Moir's The Pity II

The words "I'm sorry, I wrote something offensive and I shouldn't have" don't come naturally to Jan Moir, it seems. Writing in today's Daily Mail, she has apologised for any offence her previous Stephen Gately article caused. But then, straight after it, she's gone and put her foot firmly back in it again by defending her column insisting it isn't homophobic and offence shouldn't have been taken at it.

Today, she wrote that

Absolutely none of this had anything to do with his sexuality. If he had been a heterosexual member of a boy band, I would have written exactly the same article.

Yet despite this, many have interpreted my words as a 'bigoted rant' and suggested that my motive was to insinuate that Stephen died 'because he was gay'.

Which is odd. If Stephen Gately's sexuality had nothing to do with forming her opinion, I would question why she originally wrote

Another real sadness about Gately's death is that it strikes another blow to the happy-ever-after myth of civil partnerships.

If Stephen Gately had been straight, would she have written that his death "strikes another blow to the happy-ever-after myth of marriage"? Somehow I doubt that. She did go on to defend that statement:

The point of my observation that there was a 'happy ever after myth' surrounding such unions was that they can be just as problematic as heterosexual marriages.

A defence that I don't believe for a second. If she wanted to say that homosexual partnerships can be just as problematic as heterosexual partnerships then why didn't she just say that? Instead, she chose to sugar-coat it by saying that ONE gay man's tragic death proves that civil partnerships don't work.

I don't follow the logic, if Stephen Gately had been straight, it wouldn't have proved that marriage doesn't work. So why would it be another blow to civil partnerships?

That statement was never intended to to point out that problems between straight and gay relationships can be the same.

She carries on:

This brings me back to the bile, the fury, the inflammatory hate mail and the repeated posting of my home address on the internet.

To say it was a hysterical overreaction would be putting it mildly, though clearly much of it was an orchestrated campaign by pressure groups and those with agendas of their own.

While I don't agree with her home address being printed online and passed around, I do think you have to be accountable for what you write. Home addresses and private details aren't for the public to know, I accept that, but if you write something as vicious and bile-filled as that, then you can't complain when people write vicious and bile-filled replies in the forms of blog posts, comments or letters.

Much of the bile-filled, inflammatory, hysterical overreaction was not part of an orchestrated campaign. Aside from, as I pointed out in my last blog, the hypocrisy of someone at the Mail claiming that, there just wasn't. People were encouraged to read the article and form their own opinions.

However, I accept that many people - on Twitter and elsewhere - were merely expressing their own personal and heartfelt opinions or grievances. This said, I can't help wondering: is there a compulsion today to see bigotry and social intolerance where none exists by people who are determined to be outraged? Or was it a failure of communication on my part?

There is no compulsion to see bigotry in everything, at all. People see bigotry where there is bigotry and don't where there is not. To suggest Stephen Gately's death was a blow to civil partnerships is inaccurate and based on the assumption that one gay man was "sleazy" - Moir's word, not mine - so all gay men are sleazy. That is homophobic.

I neither believe it was a failure by Moir communicate what she intended to. I'd like to suggest that the reason there was an outcry was because Moir wrote something bigoted and the public didn't like it.

Certainly, something terrible went wrong as my column ricocheted through cyberspace, unread by many who complained, yet somehow generally and gleefully accepted into folklore as a homophobic rant.

It lit a spark, then a flame and turned into a roaring ball of hate fire, blazing unchecked and unmediated across the internet.

I wonder if Jan Moir sees the irony here?

I've referred to this numerous times in this and my previous blog post, but the Mail have, in the past, stoke the fires of furore when it deals with their business rivals - such as the BBC during Ross-And-Brand-Gate - and revelled in the uproar they've generated. Now Moir is subject to something similar - except the phrase "unread by many" is something I'd disagree with, having seen the article doing the rounds and having seen people being encouraged to read it - and both her and the paper don't like it.

