One for a wet and boring lunch-hour

If you've got half-an-hour to kill try typing your name into Google (other search engines are available). Unless you're called something like Freemantle Hawkstrangler, you'd be amazed at how you find 'you' described on the net. 

Dave Bowers, for example:

• ... is becoming widely recognised as one of Australia's leading contemporary pop artists
• ... is among the best-known and most noteworthy numismatic authors of the last 50 years
• ... is a Digital Marketing Manager with interests in Amazon Reviewing, Photography, Social Media, Animation, Web Design and Management
• ... graduated from Monash University (Caulfield) in 1986 with a Diploma in Graphic Design
• ... is an independent consultant to his former employer, Zurich Financial Services Group (I too used to work for Zurich!)
• ... is a gourmand born in Monterrey, Mexico, who is rumoured to make the best Enchiladas Suizas in Maine
• ... is the mayor of Roanoke, Virginia
• ... is a plumbing and heating engineer in Hollidaysburg
• ... is a painter and decorator in Kingston-upon-Thames (though the useless people at HotFrog have allocated my website to him - that would be a shock to potential clients!)
• ... is vice-chairman of the board (!!!)
• ... has his own refridgeration company in Florida
• ... works for Allen Tate Real Estate
• ... is a fitness enthusiast and a member of our fitness social network in Mountain View, CA (I nearly wet myself laughing at this one... fitness! LOL!)
• ... says the WA Fire Service needs greater funding
• ... has an extensive background in production accounting, finance and taxes with a specialty in the television industry
• ... is dead
• ... appeared in Star Wars (definitely my favourite this one!)
• ... is the former lead singer with a band called Trik Turner
• ... is an animator who worked on Shark Tale and the Oscar-winning Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit (OK, maybe this one's my favourite now... a real talent!)
• ... is a Hampshire-based journalist, writer and grumpy old man (guess who?)

Which just goes to show what many of you had already sussed out: Dave Bowers is bloody common ...

Comedy's breath of fresh air

Miranda Hart - such fun!

If you know me well – and I can only assume you must do if you’re prepared to read this tripe – then you will know I love my comedy.

Whether it’s the slapstick antics of Laurel and Hardy, the unforgettable vintage radio half-hours of Hancock, The Goons and Round the Horne, the stand-up of Max Miller or Mark Watson, or the TV comedy from Dad’s Army through to Scrubs, I have a passion for the stuff that makes us laugh.

So last night it was with childish glee that my beloved and I queued up in freezing temperatures outside BBC TV Centre in Wood Lane, to be members of the audience for the Christmas episode of the wonderful Miranda.

Wonderful? Yes, wonderful. It might not be the critics’ favourite but that’s because it’s a throwback to more gentle times. The eponymous Ms Hart is a breath of fresh air in the current comedic climate.

Unpretentious, self-deprecating and a master – or should that be mistress? – of the slapstick turn, she exudes a feel-good factor which evidently rubs off on fellow cast members who appear to enjoy making the show as much as we enjoy watching it.

No bad language, few sexual references, just a rich panoply of embarrassing scenarios, misfortunes and neuroses to which many of us – male or female – can relate.

It is what I call very funny. Such fun…

■ If you’ve yet to discover the joy of Miranda, watch BBC2 8.30pm today. You won’t regret it. Oh, and she's from Petersfield. Hurrah!

■ Check out a recent interview with Miranda Hart here.

Jeffrey Bernard's not the only one

I've been quiet, sorry. Or, depending on your perspective, I'm back, sorry.

I've been ill. Just 24 hours before I was due to fly away on a well-deserved family holiday to Rhodes I was diagnosed with cellulitis in my right leg. Naturally, I was unable to fly so whole damned thing had to be cancelled.

I then spent more than a week with my leg elevated and, as I don't use a laptop, I could not get anywhere near a PC to add to the blog.

However, that doesn't mean to say nothing stirred my juices while I was inactive. I had a lot of time to reflect on all manner of things, so here, in no particular order, are some of them.

Caster Semanya: you don't say... There have been some butch female athletes down the years - I think back to the days of Jarmila Kratochvilova, when, even as a single fella, I wouldn't have touched her with Sergey Bubka's - but young Caster's 16-second improvement in a year needs to be examined carefully. As does 18-year-old Caster for that matter. Forget all the "how dare they" liberals out there, something just isn't right.

The West Wing: Lying in bed or sitting in a recliner all day is mighty tedious. But thankfully I had the fourth series of TWW to view on DVD. What a stunning programme - and why is it that we can't produce drama of similar quality over here. The best TV shows I've seen in recent years have all come out of the US: The West Wing, The Sopranos, Heroes . . . all first-rate dramas. And what does Britain offer the world? The Romantics? All sex and no substance; numerous reality TV programmes which simply aren't worth the dock leaves with which they wipe their celebrity backsides; and third-rate comedies - My Family for example, has enjoyed nine series, which is more than I have. Like Last of the Summer Wine, it appears to go on and on without ever producing a laugh - surely a prerequisite for a comedy?

