Madeley Restored

The sparrows were not at fault.

I should have known all along that they could not be culpable. It shouldn’t have taken my ringing up Bill Oddie to bring them back and install them back in the eaves for me to know they do not boost a WIFI signal. According to Fry, the reason my broadband failed was because the line had been ‘severed by either a vengeful rodent or a sullen wife’. Judy claims she knows nothing of snipped cables, though if you were to put her on a lie detector, I’m sure the truth would come pouring out of her. She’s been oddly happy today and, if I didn’t know better, I’d say that my broadband was sabotaged in order to get me out of the house.

If so, then I need to thank her. I sometimes forget how good it is to get away from this office. I spend relatively little time in London and I sometimes forget how much it frees the brain of the cobwebs that accumulate over the weeks and months of labouring with words. Writing the scripts for the next series of The Richard&Judy Show, along with writing much of the material for Dick Justice, I have become like the proverbial candle lit at both ends. Yesterday, the two flames met at the middle and there was no more. I could barely rouse myself to write a word, despite their being an episode from Sunday that’s worth relating as it’s both festive and involving Clarkson at his most argumentative.

Now I’m home, I’m eager to write and I’m burning white hot with ambitions and ideas. You might have to give me 24 hours or so to catch up. I’m also working my way through a copy of The Angry Island that began as pristine and slowly getting dog-eared.

I’ll end this update here. I can hear the sound of a ladder being propped against eaves. It will be Oddie, back to remove sparrows for the second time today. Hopefully my broadband connection will hold up and I’ll be able to post this.

Forget About The Sparrows

A brief note just before I go on air. I've been forced into a rethink about the sparrows. Not that I consider them any less of a danger than I did 24 hours ago, but I’ve come to the conclusion that there are more obvious and immediate threats to this country of ours.

Yes, people. I’m talking about plastercast garden gnomes.

The garden gnome is a sneaky creature. It lurks in your shrubbery, waiting for that moment when you’re so drunk you think it a good idea to play football with the shrubs while you're wearing only your house slippers. Only then does it leap out and attack your large toe and you end up hopping across the lawn where you trip on a sprinker faucet. Only half an hour later, when you’re rescued by your wife, do you realise the danger of the gnome and do you pledge to do something about it.

So, I’ve decided to cancel the sparrow campaign and I’m instead devoting my time to seeing the end of garden gnomes. It’s a bigger issue than either viewing figures or Paul O’Grady.

Richard’s gnomish fact of the day: garden gnomes were introduction into the nation’s gardens during the reign of Queen Victoria who was a great believer in the existence of pixies, elves, and hobgoblins. The first gnome was modelled off Victoria’s great friend, Mr. Brown, and first stood guard in Britain’s rockeries in 1894. Since 1961, all garden gnomes have been modelled of John Hewer, who was better known to TV viewers as Captain Birdseye.