A Birthday Wish

It's Halloween, which means it's my mother's birthday. I've sent her a card, but it will arrive late. Having broken the ice by calling her, recently, I've been speaking to her a lot, on the phone. I'll call her, later, for her birthday. Our most recent conversation has me worried. My mother's worried about her financial difficulties. The property taxes in Nassau County, Long Island, where she lives, are some of the highest in the United States. Her house has no mortgage on it and has been in our family for four generations, but the property taxes have risen so high that she can't afford to pay them and eat. For the past three years, I have tried to increase my income, so that I could assist her, but I haven't been successful yet. She had considered selling the house, but certain legal complications have delayed that and now the housing market in the US has softened.
Another problem is that she's let the house become run down. Spending almost all of her income and savings just paying the taxes each year and buying food, and electricity, she's not spent anything on repairs. Because of years of neglect, the heating doesn't work and there's no running water. It was bad enough thinking of her living there without heat and running water, but now she fears she will lose the house to the tax collectors. I need to at least double my income in order to be able to afford to live myself, plus support her. I've started applying for jobs that pay significantly more than my day job at the restaurant, but I've not landed any so far. I worry that it will be too late by the time I do manage to significantly increase my income.
Ironically, for years, when I was younger, my mother and I didn't get along. When I was young, she was horrible to me and I didn't consider doing anything for her in return. She always had her mother to look out for her, so I concentrated on myself. Then, after I moved to England, my grandmother died, leaving my mother on her own for the first time in her life. The big breakthrough between us came after my divorce. For the first time in my life, my mother was kind and considerate toward me. If she could change that much, surely I could drop my resentment toward her. It was great to develop a new, pleasant relationship with my mother. Now, I want to help her and make sure her latter years are as pleasant as possible. Unfortunately, I'm not now in a financial position myself to do anything for her. I keep hoping she can hold on till I make a big breakthrough. I dream of being able to turn up and fix all the problems. Get her heat and water fixed, and pay the taxes for her. My fear is that she'll die before I am able to. I worry about her health. In addition to a thyroid problem, I know she has glaucoma and I suspect she doesn't always take her medication, because of lack of money. Also, I worry about any medical problems she's not telling me about. I don't want her to become homeless. If she could just keep the tax man at bay till I land a better job, then things would be okay.
Now an idea has occurred to me. I have over 2,000 "friends" on Myspace. If each of them gave only £1, that would be enough to get her past her immediate property tax problems. Sure, many are bands and commercial sites, who aren't going to do anything. Still, maybe some people would want to help. Many of you have been readers of my blog for some time. It's free and I make no demands on you for reading it. I try to be entertaining and am grateful that you read it. I would never ask for anything for myself, but if you feel inclined to make a small gift to my mother, it would be appreciated. I only ask for at least £1 per person, or $2 if you are using American money. Of course if you are well off and would like to give more, that's fine. If you are not in a position to give a gift, or not inclined, I won't think ill of you.
Those of you in the UK should send your gifts to me. I will pool all the money and then convert it in one lump sum, into dollars, to send to my mother. Make checks payable to Joseph Brennan and send them to Joey B, Seaside Radio, 27 Seaside Road, Withernsea, North Humberside, HU19 2DL. Please mark the envelope "personal and confidential." Those of you using US dollars can send your gifts directly to my mother. Make checks payable to Joanne Brennan and send them to: Joanne Brennan, P.O. Box 126, East Meadow, NY, 11554-0126. If you want to send her a belated Birthday card, or a Christmas card, that's fine. Please don't mention that I have made this appeal. She's a proud woman and wouldn't want to think that I was asking for charity on her behalf. Don't mention her living conditions or glaucoma, for the same reason. Regardless of her stubborn pride, I'm doing this because I don't know what else to do. I just don't want her to become homeless before I can help. Anyone who objects to my request, simply do nothing. Blame me, don't take it out on her. Please don't send her any harassing mail. She turns 70 today and I just hope to make her Christmas happier than her birthday is. Those of you who do help, no matter in how modest a way, will join my hall of heroes. I will never forget you and when I am successful, I'll throw you a thank you party, or something.