I will admit, though, that there have been one or two decent programmes produced in the UK recently, though they tend to be in the fields where we excel: documentaries or sci-fi.

I really enjoy Coast, and Torchwood is top-notch. Top Gear is hugely entertaining if you enjoy seeing middle-aged blokes acting like kids in a sweet-shop and Would I Lie to You? maintains our fine tradition of humorous panel games. But don't even get me started on soap operas or the likes of X Factor...

And daytime TV really is pants!

Football: I'm trying not to care about Pompey's plight. Trying not to care that we're becoming a joke; trying not to care that we appear to be nailed-on certs for relegation according to all the 'experts'; and trying not to care that every time 'Portsmouth' is mentioned in the national press it is prefixed by 'crisis club'.

And it has to be said, I'm doing quite well in not caring. I've already resigned myself to a season of struggle and I don't feel too bad about it. And what's the worst that can happen? Relegation? I'm not sure the Premiership is the place for proper football fans any more anyway. It's such a sanitised experience in the top flight nowadays. At least that's what I keep telling myself.

The Ashes: I really don't give a ****! I hate cricket with the same passion I normally reserve for racists or people who can eat cream cakes without fretting about the effect on their waistline.

Pub quiz: I'm part of a team called Jammy's Dodgers which participates in the fortnightly quiz in the White Hart pub in Petersfield - or at least I was. During my enforced absence they roped in another hack friend of mine and won quite convincingly. I feel like Phil Jagielka must have felt as Everton played in last season's FA Cup final . . . except of course Everton lost, and he was sorely missed. I am trying not to care though.

Abdelbaset al-Megrahi: Seldom do I find myself agreeing with the knee-jerk, gun-toting parochial populace of the mighty US of A, particularly when it touches on foreign policy, but every dog has its day.

What possible motive could we have for releasing this guy? Compassion? Do me a favour. Where was his compassion when he planted the bomb? He should have been left to die in his cell; he would have received good medical care to his dying breath.

The only spin the UK Government can put on this is that a) we no longer have to foot the bill for his incarceration; and b) he won't die a martyr in an infidel jail cell. If that justifies his release and subsequent hero's welcome back home then I'm in the same corner as our American cousins against the black pudding-eating soft-on-terror surrender monkeys - or whatever they choose to call us.

Jessica Ennis: Dontcha just love her...? Now if they need somebody to carry out a gender test on her I'm up for the challenge.

Do a blog they said...

It's 17.40 GMT on a Wednesday evening and I've finally got round to doing what I said I'd do some months ago.
I have a reputation as one to whom my friends turn when they require an opinion on any given matter. Normally, it's because they want a largely uninformed opinion so they can mock or sit back and feel smug with themselves for not being quite as stupid as I appear.
Feeling that this form of catharsis and self-improvement should not be limited to the lucky few with whom I share my Thursday nights in the White Hart - where we generally meander around mid-table in the weekly pub quiz - they suggested I started a blog, to enrich all humanity.
But I want to do more than just act as self-help guru; I want to start debates. So I will be posting as regularly as I can ... in other words when either:
a) something riles me enough to make me put finger to keyboard; or
b) when I feel I can get a cheap laugh out of something.
I currently have nothing amusing to say on today's subject, but I want to pose a question: Why - and when - did TV planners decide that all newly commissioned programmes for late summer in the UK had to be something to do with cooking?
There are dozens of them - and it couldn't have come at a worse time for me as I've just started a diet in order to lose sufficient weight to fit in just the one suit when I get married next August. What makes it worse is, not only are they churning out food I'd currently happily gnaw of my left arm to get hold of, but, the programmes all appear to be pants! What happened to decent TV?
Currently running on BBC1 at 10.35 most nights is an excellent new sit-com called 'Outnumbered'. It deserves a prime-time slot yet it's stuck on at a time when most right-minded, middle-aged office workers like me are pouring hot water on to their Horlicks.
And what do we have earlier in the evening when I'm at peak TV viewing fitness? Some tramp with a French name who's apparently been given the task of slicing up a celebrity into a nouvelle cuisine dish.
What complete ****!
Anyway, I shouldn't get worked up about it - there are far more important things in life, which was brought home to many of us yesterday when it was announced that Jane Tomlinson had died. What an inspirational woman she was.
I know I said I would comment on things that got my goat or when I felt I could get a cheap laugh, but I can't let her passing go unnoticed by me.
In the seven years since she was diagnosed with cancer she did more exercise and good deeds than I will ever do in my lifetime (sadly). She really will be missed; I wouldn't - which makes it all the more of a shame that I'm still here able to write this drivel.
Thanks for the inspiration though Jane. You truly were a 'one-off'.