I am a little odd.

I suppose what I am really getting at, is that do you ever find the monotony of everyday life almost beyond bearable? I do, although there is something of a paradox in all this.
I am of the age where one realizes just how bloody quick time is passing by. I wouldn’t say that I am having a midlife crisis, I am not planning to start wearing fashionable clothes, or get myself into even more debt by buying a cabriolet, but I am definitely experiencing a certain amount of "What have I actually done?" or "Where am I actually going?" The paradox comes in thus; the everyday routine is in its self quite comforting, and sometimes anything that happens outside of that comfort zone, can bring on mild panic!

"What, I have got to go to the dentist today?.......On a Tuesday!.......ah, help, that’s buggered up my usual Tuesday routine."
But on the other hand I still crave some kind of adventure. What to do? Perhaps there is a French Foreign Legion T.A. Or perhaps I could go alien bashing just at weekends and bank holidays.

At my kind of age, it is frighteningly easy to become ‘Mr. Routine’ I knew a bloke once that used to leave his house at precisely 7.42am for work every morning, not a minute early, not a minute late. The thing was, he used to car share with a colleague, and if this guy was a second late, he would bugger off without him! I hope I never get that bad (hang on what’s the time, 6.13pm. Phew, still got six minutes before I have to do the weekly kettle descale)

So, here I am, trapped between the comfort of daily routine, and the monotony of every day life. I suppose what I am really looking for, is a kind of comfy adventure, a sort of pipe and slippers swashbuckle. Daring do that only requires a hint of effort. I do manage to get some of my ‘Adventure fix’ from computer games. I can see now the Margos of this world tutting and raising their monobrows, but sod ‘em, and get back to jumping on some bandwagons.

The ill-informed seem to take great pleasure in ridiculing ‘gamers’ if that’s what you want to call us. They still believe that games are ‘Sonic the hedgehog’, and things that tend to go beep a lot, but these days they really are like interactive movies, with graphics that can sometimes be almost as convincing as films. And why can you apparently not play games over a certain age? Do you have to stop reading books when you get to sixty-five, or stop watching films at the age of fifty? Of course not, they are all just ways of trying to escape the hum drum for a couple of hours, just as games are, but the shortsighted still insist on categorizing games as "For nerdy losers". Sigh.

I do often think that I really need to get my arse into gear, and start doing things instead of just thinking about it. "Seize the day" as they say. I tend to grip it limply, and then let go at the first sign of trouble!
Maybe today is the turning point. Maybe today I will start that revolution. Is today the day when I stand up, and strive unfalteringly towards success and an invite onto the Jonathon Ross show…….Hang on, it’s fish fingers tonight, and the bins need to go out. Maybe tomorrow eh?

Noddy and Bigears go to Buckingham Palace.......

“Joy oh joy oh joyful joy,” said Noddy as he scurried around the kitchen tiding away his breakfast things. “Is this just the best day of our lives Bigears?”
Bigears coughed and passed wind simultaneously, which he thought was pretty impressive for 6.30am.
“Bigears you look exhausted again, what have you been doing?”
“Oh not much, you know…….” replied Bigears.
“Oh not that chat room again. What is it called?…..get a life, or something.”
“Another life, actually.”
“Look Bigears, I know things haven’t been all that successful on the lady front lately, but you won’t find any answers in chat rooms.” said Noddy as he put his mini shreddies in the cupboard.
“You never know, there are all sorts of women on there, one in particular seems very interested in me if you must know.” said Bigears, a little put out.
“Don’t tell me, wait, let me see. She told you she was five feet six, slim, long blond hair, blue eyes, big chested, and was a fitness instructor, right?” said Noddy knowingly.
“Not exactly.” retorted Bigears.
“Come on,” said Noddy as he crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows.
“Air stewardess actually.”

Noddy tutted and threw his hands up into the air. “You know she is probably about forty-five, a size eighteen, married with four kids, and spends her day quelling the void in her life, by going into chatrooms, and playing online bingo don’t you?”
Bigears looked down quickly at his now soggy cornflakes, and cursed Noddy for his perception. Especially as most of the time, he was irritatingly naïve. The thing is, he thought to himself, he would find out soon. He was meeting her in McDonalds next Wednesday!