Which Witch?

Riding home on the bus, recently, I spotted a young woman getting on at one of the stops on the way out of Camberley. She looked to be in her early twenties, tall, with long dark hair, which contrasted with her pale skin. She wore a long black skirt, down to her ankles, black, high, wedge heeled, black boots, a black top and black jacket. The only thing on her not black was a purple bag, hanging off one shoulder. The bag was fabric, with a wiccan-like design woven into it. She reminded me of Winona Ryder in the film, "Beetlejuice," only taller. So, I wondered, is she a witch?
A couple of conventionally dressed girls on the bus kept snickering over the witchy girl. She ignored them and listened to music on her MP3. I found myself very attracted to the possible witch. Was she casting a spell over me? Ironically, recently, Steve Allen was speaking on his show on LBC radio, 97.3 FM, London, when he compared a woman to Morticia Addams, as if that was a negative. I quickly emailed Steve and let him know that I found Mortica very attractive, when I was a boy. Still do. Morticia always wore long black dresses, to the ankle, and had long dark hair, and pale skin. Before Steve read my email on the air, he read one from another guy, saying the same thing. So, I'm not the only man who's attracted by this look. I wonder how many other men are also bewitched by these charms?

A Hole in the Ground

Yesterday, the Station Manager of Seaside Radio took me to see "the Bunker." During my time traveling to Withernsea, I have repeatedly observed signs for "the Bunker." The Station Manager had promised to take me to see it, several times. So, what is "the Bunker?" It's an underground, military installation, built during the Cold War. It's proper name is RAF Holmpton and as he drove us to the location, my boss let me in on a surprise. Not only were we going to see it, we were going on a guided tour of it.
The tour didn't turn out to be a private one, just for us. It was a regularly scheduled tour. When we arrived at the location, I wasn't expecting there to be too many people desiring to go on such a tour. As my boss backed into a parking space, I observed one other vehicle, to our left. It was an old van, with a dark haired individual behind the wheel. As we were early, we stayed sitting in the car for a while. Shortly after our arrival, another car backed into the space to our right. It was a late model saloon and occupied by a well-dressed couple. I joked that the van on our left contained the Bulgarian spies, while the car to our right was MI6. My boss seemed less than amused. He entertains numerous conspiracy theories, including one where there is all sorts of secret activity going on at this base.
Once my boss had finished eating lunch in the car, we walked over to the building which houses the entrance. Looking innocuous, the building is small and almost looks like a house. My boss asked the fellow manning the ticket window for "one adult and one American." His astonishingly funny, Northern Irish sense of humor was in full effect. The old man, in RAF camouflage fatigues, wisely charged for two adults. He directed us to a waiting room and my boss asked me if he should buy an official tour guide book. My recommendation was that he should not. We joined the few people already in the waiting area, which included the Bulgarian spies. There was a TV showing a continuous loop of old fashioned TV announcements advising the public what to do in the event of a nuclear attack. This set the mood.
Before the tour started, I was surprised at how many people turned up. There must have been a couple of dozen. Our tour guide turned out to be the same old man who had sold us the tickets. He announced the beginning of the tour, then directed us down a stairwell. Down, underground, we went. Once on the lower level, we proceeded down a long corridor, designed to dissipate the pressure of a nuclear blast wave. Our guide took us to numerous rooms and displays, where we could see the facility's equipment. Included was a nuclear warhead. At several points along our path, we sat and watched short films, detailing various historical points about the base. Originally built as a radar base, RAF Holmpton later became the headquarters for managing RAF supplies in a a post nuclear attack scenario. Essentially a hole in the ground, 100 feet down, the base facility was built upon a base of shale, then encased in thick concrete walls. It was designed to withstand a near miss by a nuclear warhead. Of course the Russians learned all about it and supposedly had targeted two nuclear warheads on that very facility. Not only would a direct hit have obliterated the base, but it would have turned the surrounding area into a nuclear wasteland, including beautiful Withernsea. I learned that during the Cold War, over 100 nuclear warheads were thought to be targeted on the United Kingdom. A full scale attack was expected to kill 40 million people, which was the majority of the British population.
The final film we were shown included the portrayal of the effects of a full scale nuclear attack on Britain. A series of underground outposts around Britain would be manned by teams whose task was to measure the fallout and report conditions after an attack. In these post-Cold War times, when the threat of nuclear war has faded, it was very sobering to be reminded of how the world once lived in fear of nuclear annihilation. It's a good place to take young people, who have never lived through the Cold War, so that they can see what the world almost came to. There were several children on the tour. During the whole afternoon, the only military person we observed was the same old man who had sold us the tickets. When the tour ended, I pointed out that the base seemed harmless. Undaunted, my boss pointed out that we hadn't seen all of the underground facility. He insisted on buying an official guide book. The souvenirs were sold, of course, by the same man who was our tour guide. As we walked back to the car, my poss pointed out the Sky satellite dish on a mast sticking out of the ground, above the bunker. He took it as proof that the base was currently being used for some secret activity. My suggestion was that the old man just likes watching Sky, like the rest of us.

