An update on my dogging problem.

Am I the only one to notice the cruel irony of Help The Aged charity shops? You know, the fact that the sparse few people who shop in them are the wrong side of sixty? Talk about up your own arse, aye!

Sorry to get all political, but Ken Livingstone is blatantly brown nosing his way to the elderly vote in the mayoral election. Why else would he be extending the Freedom Pass for OAPs to travel without paying during peak times? Don't get me wrong, it's a nice gesture. But how about focusing on getting the current service up to scratch before you overload it with more traffic?

Besides, if anybody should get a free pass, it's me.

I was waiting on the Harrow to Watford platform the other day, cursing my luck as usual, when I heard the most pathetic announcement in recent time.

"Due to wet weather, there are severe delays on the Metropolitan line."

Gotta love London. The slightest whiff of a grey cloud and our entire transport infrastructure capitulates in a soggy computer-says-no heap.

I really should run for Mayor. The first thing I'd do for our great city is burn the south and east. We don't need it. The Olympics, you say? Sod that, you can do the javelin down Bessingby.

Oh and I suppose we need an Olympic village to house the different teams, do we? No we bloody don't. Just evacuate Hayes for the fortnight and you've got the perfect ethnic cesspit to house them all.

Anyway, I have positive feelings about 2008. Something tells me it's going to be one of the messiest years of my life. Maybe it's the fact that I'm officially halfway to forty. I've no time to waste, but plenty to get wasted. And yes, when this beer diet finally ceases to exist, I plan to double up on the regrettable bedroom experiences, boozy nights out and expansive dancefloor antics.

On the subject of beer diets, it's working to a certain extent. In fact, I've specifically chosen this night to post a blog - seeing as earlier, I proudly walked out of the Middlesex Arms having only tippled on a single pint. I'll decline comment on the rest of the week.

Needless to say, certain loopholes have been discovered in the beer dieting process. Such as, well most importantly, it gets thrown out of the window on weekends and days beginning with T.

Hey, I'm a slow starter.

Seriously though, I have managed to cut back on the ridiculous combo meals. After the hideous New Years Eve pictures, I had to.

When you look yourself in the mirror and ask that burning question, "Should I really be eating a Combo For Four on my own?", and the answer is a resounding "I wasn't even hungry, man", you know it's time to cut back.

Plus the financial implications are damning. I paid a tenner for that combo meal, and as I sit here - £113 in to my overdraft - I can't help but think that I'm a bit of a twat. How can anybody be so wreckless with their money?

Worse yet, I was four minutes late getting to Watford Station this morning. So what did I do? I used it as an excuse to get a cab to work and save me the forty minute walk! Another tenner down the drain without so much as a second thought. God only knows what damage I could do to my wallet when my birthday rolls around.

Have you ever had the urge to take up a jogging routine, only to avoid it on the principle that - God forbid - somebody might see you? That's about where my brother and I are at right now.

We both want to work off the turkey pounds (I keep using Christmas as an excuse, which is quite acceptable when they put up the bloody decorations in October. What's a man to think?). Yet despite sharing the same desire to get back in to shape, the smug glare of some random pedestrian is enough to deter us. I think what I truly need is a de-characterizing outfit so that I can run whilst pretending to be somebody else.

Gold spandex booty shorts should do the trick.

Is it so wrong that I'm jealous of a female friend who had the opportunity to buy shiny gold jeans? Not just gold, I should say. I could have ordered those from Next ages ago. But SHINY!

Shiny gold jeans and a big fat birthday present hint.

Now what was I saying?

Oh yes, if you read the last entry, you'll have heard about my dogging problem. I realise how bad that sentence sounds, but it's strictly a search engine related problem. Since mentioning North West London dogging hot spots, my blog has been bombarded with horny perverts who've found it through Google using those keywords.

So naturally, I took the opportunity to place a reference to Sexy Ruislip Manor Studs. Well, what do you know?

Dreams really can come true.