Well, the thing is I'm a massive Radio 2 addict - always have been and always will be. I was as upset as the next die hard fan when Terry Wogan decided to move on to greener pasture and yet I now find myself in the curious position of adoring Chris Evans...there is very little not to like. I like him so much I've found myself reading his book. He is th emost delightfully upbeat and enthusiastic person I've read in a long time. While it's difficult not to notice the slight 'faddish' nature of his obsessions throughout his life, I've found myself reading the book with a smile on my face and a feeling that everything will be ok.
Ok so it's not particularly intellectual and some could argue the guy's a bit opf a muppet (hell, I think he'd argue he's a bit of a muppet) and could have avoided some seriously stupid decisions had he thought about it. But it's impossible to argue with his positivity and for this reason I'm slightly adoring of him. He has joined my list of men in 2010 that I would like to have dinner and a cuddle with. This list includes but is not limited to -
Some of these have rolled over from previous years I should also add.
I am a bit frazzled at the moment, what with work commitments, moving house, comedying and the post break-up blues my head is so far out of the game that Zac Efron would tut at me. My head is so far out of the game that 9:35 am this morning I found myself at Paddington station looking for the train that departed to Grantham at 9:48...the announcement was blazing away in neon yellow, only it was doing so at London Kings X because I was at the wrong station. There is no subtle way to back away from an arrivals board and then leg it to the circle line. Man up Lexx, there are things to be done and a world to be conquered in a slightly ambivalent but nonetheless determined way.
Yesterday, upon leaving my local station I was quite surprised to see Michael Portillo standing on the street. I'm sure Michael Portillo doesn't often frequent Charlton. I'm not sure anybody voluntarily frequents Charlton - particularly not the bottom end. My experience of Charlton has generally been dog pooh and chicken which both litter the pavements in equal amounts. The Michael Portillo incident would barely have been an incident had it not been for the highly amusing woman behind me who was absolutely baffled by his presence there.
"But what's he doing here?!" She asked her disinterested husband who failed to reply. "What's he doing in Charlton?" She's shaking her head and sighing in disbelief, "What would Michael Portillo be doing in Charlton?" She's moving up the pavement again now with the pace of a trauma patient. "And wearing a pink shirt too - I didn't even know he was gay!"
Brilliant. I didn't have the heart to point out it was salmon...