Avoid Midland Mainline

Last night, I was on my way to Withernsea, as in my habit. For weeks, I have been taking this overnight series of five trains. This journey includes a four hour wait at Sheffield. As I have on previous occasions, I went out to the late night restaurant, across the street from Sheffield Station, to buy a Coke. Besides getting a cold drink, it gives me change for the bus in Hull, in the morning. I rushed back to the station, to get into the waiting room on platform 2, before the Station house closes. The Sheffield Station building closes between 2AM and 4:20AM, for some odd reason. I think it's supposedly so the station can be cleaned, although Leeds Station stays open all night and they manage to clean it.
As I re-entered the station building and walked toward the stairs to the platforms, some geezer asked me where I was going. The fact that he spoke to me at all was disturbing enough. This dude was dressed in some sort of uniform and was the guy who usually locked the doors when the station closed. It was 1:48AM and there was a train departing for Manchester Airport at 1:50. It's the last train before the station closes. I should have just lied and claimed I was going for that one, but, unfortunately, my first inclination is to be honest. Instead, I tried to through him off with a vague answer. "To the train," I said.
"The station's closed," he said, coming over to me.
"Not yet," I pointed out. There was still a few minutes before it closed. I started to walk on toward the platform. He blocked my way, repeating that the station was closed. I confessed that I was going to the waiting room on the platform, but he said I had to leave, as the station was closed. I then said that I make this journey every week and I always am able to wait in the waiting room on the platform. He responded by claiming that never happens and he's there every week. "Then where were you last week, because I was there last week, along with several other people, and there was no sign of you," I pointed out. He then admitted that he'd been off last week. I tried taking the offensive and pointed out that he'd lied to me, when he said he was always there and no one waited in the waiting room. I pointed out that I was the customer and I have a ticket, with a four hour layover. I wanted to wait inside the waiting room, as I have done, previously, rather than out in the cold. He responded by shouting over me that the station was closed and if I didn't leave immediately, he'd call security.
I looked him in the eye and accused him of being a useless jobsworth. He didn't like that. He then retorted with a claim that if I had been "civil" toward him, he might have let me go, but now I had to leave. Now, he'd shown no previous indication that things were negotiable. If he could let me stay in the waiting room, then how dare he play a little Hitler and accost me in the first place? I told him he was useless and people like him were the reason that customer service in Britain has a terrible reputation. Before leaving, I wrote his name down and told him I would be taking this further. I pointed out that I am a member of the media and would be mentioning him and the company he works for, Midland Mainline, in unflattering ways, on my radio show. Sadly, I have misplaced his name, since then, so I have not been able to fire off an angry letter to his boss.
That reminds me, I asked him for the name of his boss, but he said he didn't know it. "How can you not know the name of the person you report to?" I asked. He gave no reply other than to repeat that he didn't know the name of his boss. All I could note from his name tag was that he was the "duty manager." In any event, I left the station. Fortunately, it was much milder outside than it was the week before. When I returned at 4:20AM, low and behold, when I reached the waiting room, it had more people already waiting there than ever before. This included a group of drunks, being very noisy. So, they had managed to wait there, while the station was closed. In fact, this was the second week in a row that I had encountered drunks at the station. It seems that the duty manager was able to hassle sober customers, but did nothing about drunks. Also, there was a broken glass bottle on the waiting room floor, with spilled liquid, so, obviously, the waiting room hadn't been cleaned.
For the time being, I am going to try to avoid using Midland Mainline trains and stations, whenever possible. I advise you to do the same. So far, their trains have been unimpressive, looking old and dingy. They also seem to employ duty managers who could do more in the customer service department. Now, the big question is, should I pay more to avoid using Midland Mainline, or still use them when they are part of the cheapest connection?