Yet as the torrent of abuse continued, most of it anonymous, I also had thousands of supportive emails from readers and well-wishers, many of whom described themselves as 'the silent majority'. The outcry was not as one-sided as many imagine.

It's amazing how silent this majority can be, at times, isn't it?

Can it really be that we are becoming a society where no one can dare to question the circumstances or behaviour of a person who happens to be gay without being labelled a homophobe? If so, that is deeply troubling.

No, we're a society that is stamping down on homophobia. If you write something that is homophobic, you can't then complain that you're being labelled a homophobe.

There was nothing deeply troubling about the reaction to the bile Moir wrote. What would have been more troubling would have been if nobody had reacted to it at all.

Moir's The Pity

If you haven't see what kicked off over at The Daily Mail recently, then before you read this, I would urge you to see what their columnist Jan Moir wrote about the death of Stephen Gately. Now, there's a specific reason I'm pointing you there if you've not yet read it and I'll explain that in a moment.

If you have read it, then you'll know that Moir rather conveniently ignored the coroner's (expert) report in favour of her own (bigoted) viewpoint as to what caused the death of a 33-year old man. Her assertion that Gately's death wasn't natural was based on no scientific proof but on the fact that there was something fishy about his lifestyle because he was gay.

There have been a record number of complaints about her article to the Press Complaints Commission. And that's partly down to a website I'm signed up to and use a lot (Twitter), and thanks to that social networking site, many thousands of people were able to read her horrid words for themselves.

I'm not going to go over old ground and rebut what she wrote in her original piece - plus, I won't do it as well as Mr. Charlie Brooker, so I'll point you there - but I do feel that I need to make some points about her response to the complaints.

In a statement, Moir said:

the point of my column - which, I wonder how many of the people complaining have fully read - was to suggest that, in my honest opinion, his death raises many unanswered questions. That was all.

The problem with this opening gambit is that her column raised only one real point - that Stephen Gately's death was a blow to the image that same-sex civil partnerships are all happy and jolly. But that's an illogical link: aside from the fact that Stephen Gately died of natural causes (fluid on the lungs according to the coroner's report), why does one gay man dying young strike a blow to the heart of the civil partnership arrangement?

It doesn't, because the Boyzone singer didn't die from being gay. And there have been straight, married people who have also died of natural causes so young, so... What's her point?

The bitter irony about that part of the statement, though, was Moir's questioning of the number of people who had read her column. When, the Mail had, in fact, previously encouraged people who hadn't listened to the Jonathan Ross/Russell Brand/Andrew Sachs affair to complain to Ofcom about it and then felt the need to gloat about their success.

But the truth is, most (if not all) of the people who complained had read it. That's because of numerous Twitter feeds linking to the original article - which, incidentally was headlined "Why there was nothing 'natural' about Stephen Gately's death" and not "A strange, lonely and troubling death..." - allowing reader to make their own judgements. There was encouragement to complain, but most of all, there was an encouragement to read the article and complain if readers felt necessary.

Moir goes on to say

In writing that 'it strikes another blow to the happy-ever-after myth of civil partnerships' I was suggesting that civil partnerships - the introduction of which I am on the record in supporting - have proved just to be as problematic as marriages.

I'm not quite sure where she's heading with that line of argument. I don't know of anybody who suggested that all civil partnerships would end happily nor do I know anyone who thinks that all marriages are perfect. Nobody was suggesting that civil partnerships would be any different to marriages in the first place.

How I saw the comment "it strikes another blow to the happy-ever-after myth of civil partnerships" was that Jan Moir was, while describing him as sweet and charming on the one hand, actually on the other saying Stephen Gately was gay and died because of a sordid lifestyle. And that sordid lifestyle can't work for civil partnerships.

The statement goes on:

In what is clearly a heavily orchestrated internet campaign I think it is mischievous in the extreme to suggest that my article has homophobic and bigoted undertones.

As Dave Gorman writes on his blog, "I take offence at the idea that my offence - which feels kind of real to me - somehow doesn't count because I heard about the article online. All those people complaining are just doing it because they want to join in. Yeah!"

