Three Cocks a Crowing

Stress does funny things. For me it twists my spine makes my toes fizz, gives me a headache, lower back ache and a right royal pain in the derrier.
So I went to the wonderful James Bibby at Stuart Korth’s – the best osteopaths in my world – and the big Bibby laid his hands on my lower back and head I could feel myself unwind.
Th dawter had been one hour before and had her poorly back returned to normal. The old git is coughing and spluttering and all the people what knows keep saying its stuck phlegm from 150 years of smoking.lf they put Gods Gift on the box ( of fags and the telly box ) the sales of snouts would decrease in a heartbeat.

The most wonderful news here in East Sussex a cockerel who has been installed in the next door neighbours garden. I completely love it.
When I hear him makes me think we are in Crete. The only problem is that the ‘oosbind, and me have a facility on our new phones that tell us when the battery is charged, it’s the sound of a cock crowing. Now there are three cocks-of-the-walk.
After my treatment I walked in the September sun down the hill to the train station and there as patient as you like was my train.
I hate that fares are going up and that trains are now considered rich boys toys.
People lives are being squeezed until the pips squeak.
The rich are getting richer and the poor are staying home.
Yesterday I hugged Danny Baker, twenty years fell away. The Baker boy and I worked LWT’s evening schedule for years. He looks wonderful. Felt like I was touching base.
On my journey I tweeted and face-booked so much that I ran out of battery, wont be long before my cock starts up.
Arrived at Hammersmith Bridge and took lunch in an empty pub manned by a Liverpool supporting barman from Wexford. So handsome and young made my drunken noodles look almost tasty and made me want to be Joan Collins.
Then I met my team on the river at the BLUE ANCHOR pub. Plates of whitebait and succulent scampi. A chat and a nag and then off we went over the bridge – 760 paces for thems that want to know – to a side street, in the shade, to film a taster for Channel 4.
Feels like I’m getting my life back, cameramen and PA’s, directors and actors, production lunches and agents. Lucky me.
Grabbed a taxi and proceeded to take pics for audioboo and delete half my messages by pressing the wrong friggin button.
Ambled into Charing Cross and there as bold as you like was the four o’clock carriage waiting to take me home.
Jim collected and I walked back into the kitchen to a table full of the most robust apples from my three trees. Have a gardener visiting tomorrow a young girl with the shiniest of hair and prettiest of complexions. My real life God daughter is coming for lunch – she’s two so it’ll be soup and soft bread – and then I’m orf to clear the bathroom. Five years of her stuff, ten years of mine and in between mens stuff, all razor blades and manly smells. Talking of which I wear Nike Three free trainers, they are the most comfortable shoes in my World, the only problem is they make my feet smell like Danish Cheese. So I use the bidet to wash my hot, stinky feet.
I’m so tired that I turned the knob to the right instead of pushing down the plunger. The dawter heard me scream as a fountain of water burst out of the bidet. The shower, carpet, mirror and my head were dowsed in very cold water.
It’s really good to be home it’s my mess so there. But hark do I hear a cock calling?
Could it be next door? Could it be the oosbind? No it’s my phone. Too many cocks!