Is Nando in Love?

As I was sitting in the lounge, tonight, eating dinner, Nando received a call on his mobile. It was the woman he's been seeing. Dare I say "his girlfriend?" So, of course, I listened to his side of the conversation. He was laying on the couch next to the one I was on, so it was almost impossible not to overhear. As I took fork fulls of beef and rice, I figured out that he was giving her directions to our house. He gave very detailed directions, mentioning almost every rock and tree between our street and the main road into town. Then it happened! Just before he hung up, he said, "love you." What????
That's something I'd never heard Nando say to a woman, before. I just had to say something about it, right? "So, it's 'love you,' now, is it?"
Nando grinned sheepishly. He excused it away as something he was saying in response to her saying it. So, was he just telling me that because he was embarrassed, or does he really not love this woman and is just telling her what she wants to hear? If he is just faking it, I feel bad for her. On the other hand, what if they get so serious that he moves in with her? What happens to me, then? I went through so much trouble to get Nando a place in this house. If he leaves, maybe I'll move to London. He seems so nonchalant about her, it's hard to imagine it's that serious.
To change the uncomfortable subject, I commented on what detailed instructions she seemed to require. Like many women, she's not strong in a directional sense. My evil ex-wife, the Black Queen, who was a sailor and a great helms woman, couldn't navigate her way out of a paper bag. Nando laughed at how unsure his girlfriend was over the directions. She would be driving over tomorrow. It will be her first time coming to our house. Sadly, I won't be here to meet her, as I will be in Withernsea for my weekly radio show.

Nando's Offer Fails

A couple of months ago, Nando offered to let me drive his car while he is away on holiday, in Italy, at the end of October. I was worried that he wouldn't be able to make good on his promise, when his car first broke down. Then he got someone to fix it and things started to look up. However, when I got back from Withernsea, this past weekend, it had stopped running again. I think he will scrap the car and buy another one, but he's not planning to do anything further about it till he gets back from Italy. That leaves me out in the cold. Things never seem to work out for me. First I get divorced, now this.