“Anyway Bigears, we haven’t got time for all this, for today we are going to see the Queen, and you have got to get yourself changed.”
Bigears looked down at his clothes and said, “Changed, I am changed.”
Noddy’s eyes popped out of his head. “What, you’re wearing that.”
“What’s wrong with it?” retorted Bigears.
“Do you really think, that a pair of scuffed cowboy boots, a pair of extremely worn leather trousers, and your Johnny Cash ‘Man in black’ shirt is really suitable attire to meet her Majesty?”
Bigears threw his cornflakes in the bin, and wished he lived somewhere else.

“I don’t know how you have got the gall to have a go at what I am wearing, when you are wearing that bloody thing.” said Bigears as he pointed at Noddy’s clothes.
“These are my best clothes Bigears, clothes I might add, that are fit to meet the Queen in.”
Noddy was pleased with his choice of attire, he was wearing his best royal blue velvet suit, with gold trim and matching hat, his crisp freshly ironed white socks, and super shiny black shoes, with highly polished buckles.
“Well all I am saying is, don’t go wandering off alone around Hampstead Heath wearing that stuff, ok.” chuckled Bigears.
“Hampstead Heath, what on earth are you talking about? We haven’t got time for your ambiguous ramblings Bigears, we have got a train to catch.” said Noddy.

He bundled Bigears into the Noddy car, and then climbed behind the wheel. He raced along the leafy lane as the sun danced through the trees, and couldn’t wipe the smile off of his face, as he thought about how wonderful it was going to be, to meet The Queen of England.

“Oh God, why is there always a queue when you are in a hurry?” asked Noddy, as he
nervously shifted from one foot to the other. “Oh come on…….please.”
“For God’s sake calm down, there is plenty of time,” said Bigears as he became more irritated with Noddy as every second passed.
Finally Noddy reached the front of the queue.
“Good day to you sir, I would like two tickets to see the Queen please.”
The ticket man looked Noddy up and down over the top of his glasses, and said “Is that two tickets to see THE Queen, or A queen?”
Noddy heard Bigears snigger behind him, and shot him a scowl. “Pray tell sir, what could you possibly mean? for there is only one Queen of England, and she hath requested the company of these two bonny squires that thou sees before thee.”
“Are you going to talk like that all day?” Said Bigears.
“Like what?”
“You know, all lardeeda, and…….Queenish.”
“I am just making an effort Bigears, just making an effort. It wouldn’t kill you to express yourself in a more eloquent manner.”
Bigears and the ticket man looked at each other, and their eyebrows raised simultaneously.

The train journey seemed to last forever. Noddy stared out of the window at the passing scenery. Towns and villages, rivers and streams, people going about their daily business, little did they know, that whizzing passed them, were two chaps on their way to see The Queen.

“Why are none of these cabs stopping?” said Noddy as he waved his arms in the air, while at the same time looking at his watch.
“Probably something to do with that suit,” said Bigears.
Noddy finally hailed a cab by standing in the middle of the road, and shouting “By order of the Queen…….HALT”.
“Where to Guvner?” said the cabby.
“Buckingham Palace please driver, and don’t spare the horses.” shouted Noddy.
They set off, with Noddy cursing the traffic, and Bigears cursing Noddy.
“Hey, aren’t you that Bigears?” said the cab driver.
“Yeah, that’s right,” said Bigears, very proud of his new found celebrity status.
“Tell me, is your cock really that big, or has it been airbrushed?”
Noddy looked dumbfounded.
“No, that is true to life, honest, you wanna verify it for yourself?” said Bigears as he started to undo his flies.
“NO he most certainly doesn’t,” shouted Noddy trying to do His friend's flies back up. “What do you mean anyway, how do you know how big his…….thing is?”
“It’s all over the internet innit. It’s on that site, cartoon cocks.com -


(Now readers, it was at this point that curiosity got the better of me, and I googled it! I was there for four hours! No don’t do it…….oh, you have. Now where was I, back to the story) -


“Bugger me, that must be a handful,” said the cabby.
“It certainly is mate” said Bigears, “I have to make sure that I am in peak physical condition before I get a stiffy. Otherwise the redistribution of blood to the old fella can cause me to keel over.”
“Fuck me, I wish I had one that big” said the cabby wistfully.
“You say that, but quite frankly it can be a curse sometimes. Yeah alright it’s great having a massive one, but sometimes I long for an average one. One lady I was with was so impressed by it, that she insisted on taking me home to show her mother. Let me tell ya, having yer girlfriend wankin’ you off in front of her mother is at best a little awkward, and in no way the circumstances I had envisaged, whilst doing the ‘Meeting the parents’ thing.”
“Oh I don’t know, I…….” Said the cabby.
“OH FOR GOD’S SAKE…….can we please stop discussing his…thing, and mothers, and whatnot, and just …..stop it. Especially on this special day.
“Jealous” said Bigears.
“I am not at all jealous, it’s just highly inappropriate on today of all days. I do not want to be discussing such tawdry things, on the day of her majesty’s Annual garden party for children’s fictional characters. Thank you.”