And he's right. An orchestrated internet campaign would be one where people were encouraged to complain for the sake of complaining and yet they weren't. In fact (and as I was part of the tweeting and re-tweeting nature of the incident, I feel entitled to comment on this), nobody was encouraged to blindly complain about it. What they were asked to do was read a link and complain if they felt it necessary - or, in other words, people were asked to form an opinion on something having been given the original material.

Not complaining to be part of a "campaign", something which, as I pointed out earlier, has been a part of the Daily Mail's strategy for a while.

Jan also denies in that quote that she is homophobic. But surely to suggest that Stephen Gately's death was not natural based on his lifestyle - which, if you've read the original article, she has made an assumption about too - has to be homophobic? That's connecting his lifestyle to his death, going in complete opposition to the coroner, and factually inaccurate. Oh, and don't forget homophobic.

Proportion and Distortion

There have been some terrible scenes throughout the UK over the past few days. Protest marches, effigies burnt, witty slogans on banners, pins in the eyes of voodoo dolls… All because of two separate incidents in one football match. I suppose it’s a good thing we’re not looking for a paedophile here.

Adebayor’s stamp on Robin van Persie deserves a ban, that isn’t in question. As a football fan, I’m supposed to be shocked. And I am: his behaviour was shocking, I’m shocked. There. He was wrong to do it and, more likely than not, will be punished for it.

But, the thing is, I don’t believe for one minute City’s forward began the game with the aim of stamping on one of his former team-mates, with the aim of injuring one of the opposition players or with the aim of doing somebody some damage. Robin van Persie, on the other hand, disagrees:

"We are both professional footballers and I know that the game is physical, I too have made hard and sometimes mis-timed challenges but never with the intention of hurting an opponent. He set out to hurt me today.

“He had his own agenda today and that is bad for football. It's bad for the game we all love.”

The statement issued through the Arsenal website suggests that van Persie thinks that Adebayor began the game wanting to kick either him or his fellow team-mates. From what I witnessed yesterday, Adebayor started the game with the aim of helping his side to victory.

Then what happened was as follows: City were on the back foot and the ball was cleared to half-way. Adebayor was on his own and in possession. As he tried to skip past one tackle, he knocked the ball too far and lost it. At that same moment, van Persie comes flying in the two feet recklessly, failing to win the ball and ends up in front of Adebayor. Who then, in my opinion, decides stupidly to kick out at him – not in some pre-meditated attack, but because of an ill timed and two-footed challenge.

That, by no means, makes Adebayor’s actions right or above punishment, he deserves whatever punishment he gets – I don’t want to be accused of condoning his actions or the injury to van Persie’s face. But neither am I condoning a witch hunt of somebody who looks to have reacted in the spur of the moment and who probably now regrets what he did.

It’s not as if Robin van Persie has never lashed out in the heat of the moment, or been a bit careless with his elbows. I don’t recall other victims of such incidents issuing statements on club websites. Thomas Sorensen didn’t feel the need to when he was stamped on and shouldered by the very man who has “made hard and sometimes mis-timed challenges but never with the intention of hurting an opponent”.

Neither Robin van Persie nor Arsenal needed to bring this incident to the media’s attention – it was already there. They could have complained to the FA in private, who would probably have looked at the incident anyway: the referee clearly didn’t see it, otherwise he would have punished Adebayor.

The second incident, on the other hand, has been blown out of all proportion. And because it was from the same man as the first, then needless to say the gallows are being prepared and the black cap dusted.

So then, Adebayor scored. Then he proceeded to run 90m down to the other end of the ground to celebrate with the opposition fans. Fans of his former club. Fans who hadn’t a good word to say about him beforehand. Fans who had booed and jeered every touch of the ball he had.

I wrote something not so long ago about removing homophobia from football and was told I was overreacting and it was just banter. You wouldn’t call racism banter, so why would you call homophobia banter? Celebrating a goal against a set of fans who had been mercilessly taunting you right in front of them, I would say, is banter.