Slow

Researchers have determined that London is the slowest city in Europe. Traffic in the UK capital averages just 11.8 miles-per-hour. For years, I have suspected that London traffic is particularly bad. The traffic seems much worse than that in New York. One major problem is that the city is so old. The roads are not laid out in any sort of pattern, but seem to go this way and that, like a twisted mound of spaghetti. I think a lot of London was built back when there was only horse-drawn traffic.
New York City streets follow a pattern. Through most of Manhattan, streets go east and west, while avenues go north and south. Most roads there are one way, alternating direction. Additionally, lower numbered streets are in the south, with numbers getting higher as you travel North. The north-south avenues are very wide, with several lanes of traffic. Even the streets are more than twice the width of typical London streets. With such simplicity, almost no one who lives in New York owns an atlas of the city. By contrast, every Londoner owns a London A-Z atlas. It's virtually impossible to find your way around without one.
London traffic is hindered by the absence of any cross-city motorway. Thus, there's no quick way to get from the west side of town to the east. Some roads turn ninety degrees, then dead end, leaving a driver to follow a very convoluted path to navigate on his way. When you add up the traffic, the congestion charge and the difficulty, and expense, of finding parking in central London, if I lived in the city, I wouldn't bother owning a car. As far as the slow average speed goes, maybe everyone could just hurry up ands raise the average?

Late Buses

Lately, I have been taking the second bus from Bracknell to Camberley, in the mornings. This bus arrives in Camberley just a few minutes before the bus for the office complex, where the restaurant I work at for my day job is located. For a long time, I was worried that if I took this second bus, I might miss the bus from Camberley to work. The downside of taking the first bus is that I end up waiting half an hour in Camberley. Also, to catch it, I have to leave earlier, which results in less sleep, or getting less done in the morning. That wasted half hour annoyed me.
For a few months, I watched the second bus arrive just before my bus to work. It seemed to make it every day and the driver of my bus to work even thought I was taking it. Finally, a few weeks ago, I was so busy, I failed to make the first bus. I took the second one and it worked out fine. Without consciously intending to, I found myself falling into the routine of taking the second bus. All was well, until one day last week, when the bus was ten minutes late. I missed my connecting bus to work and ended up being late. This morning, it happened again! Should I force myself to start taking the earlier bus and end up spending half an hour sitting around, in Camberley? Or, should I continue taking the second bus and if I miss connect occasionally, so be it?

My First Radio Guests

This past Saturday night, I treated the listeners of my radio show to a surprise. I had two guests join me in the studio, just after the beginning of my show. Martin, 24, and Chris, 20, stayed for three hours. They are the hosts of a new show on Seaside Radio, Friday nights at midnight. Something to do with Trance music. They brought me Chinese spare ribs and a couple of cans of Coke. Nice! They work delivering food for a local Chinese restaurant, in Withernsea. Martin is the son of the former Mayor of the town. Too bad it's not the current Mayor, I might have been able to get a street named after me. We talked about loads of stuff, including cars, TV shows, music, films, and women. Also, I started fooling around with sound effects in the studio.
Martin took it upon himself to try to permanently fix the internet streaming, at the station. Unfortunately, the end result was to make matters worse. By 3AM, it had completely stopped working. The boys left at 3:15AM and I spent most of the remainder of my show playing music. Due to some sort of local cell phone glitch, no text messages were arriving in the studio. My apologies to everyone who sent a text, but I didn't get it. After I left, all the texts turned up at the station. No one thought to copy them down and forward them to me. Having the guests made it the liveliest show yet. This was my first time having in studio guests on my "Night Waves" show. I wonder who my next guest will be?