Finally the journey came to an end. Noddy and Bigears climbed from the cab, and stood staring at Buckingham Palace.
“My word Bigears, look at it. Majestic, awe inspiring.” Noddy was beside himself.
“It’s not as big as I thought it would be,” said Bigears.
“Oh really, is there nothing you won’t find fault with?”
Noddy and Bigears found their way to the correct entrance, and was ushered in by a man wearing a very impressive uniform. Noddy was a little dismayed that everybody had to walk through a full body metal detector. He felt it sullied the experience somewhat. But in today’s climate, he wasn’t surprised, even her majesty took security seriously. He was a little embarrassed however, when Bigears set it off. He stared at his feet, at the ceiling, anywhere to avoid the look on the face of the security man, as Bigears produced the offending articles. A Swiss army knife, a cap gun (What was he thinking), a set of guitar strings, and a sex pistols key ring.

Noddy was pleased to see so many old familiar faces. Julian from the famous five had already got the ear of Prince Phillip, no doubt beguiling him with tales of his exploits for his Duke of Edinburgh awards. The Clangers were telling Prince Harry a clanger joke (With Sooty interpreting), and Hong Kong Phooey was talking fashion with Fergy. Noddy was a little surprised, and to be honest a tad disappointed that the royal household had seen fit to allow admittance to the ‘Magic Roundabout’ lot. Noddy didn’t like to speak ill of people, but they really were as common as muck. Terrible chavs the lot of them. With their suspicious cigarettes, and “Man this”, and “man that”. Noddy had heard a rumour that they were socialists, but he rarely listened to tittle tattle.

Well the time had come. The line was being assembled. Noddy didn’t know weather to be pleased or disappointed that he and Bigears were near the end, but so be it.
“I really need a slash” said Bigears.
“Oh dear God, not now, why didn’t you go before we left?”
“I didn’t need to go then did I” said Bigears.
“Well you will just have to hold it.”
“I can’t, I’m off to find a bog.”
“WHAT, the queen will be here any minute, you…….”
Noddy turned round to see Bigears scampering off down a hall way.

Noddy looked back at where the Queen was, and then back to where Bigears went. He probably had five or six minutes at best. Luckily Her majesty had been delayed somewhat by Dick Dastardly, who was smarming his way around her. Thank heavens for small mercies. Where was Bigears Noddy thought to himself.

Noddy was in a dilemma. Should he wait, and risk Bigears missing the big moment, or go and try to find him, and heaven forbid, risk both of them missing it. The sweat started to bounce of Noddy’s furrowed brow. There was nothing else for it, he was going to have to go and find him.

Noddy walked briskly down the hall that Bigears had descended down. He couldn’t see any toilets anywhere. Panic was setting in. Where the hell was the bloody idiot?
Then all of a sudden, as Noddy was walking past one door in particular, he heard a woman’s voice. It sounded familiar. Noddy didn’t like to snoop, but he was desperate, any clue as to Bigears’s whereabouts was welcome. He pressed his ear hard against the door. Yes there was definitely two voices, one female, and one male. The male voice was muffled, but the woman’s was crystal clear. Yes, there was no doubt about it, it was Camilla Parker Bowls!

“Oh you naughty boy” said Camilla, “You know how I love it when your big ears tickle the insides of my thighs.”
Noddy’s eyes widened, and his knees began to buckle.
“Oh do you really, you want me to wear the crown do you?” giggled Camilla.
Noddy’s heart rate was off the scale.
“Oh yes Bigears, you certainly have the knack of getting my drawbridge down, and invading my palace.”
Noddy sank to his knees.
“Gasp, slow down Bigears, the crown is slipping off…….oh oh oh…….OH BIGEARS!”
Noddy was breathing heavily into his brown paper bag that he carried with him everywhere, for just such emergencies.

“How could he” Noddy thought to himself. “How could he do this to me. The filthy beast. We are a few minutes away from meeting the Queen of this fair isle, and he is committing adultery with the future King of England’s wife! Dear God almighty, we will go to the tower.”
Noddy could wait no longer, he raced back to the line up. The sweat was running down his face by now, partly due to the exertion, and partly because of the fear of beheading! As he got there, he stared at the unmistakable shape of Bigears standing in the line up.