A lot has been made of Adebayor’s celebration, but not a lot has been made of the behaviour of some of the Arsenal fans. Now I know most Arsenal fans are like most City fans and most fans of other teams – sensible and hate Manchester United – but the minority who hurled themselves at the stewards, threw coins and hot dogs, and tried to burst onto the pitch shouldn’t go blameless here.

Adebayor was ill-advised to celebrate how he did, but if the Arsenal fans that reacted can’t take a bit of banter from an ex-player when they had been perfectly willing to dish it out to that ex-player, then football probably isn’t the sport for them.

If we as people can’t rise above retaliating with violence to a counter-taunt, then we should be taking a long, hard look at ourselves. Not at the man who simply celebrated a goal, dishing out what he had taken throughout the game. Why should the fans be allowed to be offensive, but not be offended?

As far as I’m concerned, the matter should be finished. He was booked for the celebration and, as Graham Poll explained on Sky Sports News, that’s the punishment that applies in the rules for what he did. Other players have done it in the past – even van Persie turned and ran towards the City fans when he equalised to celebrate in front of them, shouting a few obscenities.

It was heat of the moment stuff. He was booked and he’s apologised for doing it. Players have done it in the past and been booked, they’ll do it in the future and get booked. There’s no need to punish them on the pitch with a yellow card, then off it with a ban. And didn’t Henry do something similar in one of Arsenal’s matches with Tottenham?

Adebayor did exactly what the vast majority of us in that position would have wanted to do. He knows what he did was wrong in the circumstances and was punished accordingly with a yellow card – they add up over the season and result in bans, too. Try and tell managers with key players banned for receiving one or more of five yellow cards for celebrating by taking their shirt off that cautions don’t mean much post-match.

And in this entire furore, most people have forgotten the stern defensive display that City put in and their excellent finishing on the break. You’d have thought that these two incidents happened and then some football broke out, not the other way round.

National Health Selfishness

"I wouldn't wish the NHS on anybody."

Those are the words of a Tory MEP. I wonder why that is, Mr. Tory? Perhaps because you have enough money to go for private treatment?

You know, it really pisses me off that some people in this country knock the NHS. The NHS isn't, by any means, flawless and mistakes do and will happen, but that doesn't mean it's a bad thing. If you're the type of person that disagrees with a free, at the point of need treatment service for anybody in the country, then you shouldn't qualify to have an opinion.

What kind of selfish arse would happily deny people who CANNOT afford private treatment hospital care, because they would rather keep their tax dollars? Ok, so everybody pays towards the NHS and not everybody needs it. But that's just the risk you take. You most definitely should not be denied open heart surgery because you don't have the money for it.

And I must say, I was delighted when I saw the #welovetheNHS hashtag pop up on Twitter. I always thought, as a country, it had become right to knock the NHS despite the sterling work it does, but it seems I was wrong. The minute Obama's national healthcare plans are likened to Soviet Russia, we, as a nation, stood together to defend what I think is one of the greatest inventions of the 20th Century.

Free, at the point of need healthcare. It's a sign of civilisation. The fact that we value everybody's health as important, the fact that anybody, no matter what their income, gender, colour, orientation, class, whatever, can get treatment for free shows a compassionate society.

But that's not something that's wanted by most Republicans in "the land of the free", oh no. There's the saying, 'you get what you pay for', and that's exactly how the US health system works. A friend of mine, on his Twitter feed, said that the UK healthcare system is designed primarily to help patients and it sometimes fails. But the US healthcare system is designed to screw patients and usually succeeds.

The US Conservatives knocking the Presidents plans even resorted to making up lies about our system. Then we rebutted them.

Don't get me wrong, though. I'm not knocking the standard of the US healthcare. To be honest, if you can afford it, it's probably better than what you can get in Britain. It's just that the problem with that sentence is the phrase "if you can afford it", because most people can't. It's a screwed up system that benefits the rich and ignores the poor.

