Ted Max

The only time I "met" Jemma Dawson's dad was when he came to collect his daughter from the cinema because I, a young looking 13, had been refused a ticket for the 15 certificate film I had asked Jemma to. Following this abject humiliation Jemma decided that rather than spend the rest of the afternoon with me (did I really suggest a visit to the Portait Gallery in recompense?) she'd like to go home now. Just as the condemned man is handed the bullets to load into the executioner's gun, I even had to lend her the 10p for the phone to call her father. Mr Dawson didn't get out the car. Just threw the passenger car door open and through a broad smile told Jemma to "Get in". I learnt later he took her to Bar Italia for pizza and ice cream to celebrate his victory. I trudged home, the three green pound notes and remaining 75p for our cinema tickets mocking me from the left pocket of my elastic-waisted baggy jeans. In a gesture of self-aggrandising romantic futility that would be repeated many times in spirit, if not in action, I slotted that money right between the plaster-cast eyes of the Guide Dog for the Blind chained to the railings outside Mags 'n' More. Mr Dawson died a year later of a heart attack in the boardroom of his construction company. Jemma moved away, aged 15, to a boarding school that has since closed. The recipient guide dog was liberated from service later than you'd think. He sits in my back garden to this day, eyes turned ever upwards to the indifferent sky.

What ho, knobheads. Just looking in to raise a glass to Tessa, who was charming the suspenders from off of of Paxman last night. You lot over on the posh side don't deserve her. Toodle-pip.

Sex kittens. Bombshells. Dolly birds. Super models. Matinee idols. Swoonboats* Beefcakes. Hunks. *Unless you're using *Bob*'s dictionary

Today I am mostly writing like Simon Heffer.

A Place in the Sun Escape to the Country Location Location Location Property Ladder Bargain Hunt Cash in the Attic Flog It The terminal moraine shit out by the spent glacier of our aspirations.

Lawrence L-B, Linda Barker and Anna Ryder Richardson.

I care not for gritty. In my reality, MrBen, you stride through glistening airports, Blackberry buzzing discreetly in the hiddden pocket of your Richard James suit. The chief concierge at the Cataract Hotel, Aswan, keeps a felucca waiting for you at all times on the private jetty. Pretty embassy liaison officers mention your name wistfully during the coffee breaks of inter-departmental briefings.

The info boards in the park claim that the Peck runs overground - I presume in the corner near the swings, and then along the bottom near the loos, past the cafe etc Can it also run, then, in the opposite corner, where The Elms is?

I want to start a thread called "The Fabulous Life of Mr Ben", but I don't want him to take it the wrong way. What say you, Mr Ben?

Interesting but little known fact about photo booths: all photo booths in the UK are connected electronically to a secure, Government-owned data center near Swindon. Every single image captured in all the booths in the country is sent to this data centre, where it is processed using advanced facial recognition technology. The work is funded by the MoD which is looking into the idea of smart weapons that can recognise and target only a particular demographic - age, sex, but also race, and even class and religion. As such, they need a vast database of electronic images with which to work from, and someone realised about 10 years ago that photo booths formed an ideal random image capturing opportunity. It's all a long way from the day when photo booths used to be used by the KGB as safe drop boxes. Films were taped to the curtain behind the sitter, or larger packages taped below the revolving stool.

I went on Saturday evening only to find the show was cancelled because they'd run out of 3D specs. Tool.

I got in, dicked about for a few years and ended up in university at the end of it where I dicked about some more then ended up in an office for further dicking about. This would be a splendid personal statement on your CV, Brendan.

I suppose waving your unshaven veg at door-to-door hawkers is marginally preferable to fanning them on a window ledge, but probably as dangerous.

Opening your jeans and calling "them" Bruv is only inviting trouble.

"You're all a bunch of smug pricks. Please support my campaign." How does that work? (PS I think it's a worthy campaign, but until your last post nobody had made the case for it at any length. Smug is a two way street) (PPS Tessa Jowell's office has a presence on here. TJMP is the username. If Hatty is still not picking up the phone, perhaps a nudge to Tessa?)

Although the Prince Albert is refreshingly free of lah-di-dah NornIrish.

Its not the anti breastfeeding, it is the " she should have asked for permission" Fair enough. I see no need for her to have asked permission. I was responding to this I am shocked and saddened by many of the posts on here as I really thought that in general people were supportive of breastfeeding. It is really sad to think that people are so negative about such a natural human process. because I think it's a misrepresentation of this thread. Why do I care? Because it got on my tits. That is all.

I am shocked and saddened by many of the posts on here as I really thought that in general people were supportive of breastfeeding. It is really sad to think that people are so negative about such a natural human process. I can't see one post that is not supportive of breastfeeding, Molly, never mind "many". I can see some that express concern about possible implications of the way this thing has gone public.

Also, the FIDO and flag-a-slag days seem to indicate that at any one time last summer there were 40 odd turds on the Green (inclusing the little bit by the mural). FIDO were coming 2-3 times a week, so we could extrapolate perhaps 10-14 dumps a day. That's not a lot of owners - making enforcement possible?

It should all be no poo, surely? Do you mean dog and no dog? I ticked the boxes pretty much along Moos' views. Enforce more and keep cleaning up. If you have a designated no-dog area, it will be ignored by the same owners that currently don't clean up.

To be fair to Vince I'm not sure he's endorsing the situation - just pointing out how utterly bananas it is. Vince, you live in the 'burbs anyway, I think, isn't there a nice local school your children can go to - through a process that doesn't risk them seeing school as merely a succession of stressful STOP/GO barriers to be navigated?

If Levein is capable of reviving the Smith/McLeish habit of carving out 1-0 victories hugely against the run of play, things could be looking up for Scotland.

Jamie Carragher and Alan Smith had their legs broken by foreign players. Were Lucas Neill and J-A Riise run out of the country?

Not any more.

And remain the only team never to have lost to them in any form of the game... (we're waiting till the first Test for that one)