Sunny Autumn Saturday

Yesterday morning, I woke up from a nice nap on the Northern train to Hull. Looking sleepily at the windows, something struck me as odd. The windows looked fuzzy. My just awaking mind struggled to come to grips with the visual data. The train rocked and seemed to be proceeding unusually slow. I yawned and scratched my head. "Why does the view look so weird?" I thought to myself. Suddenly, it came to me. Fog! We were traveling through thick fog.
By the time I got to Hull, the sun had just risen. Because of the fog, my train had arrived a few minutes late. I rushed to the gate for my bus to Withernsea. It would have to use gate 36! Thankfully, I made it. After buying my ticket, I climbed upstairs to the upper deck, taking my usual place in the front row. I love the view up there and since I ride to the last stop, it's worth the climb.
Once out of Hull, I could see patches of fog hovering over farmers' fields, along our route. The sky was clear and the sun slowly rose, higher and higher. Its radiation would burn off the fog as the morning progressed. I arrived at Seaside Radio and joined the on-air presenter in the studio. He had his 13-year-old son with him and was letting the boy choose music, as well as speak on air. They finished at 10AM and the lovely Susan Dukes took over. She turned up looking even better than the previous week. Her hair was freshly styled, make up immaculate, and she was even wearing a string of pearls. I teased her by reminding her that this was radio, not television. Susan still doesn't feel confident running the board, so she had the Station Manager, Justin, helping her. He closed the door to the studio, so she wouldn't be put off by the rest of us. I decided to walk the fellas out to their car.
Thinking I would only be outside for a moment, I left my jacket inside. During the hour and a half since I had arrived, the sun had made the day bright. It was warm enough that I didn't need my jacket. I walked with the father and son team, chatting to them. They went left, towards the sea, then left again, strolling along the road that parallels the beach. As we went further and further, I began to wonder how bloody far away from the station they had parked? Finally, I asked the father, "did you drive?"
"No," he said, "we walked." No wonder they hadn't stopped! I had inadvertently walked a couple of blocks from the station. I decided not to travel all the way to their house and bade them farewell. Turing around, I retraced my steps, back to Seaside Radio. I enjoyed the sound of the waves crashing against the shore and the smell of the sea. What a lovely autumn day.
The Justin had promised to take me sightseeing, but when I got back to the station, he told me something had come up and he wouldn't be able to, this weekend. He rushed off just after noon, so I went out into the sun again. I visited the outdoor market, which runs every Saturday. Then I tried walking to Tesco, to buy some drinks for my show. Although Justin claimed it wasn't a long walk to Tesco, I found it longer than I cared to indulge in. At least the weather was lovely. I saw a temperature sign which read 18 degrees, Celsius. I'm not quite sure how warm that is, as I was raised on Fahrenheit, but it seemed warm for the time of year. I wished every weekend could be that nice. Even the cashier at Tesco seemed in a good mood. I teased her a bit and she rewarded me with a big smile. So far, the women in Withernsea seem much friendlier than gals in London. I bought myself a cold bottle of Ribena drink, to refresh myself from my walk. I had worn my jacket, which turned out to have been a mistake. It was that warm. Sipping my blackcurrant juice drink, I made my way back to the station again. I'd done enough walking for one day.