Without the NHS, I'd never have had a tumour removed from the bone of my foot. It was non-malignant, just bloody painful - a pain that left me unable to walk after long periods of sitting down and unable to run - and it's something I'd have had to just put up with without the NHS.

Instead, I got free treatment in the form of a biopsy, operations, drugs and top class aftercare.

To deny somebody treatment for any illness because they cannot afford it is immoral. To paint somebody who wants to allow anybody, regardless of wealth, access to healthcare as Hitler and the plan as something out of Soviet Russia is baffling.

If you think that people should only be treated for what they can afford and ignored if they lack the money, then you should take a long, hard look at yourself and ask yourself how you can call yourself a human being.

99,513 Minutes

It's been nearly 100,000 minutes since my last update. And a lot has happened since I missed the train back from London that I've not mentioned, a lot I'm not going to mention and a lot that I've forgotten completely.

Mid-to-late May, I finished university. It was a hellish last few weeks, with this bit of work and that bit of editing constantly floating around my mind - with the added distraction that it seemed all I wanted to do was play Fifa on Chris's xBox.

Nevertheless, I've passed my degree and all was well in my world. Incidentally, [plug] you can listen to my documentary here, at the bottom of the page. [/plug] I like it and it was almost worth missing that train for. Almost.

So, then me and my degree went off on holiday to Rome for a week with my family. It turned out to be the same week that most of Manchester was going to Rome, too, so that seemed to make everything ten times more expensive and, to add to that, they had freak weather. Hot, freak weather.

But at least I can say I've been in the Colosseum. The Pantheon. St. Paul's Cathedral. The Vatican City. And I've seen the Trevi Fountain. And, most importantly, my feet ached and my body sweated a lot in each of them.

And, oddly, I managed to get sunburnt in two very specific places: my left shoulder and a patch of skin on my stomach, about the size of a two pence piece. But even so, it was a very enjoyable week, despite the sunburn, the heat and being ripped off by a waiter on the night of the Champions League Final.

Well, when I got home I was in for a bit of a shock. Apparently, I'm very allergic to something, I just don't know what.

I played football with my friends on a school field the day after I got back and sunburnt my face quite badly. Well, no. I did it very well, actually, by which I mean I was very burnt.

And after a few days of applying after-sun, I stopped, thinking it was fine.

But on the Wednesday, I was sitting at my computer, editing City Goals, when I spotted I was developing a rash on my left arm.

'How odd,' I thought, before checking my right arm to see it was present there too.

'Hmm,' I thought, 'That's not right... I wonder if it's on my legs.'

So I looked. And there it was on my legs. But it wasn't on my hands, feet, stomach, back or face, so I didn't think it was much of a problem.

So, come Thursday evening, I'm in A&E. The rash has gotten severely worse, it's spread to my chest, back and face (around my eyes and on my forehead), all over my neck and covering my ears. My ears and eyes had swollen - my ears more so, to the point where they were so swollen they hurt. I was so itchy, I couldn't sit still.

I got treatment in the form of steroids and anti-histamines and in five days it was going down. The only thing that remained was the rash on my legs, not that itchy, but still a bit of a nuisance.

And that's how it remained until last Monday.

Once again, I'd played football the day before, but I'd applied sun cream, desiring not to have another pink face.

This time, the rash started on all the places I'd put the cream - ears first, followed by neck and then around my eyes. By Tuesday, it was on my arms, stomach and back and starting on my legs. So a trip to the doctor and a blood test was the order of the day.

As I type now, it appears to be going down. My ears aren't as swollen and the rash appears to be disappearing, so I'm hoping that's going to be the end of it. When it's cleared up this time, I'm going to be having skin tests, for sure. I need to know what's causing this reaction; I can't keep going through it.

It could be sun cream. It could be something in the grass on the football field. It could be something I've eaten. It could be a number of things, just none of them seem likely because the only common factor between the two incidents is playing football. And I've never heard of anyone allergic to one sport in particular.

Verdomme.

It appears I have opened my big, fat blog too early about London.

