Wait for it! Wait for it! I have never felt the desire to be competitive myself, so find it difficult to understand that need in others. Consequently I am not drawn to any of the thousand-and-one shows currently on television where wannabees compete to be the best singer, dancer, ice-skater, cook, et cetera, in the entire universe. [Emma on the other hand often takes a passing interest, though never enough to phone in her preference.] What I dislike most about the programmes is not simply the concept, but the element of phoney suspense the presenters try to inject when announcing the winners. They open the envelope, read the card and announce: “And the winner is ……” Then they count very slowly to ten, or twenty, or thirty, while the drums roll and the competitors stand like prisoners at the bar awaiting sentence. Why does no-one in the audience shout, “Get on with it!” In my case, I think they may have mistaken me for someone who gives-a-damn.

Today I underwent surgery to remove a cancer from my forehead. This is the second operation on the same place, the other being two years ago. The doctor cannot/will not say that it might not return a third time. Each time the piece removed gets bigger. So I see a great necessity to get as many of my collection of "ICONS" of Lord Cock onto the internet as possible. That I understand is my job now.

Marry in haste (the proverb warns) and repent at leisure. I met Emma Jane when she was fourteen and married her when she was nineteen. So, in one sense, it was hardly a hasty decision. On the other hand, we were resigned to having to wait until Emma “came of age” at twenty-one. In the event, we learned that Emma was pregnant on Saturday and were married by special licence on Wednesday (without a shotgun in sight). Now that’s haste! I believed my obsession with Emma had put paid to an academic career, but I honestly didn’t care. My cup of happiness was full to overflowing. With a wife and child to support, I moved from one dead-end job to another, thinking only of the take-home pay. But at the age of twenty-eight, bored out of my mind as a clerk in a wages office, I suddenly repented my lack of ambition. That night, I hinted to Emma that I might like to train as a teacher. “Make enquiries tomorrow,” she said. “We’ll cope.” It’s at moments like that you realise how lucky you are. [This is Emma at the time.]