“Where the bloody hell have you been, she is nearly here” said Bigears.
“But…….how……” stuttered Noddy.
“Shut up, shut up, she is here.” Whispered Bigears.
Noddy stood there, quite frankly not looking his best. One buckle had come undone, his once pert hat was now flaccid, and sweat stains were starting to seep through his velvet suit.
The Queen shook Noddy by the hand, and glanced at her footman. He dashed forward, and with a remarkable amount of discretion, gave a couple of squirts of ‘Glade’ in Noddy’s general direction.

“You must be Noddy” Said the Queen.
“That’s right Ma’am, I am Noddy of Noddy town, your humble and faithful servant your most Loveliness.” Panted Noddy.
“Loveliness” why had he said fucking loveliness?” Noddy thought to himself. If his compatriot fornicating with Camilla hadn’t assured him a seat in the tower, calling The Queen lovely, was sure to do it.
The Queen moved on quickly, and soon Prince Phillip was standing opposite Bigears.
“What o Bigears, I’ve heard you have got a big one” grinned The Duke.

Noddy was disappointed that he had spent the vast majority of the afternoon in the St John’s Ambulance tent. It was not how he had envisaged the afternoon panning out. But he was feeling a little better now, and was determined not to miss any more of it. He wandered back in to the reception room.

Bigears was laughing noisily with the Magic roundabout lot, even though he had told him not to mix with them under any circumstances. Julian was being far too familiar with Kate Middleton for Noddy’s liking, and Hong Kong Phooey was discussing turning his show in to a west end production with Prince Edward.

Then out of the corner of his eye, Noddy spotted Camilla. This was his chance to try to put things right. His one opportunity to try and smooth the waters some what.
He nervously sidled up to Camilla, and coughed.
“Excuse me Ma’am, I am Noddy of Noddy town, and I was just wondering if I could have a discreet word with you.”
“Why yes of course, what can I do for you?” said Camilla politely.
“Can I just take this opportunity to apologise on behalf of Bigears.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” Replied Camilla looking puzzled.
“Oh Ma’am, how I do so admire your tact and decorum, but please, there really is no need.
“Really?” said Camilla looking bemused.
Noddy lent closer to Camilla, and said, “It is widely understood that Bigears is a rampant pervert, and what I heard him doing to you earlier is disgraceful.”
“You mean you were listening, listening outside the door of my private quarters?” said Camilla indignantly.
“Oh not on purpose you understand, I was looking for him, because, well not to put too fine a point on it, he is a little light fingered, and I didn’t want him secreting anything Royal down his rather scruffy trousers.”
Camilla looked confused, and a little impatient, and said, “Scruffy trousers, light fingered, I…….”
Noddy butted in, “Lets not beat about the bush your ladyship, Bigears is an Ungodly, unwashed, porn addicted, perverted kleptomaniac.”
Camilla stood staring at Noddy with a slack jaw, and eyes like saucers.
“I think we will leave it at that your ma’amship” said Noddy as he gave Camilla a wink.

The rest of the afternoon flew by, and soon it was time to go home. Noddy and Bigears arrived home with their Chinese takeaway, and settled down for a night in front of Sky plus. Having consumed the best part of a bottle of ‘Jim Beam’, it wasn’t long before Bigears was snoring loudly. Noddy felt pleased that he had rather brilliantly managed to turn around, what had started off as minor disaster. Despite the hiccups, he had managed to make a silk purse out of a pig’s ear.

Noddy picked up the remote, and started flicking through the channels. He stopped at a show entitled ‘Top 100 Celebrity pet names’ and decided to give it five minutes of his precious time. The presenter, who he had never heard of, said, “And now, in at seventeen, we have Peter Andre’s pet name for Jordan…….Big Tits. Well that’s brilliant Pete” said the presenter in a rather smug Edinburgh fringe kind of way, “Very Original. And now ladies and gents, a surprise entry at number sixteen. Well would you believe it, Camilla Parker Bowls, yes the actual Camilla Parker Bowls, apparently calls old Charles……. Bigears.”

The rest of what the presenter was saying was inaudible to Noddy, as all he could hear was the high blood pressure ringing in his ears. What was it that he had unwittingly called the future king of England? Oh yes, that’s right, how could he possibly forget. The words were etched forever on his memory, an “Ungodly, unwashed, porn addicted, perverted kleptomaniac.”
Noddy poured himself a large Jim beam, and lit his first benson of his life.