It was a good day, when it comes down to interviews, recordings and meetings. From when I left you, the nice Mr. Jon Holmes put me on the guest list for The Now Show recording, so instead of waiting outside in BBC Broadcasting House, I got a front row seat.

It turns out that was probably for the better. The last train back to Manchester was 10.00pm, providing I didn't want to be stuck in Birmingham until 5.00am. On most nights, that would be annoying at best, infuriating at worst, but for me that night it would have been a disaster - Mathias landing in Manchester at 6.55am.

Anyway, had I not been in the recording, I probably wouldn't have interviewed Marcus Brigstocke at all - it took us since early February to work out a time that was mutually beneficial, so he would probably have never gone into the documentary had I not got him that evening. The reason being that after any type of show, the people involved tend to spend ten, fifteen, twenty minutes chatting about how it went.

BBC Broadcasting House is about a three minute walk from Oxford Circus tube station, which, in turn, is two stops from Euston - where my train left at 22.00. Had I been in reception to meet Marcus afterwards, I'd have had to have left long before he'd have come out of the theatre.

Fortunately, though, I was on the front row.

So, I'm forgetting about the time and enjoying the recording - one of the producers telling me earlier in the day that it usually finishes about 9.00pm. But, due to technical reasons (and partly because I interview Jon Holmes in the control room when they were sound checking), the show got off to a late start. Then, after the various retakes had been done, the team were handed a printout of Tim Westwood's Twitter page - which is hilarious if you have the time.

So, when that was all done and dusted, it was just before 9.30pm. As the audience were disappearing, I hopped up on stage, told Marcus of my problem and asked if he minded if we ran off somewhere quiet and had a quick chat. He didn't, so off we went.

I was conscious of the time all the way though, so I asked my most important questions, missing out some of the stuff I wanted to ask, but were touch and go as to whether they would make the edit.

We finished at just before 9.45pm, I shook his hand and I pelted off out of the building towards Oxford Circus.

I'm terrified of heights. Travelling down the escalators in the London Underground system tends to mean grabbing the handrail with two hands and holding on for dear life. I was so determined to get the train, I ran down Oxford Circus's escalator.

But I arrived on the platform to watch the next train towards Euston pulling off.

"Fuck!" I shouted, rather too loudly. I knew this from the reaction of everybody else on the platform, who stepped away from me not-so-subtly.

Three minutes later, the next train arrives. It's just after 9.50pm. I can make it to Euston, but I will have to run, for sure. There's an announcement - "Services had been delayed because a man had gone under a train."

Two stops later, I'm at Euston. I'm sprinting up the escalators, through the tunnels and into the railway side of the station. I arrive on the platform for the Manchester train at 10.00pm, just in time...

...to watch it pull away and leave me behind.

"Fuck!" I shouted, rather too loudly. I knew this from the reaction of everybody else on the platform, who stepped away from me not-so-subtly.

Suddenly, I realised I was starving. I'd been so busy trying to make that train, I'd forgotten I'd not eaten in hours. So, I headed into WHSmith to be charged an extortionate amount for a bag of crisps and a drink. The security guard wasn't happy about me going into the shop - they were closing, but he was fine once I'd explained my predicament.

My father, bless him, agreed to meet me in the Midlands. I phoned him and we agreed that we would meet in Wolverhampton, him in the car, me on the train and then he'd bring me home.

But, the only way we could agree on Wolverhampton was after I found out the furthest north I could get, at the most reasonable hour - a question I asked to the lady at the ticket desk, just before she gave me a look like I had just presented her with a dead cat.

I informed her that I was trying to get "an near to Manchester as possible" at that hour, before she, rather helpfully, told me I had "already missed the last train to Manchester."

"I know," I replied, "but can you tell me the nearest I can get to Manchester, in the quickest time."

"Yes," she said.

Twenty questions later, I had discovered it was the Wolverhapton train that left in fifteen minutes. I decided to cut my losses and buy a ticket from the machines because, as much as they can be problematic, I wasn't sure fifteen minutes was enough time for Miss Ticket Desk to be helpful.

