Finding time for the bunnies.

What's all this fuss over the Diana car crash? Yes, Al Fayed, I realise you believe your son was murdered, but it helps to have a consistent theory. Not a collection of inconsistencies.

We have a blinding flash, a mysterious Fiat and an alleged MI5 agent on a bike. Even Henri Paul's been nailed as a conspirator - despite, err, driving the car in to Pillar 13 and absolutely mauling himself beyond recognition. Suicidal hotel handiman? I think not.

Apparently at the root of all this evil was Prince Edward and his scheme to get rid of the Princess before she tore down the Royal interiors. God only knows how he found time to hatch such a cunning plan between the horse riding, the polo and the cups of Earls Tea.

And even if he did, what's a guilty verdict going to achieve? The old fart's just about ready to croak it as he is. I struggle to see the Queen visiting Wakefield between her state trips.

What amuses me most is the suggestion that Liz could be called to the stand in the courtroom. Her Majesty getting drilled by the prosecution! Not being funny, but it'd never happen to Henry VIII. Now there's a man's king. Heads would be rolling long before the Tabloids got the slightest sniff of a Sunday headline.

I've had a peaceful couple of days off work. Two days filled with some of the most wonderfully idle conversation imaginable; including the state of the music industry, glitter, and riding cows up hills.

Although I have to say, having thought about it considerably, I'm beginning to doubt that cows are capable of climbing up hills. Using the same theory of science which deems it impossible for water to flow upwards. Surely it can't happen.

Cows are just so useless in every way - even their camouflage is all wrong.

What were you thinking of, mate? Grazing on a chess board?

And on the subject of farm animals - because clearly it's a great passion of mine - am I the only person heartless enough to watch Babe in its entirity and see nothing but a wasted bacon sarnie?

It's a bit like Chicken Run really. I can't watch that movie without one eye on my fillet burger. Just incase it tries to escape, you know?

Oh my mind's a sea of stupid thoughts.

When I've fallen for girls in the past, it's usually been thanks to a strong sexual connection with the rest of the relationship built on sand. Somehow I feel a bit vulnerable when the foundations are reversed. And while I've been guilty of rushing in with my trousers around my ankles before, it feels weird to want a girl for seemingly all the right reasons - and to complement my happiness as opposed to providing it.

Like that feeling, where you're not quite sure what a smile's going to look like, only you know that it's bound to light the room.

Anyway, Jesus Lucifer Christ. Things are getting busy at my end. Let me see if I can get this right. I'm sure I've muddled my dates.

Friday 19th October - Friend's Sister's 18th.
Saturday 20th October - Leicester Square for the Rugby.
Sunday 21st October - Cousin's 18th.
Friday 26th October - Oktoberfest at the Bavarian Beerhouse.
Wednesday 31st October - Halloween at the Middlesex Arms.
Thursday 1st November - Against Me! gig in Camden.
Saturday 17th November - Friend's Birthday in Watford Reflex.
Saturday 24th November - Watford vs. Barnsley match, out in Sheffield.
Friday 30th November - Bill Bailey live.
Thursday 6th December - of Montreal gig at the UCU.

I'm not entirely happy about consuming my Saturdays in advance. You never know why you might need them, but thank God I've paid for everything already. I knew I didn't waste ALL of that £3000 on Vodka.

Finally, please spare a thought for me this weekend when my parents will be leaving for a short break in Aylesbury. This isn't a big deal in itself, but when you take a peek in your garden and notice 14 giant starving rabbits, you start to become suicidal. Don't get me wrong. I dig bunnies...in small quantities.

It's just when every corner of the garden is a pair of eyes, it's easy to get paranoid.

I'd leave the job to my brother but Pet Sematary scared the hell out of me.