William It Was Really Something

As a special treat for the wedding of the century I took my girlfriend to London. We are both hugely enthusiastic royalists. In fact we met at the Royal Regatta in Henley and our first date was a walk up Pall Mall with a huge pair of binoculars. We've also recently bought ourselves a Corgi off the internet and have both changed our first names to HRH.

I'm joshing (royal joking) of course. We are actually in a restaurant in Cornwall trying to avoid it all but on the table next to us an excitable party all stand and raise their glasses to the happy couple. I'm about to get cynical and cry out, "Are you really all crackers enough to believe we should have a monarchy existing in England in 2011?" when the accepting side of my psyche takes control.

Let them. Let them be happy. Let them raise their pink champagne up. Let them live in pride of our heritage. Let them enjoy the romance of Kings and Queens, Princes and Princesses. The chink of high tea. The snort of a British bulldog. Let them have Victoria Sponge off a Charles and Di themed plate. Let them have their Turkey dinners all finished nicely before the Queen's speech. Let them curtsey.

They say it's easy to be cynical but it's actually easier to be accepting. Just roll the shoulders back, smile and let it be.

God save our gracious Queen. God save our noble Queen. God save our Queen... that's if you're crackers enough to actually believe in the existence of God.

Two Thousand and Twenty Four Seven

I really must remember not to get agitated by pubs that stop serving lunch at 2pm. It's a symptom of the 24/7 'have what you want when you want it' society we have become.

I remember as a youth being excited about Sunday opening. If I could go back in time I'd return to those days and give myself a big slap or Chinese burn for being so. I suppose after attacking myself I should then reveal the winner of the 2.35 at Haydock the following day so I can win thousands of moolah but as I have absolutely no interest in horse racing or betting I wouldn't know the winner anyway.

I suppose the 2pm thing annoys me not because I demand things to be open 24/7 but because I tend to get up rather late in the morning and want at least 2 hours gap between my breakfast crumpets and lunch. Serving lunch in pubs from 12 until 3 is surely reasonable? I suppose though I can't expect chefs to linger on for the odd post 2 o'clock order. If I'm trying to work as little as possible in life then why shouldn't chefs too? Let them enjoy life and have long siestas before the evening shift. I can always just walk up to the Co-op and get myself a tin of beans instead.

But wait... what's this? The Fox in Great Barrington serves food all day on Fridays. Hurrah!

"Get the 4 by 4 revved up Marcia and let's go! I'll be having the all-day steak with non-stop sauce and 24/7 chips all cooked by little Mexican boys earning £3 an hour on 14 hour shifts."

My Birthday and I

A Birthday celebration (the piss-up bit) rarely happens on one's actual birthday, This is due to the realities of work and the paltry 2 day weekend we've somehow ended up with. Did ancient man have a weekend? And if he did would he have spent most of Sunday dreading the next day? Haven't we gone wrong somewhere?

And so this year I find myself celebrating my birthday not on Tuesday but on a Friday night so everyone can get 'utterly arseholed'. I'm a huge admirer (why do I have issues with using the word 'fan'?) of the film 'Withnail and I' – and I make no apologies for being so. And for my birthday I've organised a viewing of my favourite film in my favourite pub.

The film is pure class with the finest script known to humanity. One but can't help quoting it's many wonderful lines of eccentric whimsy. As my dear friend and fellow 'admirer' Ben Gurney-Smith so famously once said "It's a text for life". Almost any social situation gives rise for a 'Withnail' quote opportunity.

There's the classics: "We've gone on holiday by mistake"; "As a youth I used to weep in Butcher's shops"; "Here Hare Here"; "Are you the farmer?".

Then the admirer's choice cuts: "Ice in the cider"; "He's so mauve"; "Never attempt anything without the gloves"; "Look at Geoff Wode".

Then comes the hidden gems: "More meat?", "Bollocks to the Wellingtons"; "I'm making time"; "Black puddings are no good to us"; "Probably wintering with his mother in Guilford". 

And finally the humdrum; "That wouldn't make any difference to last week's payments"; "Telegram!"; "It's dinner and Danny's here"; "Tanks - Afrika Korps".

I'm actually taking my obsession to a new level, quoting from ephemeral visual matter contained within the film: '405 SBH' – Withnail's registration plate; 'Dawn Pepita Simmons' – the author of the sex-change article Marwood reads in the cafe.

In fact I'm going even further than that and starting to quote lines that never appeared in the film and I've simply made up myself: "My lapels are rotting", "Do you know what's in my handkerchief?", "The dashboard's alive!".

Now, some may say I am taking all this too far. My obsession bordering on mental illness. But I shall simply turn to those people and say, "It's society's crime, not ours."

Balls to Golf

Golf winds me up. Don't get me wrong, I've nothing really against golfers. In fact some of my best friends are golfers. I even tried it myself once. I recall on my first hole I almost got a birdie but it was clearly beginners luck as for the rest of the round I scored nothing but ugly ducklings and dead dodos.

I do find golf a bore but that's not why it winds me up. It's not even the exclusive 'club' mentality of the sport that gets my goat. No, golf winds me up because it rapes vast areas of wild natural beauty and turns them into manicured lawn towns of leather-gloved leisure.

There's an ancient hill in Gloucestershire called Cleeve Hill (the highest point in the Cotswolds don't you know?) I had the pleasure of walking a few years back. A pleasure until I suddenly had to dive onto a thistle bush to duck a golf ball – someone had only gone and put a ruddy golf course all over it.

Today a walk through a nature reserve near Leamington Spa again has me suddenly ducking and diving as I stroll across holes 14 and 15. I came here to see badgers, dragonflies and moorhens not Keith and Julian discussing the stock exchange and holidays in Mauritius whilst launching rock hard balls at my head.

Let's take back the land off the golfing gentry and return it to the wild. Ban golf in the outdoors and make it strictly a virtual reality sport that people can play in their homes with Wee Wees or whatever they're called.

Fool's Gold

April the first. And a Friday to boot. That'll be a long lie in whilst concocting April Fools gags then. Due to the invention of the mobile phone and its bastard spin-off invention 'texting' I can conduct all my April Fool tomfoolery from the comfort of a mattress, a duvet and two plumped up pillows. A flurry of hilarious texts are sent to unsuspecting friends.

APPARENTLY A METEORITE LANDED JUST OUTSIDE LEAFIELD LAST NIGHT

HAVE YOU HEARD? THERE'S A GORILLA ON THE LOOSE IN ENSTONE

I CAN'T BELIEVE IT. JIMMY CARR'S BOUGHT THE ROYAL OAK IN RAMSDEN

PHIL COLLINS HAS RABIES

These are all fine to send. If believed they won't worry people too much unless you happened to live just outside Leafield or were passing Enstone, on foot, carrying a crate of bananas. But then I go too far. I send one to Ben that reads ACDC HAVE BEEN CONFIRMED TO PLAY IN OXFORD. Now this is actually quite conceivable. Ben really likes ACDC. If he believes it only to ultimately discover it was a prank he will have his excitement quashed and be thoroughly gutted. Therefore I conclude it's fine to slightly worry people with April Fools but exciting people with positive news that is a lie is not good. I've learnt my lesson. Sorry Ben.