Two Repressed Egotists

Call me a cynic, but posting a message on your website asking people not to send you anymore fan mail smacks of desperation. Hearing in the news this morning that Ringo Starr had publicly announced that he will stop signing fan mail, I couldn’t help but think that it must have been at least 10 years since someone last sent him a picture of a certain blue, anthropomorphic, and unfeasibly helpful tank engine with a note attached asking for his help in making little Timmy’s birthday very special.

Given that my grasp of all things financial is flimsy at best, it's slightly disingenous of me to keep writing blog posts about the current economic crisis. Still, I don't suppose that knowing nothing about something you're writing about is a barrier that's ever stopped a journalist before, so I'm going to carry on regardless - very soon I'll be eligible for a position on The Star's newsdesk...

I have just been on the phone to my tax office...twice. The first time I rang I got the sort of generation X slacker only fit for answering a phone if it’s bright red, oversized and made by Fisher Price.

Take a look at this frankly ridiculous promotional webpage for Canon camcorders over at The Guardian .

It's trying awfully hard isn't it? Freecording! Apparently, that's "living and shooting at the same time"! Who'd have thought that was possible?

Following on from last week's post on PR bumf masquerading as credit crunch news, another offender has appeared in today's papers.

Apparently, according to The Guardian, "the old-fashioned high tea is enjoying a credit crunch revival"...

Currently there are three people in my office who seem to be competing to be the first to say 'bless you' whenever someone sneezes. It is unbearably annoying especially as everyone seems to have a cold at the moment, and so you can more or less guarantee that someone is going to sneeze at least once every ten minutes. This is making my office environment even more unpleasant than usual - not only am I made extremely aware that the very air that I'm forced to breathe is a toxic cloud of snot particles destined to make me ill, but I'm also prevented from concentrating on anything for any prolonged period by a barrage of shouted 'bless yous' every five minutes or so...

So, on Wednesday night I went for a drink with a mate of mine, but ended up chatting to a colleague of his who is, putting it plainly, a very wealthy man.

We know all too well how easy it is to make fun of The Daily Mail, but a quick flick through today's issue proves that it's a worthwhile activity nevertheless.

For today, The Mail has landed upon the very root of everything that is wrong with the world. Forget the credit crunch, forget the war on terror, forget knife crime - because the real problem is the proliferance of 'obscene greetings cards'.

I've been wanting to write something about The Hairy Bikers for a long time, but I've felt crippled by the sheer quantity of the hatred I feel for them. After sitting through an episode of their latest show, 'The Hairy Bakers', last night I resolved to finally put pen to paper.