Saturday, 18 October 2008

Do Squirrels Like Sudafed?

Having adopted the guise of the thirty seventh president of the United States, I have received a welcome boost in the form of the significant reduction in the number of people emailing to ask if I’m really me. Thankfully, there hasn’t been a subsequent rise in the number of people asking me if I’m really Richard Nixon, which just proves that the role of TV talk show host is really much more important than the top seat in the White House. The only thing that Judy and I lack is a nuclear deterrent but I hope to rectify that in the coming weeks. Stephen Fry has told me that he knows where to put his hands on some fissionable material and Bill Oddie says that the old incubator he uses to hatch eggs will make an excellent fuselage. Strapped to a couple of owls, we’ll have a weapon that can evade any radar system in the world. How the Red Chinese will react is our only real concern given their history for breeding terrain hugging bats. Yet it’s a price we think it’s worth paying if small UK satellite channels are to sleep soundly in their beds.

All of which reminds me to tell you that last night I had a dream in which I turned on Gloria Hunniford for stealing my Mint Imperials. It is a strange thing to be dreaming given that I’m largely indifferent to mints and consider Gloria to be the Queen of daytime TV.

Friends have suggested that the unusual nature of these dreams (bouncing eggs at Ted Danson from off an inflatable castle was one of the strangest) is related to my Nixon fixation, which I say isn’t a fixation as much as a means of concealing my true identity, which everybody doubts given that they can’t believe somebody with so much talent can write a blog which is so irrelevant. One person was good enough to email me this week to describe my blog as ‘piffle’. I couldn’t say that I agreed with him. I didn’t have time to agree. I’ve been in Manchester for the past two days on presidential duties.

During my half an hour break for lunch between book signings yesterday, I got trapped in Market Street. I was stuck behind a fat man carrying cushions. There’s nothing more inconveniencing that a fat man carrying cushions in a crowded city street. It’s a metaphor for my life. In each hand he held plastic bags stuffed with cushions in purple fabric. He must have measured fifteen feet across and not a person could get past him. All we could do was nestle up against his buttocks and wait for him to turn into Deansgate.

Today I’m home and wrapped up against the autumnal chill. My flu is now down a few DefCon levels. It’s now a heavy cold and the Sudafed is working in unexpected ways. I feel rather chatty and my mind can’t settle on any one topic. Does anybody know how many spoonfuls of Sudafed a man should take in an hour? I’ve always confused teaspoons with tablespoons. I think I might have overdone my morning dose.

Judy was very vex with me when she discovered that I’d deconstructed her new bamboo patio furniture. I had a mind to build myself a large water powered clock from the bamboo. I was then distracted by ‘Soccer’ AM on Sky One. Does anybody find those ‘comedy sketches’ funny? Helen Chamberlain and Max Rushden are personable enough but they don’t understand the physics of the sofa. Their body language was all wrong and I’d suggest they watch some of our old ‘This Morning’ shows from 1998 if they want to see how it’s done.

I’ve finally come to the conclusion that I do enjoy liquorice but not when it’s shaped like a bear.

I’m going to sit down this afternoon a sketch out a plan for a new book. ‘Fathers & Sons’ is a huge hit but my tour of the nation’s bookshops has convinced me that people are crying out for a book about those little black power supplies that come with every electronic gadget but never seem to work on anything else. Judy has a Tesco’s carrier bag filled with the things. I know we’ll never need them but I can never bring myself to throw one away.

And why is the letter ‘Y’ in the middle of a keyboard but the ‘a’ is tucked away under the little finger of my left hand? Why are the important vowels on the left when I’d want on them on the right? And why do I have a key for the ‘¬’ symbol when I don’t even know what the ‘¬’ symbol is for.

Oh look! A squirrel in the garden! I wonder how a squirrel would react if I fed it Sudafed...

10 comments:

Joey Joe Joe Jr. said...

The guardian has heartening news on immunity to the squirrelpox virus in the red squirrel population. If this is due to your sudafed experiments, and I strongly suspect it is, then your status will finally be elevated from King of Daytime TV/'not a crook' to national hero.

Dick Madeley said...

I am happy to see that positive effect so quickly. I am quite proud of the fact that I'm the first American president to name a squirrel in his cabinet.

Barbara said...

A fat man with 2 bags of cushions. Inconvenient, yes, but can there be anything softer? I would have been tempted to push him over and have a lie down.

Dick Madeley said...

Barbara, that's a fine idea for a Saturday afternoon. You make me wish I had a fat man carrying cushions right this minute.

percy stilton said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
percy stilton said...

"Remember..what the doormouse said...
Sudafed....Sudafed".

Dick,it seems that you have been feeding your head with a touch too much Sudafed. Beware giving it to the sqirrel, he will probably change into a large, white rabbit and have you follow him on a trip down a deep,dark hole.
You should have taken Lola's advice and stuck to the Lemsip.
If you need something to help you come down I highly recommend a bottle of Night Nurse...it has helped me on many occasions.

elberry said...

Sudafed and Nixon go together well.

fatboyfat said...

"last night I had a dream in which I turned on Gloria Hunniford"

I'm glad I read that a second time - I got completely the wrong impression on first reading.

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