Your Madeley in Manchester Time Check

I have to beg you to excuse me if I have a post of remarkably little depth this morning (or tonight, as I’m writing this at gone eleven at night). I’m stuck up here in my Manchester hotel from where I’m still enjoying the merry warbling of many a Ladyboy from the car-park across across the way. It’s also lashing it down and I’ve enjoyed one of those rare days when nothing went right.

After working late last night (that would be your Wednesday night), I set my alarm clock for five past six this morning. I rarely catch enough sleep and last night was no exception after a long journey up North. I woke up exhausted to the alarm’s bugle. It was a struggle to turn it off and an even bigger struggle to get out of bed. The morning was so dark and dreary... Anyway, I showered and shaved, dressed myself in my best casuals for a day working on ‘Eye of the Storm 4’. I even put in my best cufflinks, dolloped a dose of the old brylcreamed slap on the Madeley fringe, and topped off my morning routine by slipping on my watch which keeps time by picking up the signal of the national atomic clock and glows green when in close proximity to Iranian scientists.

It was only at this last stage of the proceedings that I noticed that my super accurate wristwatch was saying that it wasn’t six o’clock in the morning. It was actually five minutes to five and, by some strange miscalculation, the time of my travel alarm had jumped forward by an hour and a half. The morning was dark and dreary because it was not morning at all but the middle of the night. To make matters worse, I was ready for the day, albeit a tad sleepy. In the end, I had to get undressed and get back into bed. It’s not easy trying to get some shuteye with the smell of fresh aftershave still bleaching the insides of your nostrils.

To make matters worse, I was trying to keep my head down due to the broadcast of the Richard&Judy show we taped earlier in the week. We were plugging Jordan’s latest novel and I think the least I say about that the better. Graham Greene she isn’t. She’s not even Sarah Greene. Or even Camberwick Green...

As you can see, I’m slightly losing the plot and I should really go and get some sleep. Normal service will be resumed once I get back to London.

For those who are keeping a track of these things: this week’s midget report is a rather disappointing count of one. Manchester is not living up to its reputation as the midget capital of the North West. I’m hoping for better nanus news tomorrow.

[Update: having read this is the cool light of day, I notice that my typing and general elan were disappearing the closer I got to midnight. Forgive me. Humanity is a bit of a burden for those of us blessed with a dose of divinity.]