Eventually, I got on the train, and put my head down, trying to sleep. Needless to say, I couldn't, so had only had two and a half hours when Mathias landed, so it was hardly surprising I nodded off in the afternoon whilst watching Shaun of the Dead. On the bright side, so did he, so everyone's happy.

And, I was extremely grateful to my dad for picking me up in Wolverhampton. I was able to get some sleep on the drive back to Manchester. Had I had to wait, I'd have had none, because I (and this woman I met who was high up in the BBC's Blast programme) was promptly left with only a drunk as company in Wolverhampton Station.

Verdomme indeed. But at least I got some good interviews.

Capital Worries

As I sit here in a warm internet cafe in central London, sipping a can of lukewarm Sprite, scratching a heatlump that has formed on the back of my hand, I know that, as long as my day has been, it's been a thoroughly productive one.

I've met Holly - or Norman Lovett, depends on what you watch on telly - and interviewed him. I've met a producer at the BBC and interviewed him. I've also met Jon Holmes, who honestly isn't the tallest of folk, and interviewed him. I've shaken the hand of Marcus Brigstocke and will be interviewing him, but he's got to do a radio show before that.

Norman's interview was good - he talks well and made a few good points. Might, hopefully, balance out my documentary between people who do offensive material and people who don't. He actually said the word 'cunt' on stage once. You wouldn't believe it.

Colin Anderson was the crucial one today. This was a man who decides what does or doesn't go out in terms of comedy on the air. While the comedian usually takes the flak for making a joke, ultimately the producer decides if it is aired or not.

Jon Holmes was ace, too. Talked well, has been sacked for getting a nine year old girl to spell out SOAPY TIT WANK on the radio at midnight, has been in the thick of it when it comes to comedy people have been offended by. And, as Punt and Dennis say, he really is that small. But size matters not, he spoke well and that's what counts.

While it's been overcast and threatening to rain, it's actually been quite a nice day here in the capital. I've eaten my lunch in a park, that appears in the middle of nowhere in the city, reading the Star Wars book I bought about three months ago.

It's not been warm, but it's hardly been cold, with a cool breeze blowing around the place.

The tube, while having terrifyingly large esculators and very, very dirty handrails on the staircases, has been efficient (please see my plans to extend the network through the entire country - it can be done, it just needs a little funding, time and a can-do attitude).

My only worry is that these interviews are all a bit Radio 4. My documentary is on comedy. So far, I've interviewed most of the cast of The Now Show - Jon Holmes and Mitch Benn, with Marcus Brigstocke to follow - plus a man who produces Radio 4 comedy.

In fact, it's only Norman Lovett (who doesn't do offensive material) and Richard Herring I've interviewed that aren't connected to that radio station.

While they are all good interviewees and have spoken about my subject well, the documentary is on comedy, not radio comedy, nor Radio 4 comedy. If it was, then this would be fine, but it isn't. My remit is the whole of comedy.

I've spent most of my time in this internet cafe, earlier today, trying to contact some telly people who I suspected might be based in London. It turned out I had 2 and a half hours to spare at one point, but nobody could meet me. Dominic Holland and Phil Jupitus were out of the capital, while the rest just led to agents who weren't in or haven't replied to emails.

While I've done a lot of work for this documentary and done enough interviews to fill it, I've not covered enough angles. So there's still more to come. Bugger.

Oh, and just to make my Marcus Brigstocke interview more interesting, I'm two tube stops from Euston. He's free for interview from round about 9pm. I need to be at Euston for 10pm, no later, otherwise I miss my last direct train home and end up in Birmingham until 5am. Mathias, my Belgian friend, lands in Manchester Airport tomorrow at 7am.

I have to make that train.

I also heard the best announcement at a station earlier: "Ladies and Gentlement, we are sorry for the delay on the Central Line. This is due to one passenger consuming too much E before boarding the train. Once again, we apologise for the delay to services on the Central Line."