More or Less Drunks

Last night, I began my weekly trek to Withernsea, to do my radio show. My first connection is at Reading train station. This week, the Virgin Trains service to Birmingham New Street was significantly late. Many trains were late, most of them belonging to First Great Western, who are the biggest users of Reading Station. Over the public address system, there was an announcement that delays were being caused by "congestion at Reading Station." It was very cold and the good thing is that Reading provides heated waiting rooms on some of the main platforms. I had forgotten that it was the beginning of half-term holidays from school, so all travel services were busy.
We finally got underway, thirty minutes late. I was worried that this might cause me to miss my connection to Derby, at Birmingham New Street. I hoped the train would make up time on the journey. No such luck. As we got nearer to Birmingham, the service manager on the train announced that a request was being made of Central Trains to hold their 11:10PM departure for Nottingham, till we arrived. That was the one I needed to go to Derby. As we slowed for our approach to New Street Station, the manager announced that Central Trains had agreed to wait. What a relief! He advised that they were expecting seven passengers from our Virgin train, so that we should rush to platform 7A. Once they saw that seven people had boarded, the train would depart.
Rushing through the station, I managed to get ahead of almost everyone else, except for one couple, in front of me. These twits managed to get behind an intoxicated couple on the stairs, down to platform 7A, who were moving very slowly. We all bunched up behind them. The intoxicated couple looked back at this mass of people bunched up behind them, seemingly oblivious to the delay they were causing. "Hurry up!" I shouted, in exasperation. Finally, I was down on the platform, but there was a new problem. There were two trains standing at the platform. One was the one I needed and the other the next train waiting to depart that platform. Which was which? I took a guess and boarded the nearest one. On board, I asked a woman if it was the train to Nottingham? She said she didn't know. Oh for Pete's sake! How could you be on a train and not know where it's going? Just in time, the train guard announced that it was, indeed, the Nottingham train. I'd made it.
In Derby, I had about forty minutes till my train to Sheffield. I needed to pee, so I walked over to platform 1, where the toilets are located. As I walked up to them, a cleaner said, "the toilets are locked up, mate." I don't know which annoyed me more, the fact that the toilets were locked, or that ridiculous Midlands accent the cleaner spoke to me in. And I hate being called "mate," by a total stranger. How stupid, locking the toilets when there are still trains arriving and departing. I'd have to wait and use the toilet on the train. I made my way back to platform 2, to wait for the Sheffield train. At least the waiting room was very warm. It was so cold outside, I was worried about my four hour wait in Sheffield. Usually, I spent two hours in a late night restaurant across from the train station, having a Coke. It's heated in there. However, they close an hour before the train station reopens. Normally, I spend the last hour walking around, but despite wearing a warm sweater, it was freezing out.
On previous trips, I noticed that every time I went into the waiting room for my platform in Sheffield, at 4:30AM, there were one or two people already in there. Was it possible to spend the whole time in the platform waiting room, even while the station is closed? I decided to find out. I went to the restaurant and bought a Coke, then made my way back toward the station. On my way back, I encountered a drunk man, hanging out near the top of the stairs down to the station entrance. He said something to me, but I just grunted a response and kept on my way. Once inside the main station hall, I ran into another drunk man. As I tried to walk past him, he grabbed my arm and asked me directions. "Don't touch me," I said, rather sharply. He let go, then I said, "I'm not from this country. You'd better ask someone who is." I turned and continued on my way to platform 2.
The drunk man shouted after me, "what d'ya mean you're not from this country?" Then he swore at me. I stopped. Turning on him, I said, "if you weren't drunk, I'd kick your ass." As he tried to comprehend what was happening and mumbled curses to himself, I continued on my way. I'd run into a lot fewer drunks this week, but the ones I did come across were a lot more trouble. I succeeded in staying in the waiting room, even while the station closed. While it was warmer than being out on the street, Sheffield had the only waiting room I'd encountered which wasn't heated. I sat there in my coat, shivering. I could have used a hot tea.

Small Pricks

Women should stay away from small pricks. Well, at least women who are receiving in vitro fertilization (IVF) treatments. A study in the US has found that women on IVF are 37% less likely to get pregnant, if they have acupuncture. The surprising thing, to me, is that someone thought up a study like this. Imagine some scientists sitting around the table, during a coffee break, one day, when one of them shouts, "I know how we can get a grant! Let's do a study on the effects of acupuncture on the effectiveness of IVF!" Who paid for this study?
Speaking of getting pregnant, here in Britain, people seem to say a woman "falls" pregnant, or "fell pregnant," in the past tense. I didn't know falling was involved. When children ask, "mummy, where do babies come from?" do mothers say, "well, women fall over on their stomachs, then get a swelling from hitting the ground. Inside the swelling, a baby starts growing."
The confused child then says, "but I thought the storks brought them?"
Mother thinks on her feet, then adds, "well, scientists suspect that, while the woman is fallen over and a bit stunned, the stork lays an egg in the swelling, because they think it's a neat place to make a nest." The child responds by looking at his mother like she's a nut.
Another possibility is that when British women fall over, drunk, a man realizes they are in a fit state to give in to sex. Perhaps people used to say, "she fell and got pregnant." That became shortened, over time, to "she fell pregnant." Then the cynical side of me imagines that it comes from the expression, "falling in love." "Victoria fell in love, now she's pregnant." How romantic. Nah! I wonder if the scientists will do a follow-up study, to determine the effect of small pricks on "falling" pregnant, with women who aren't on IVF? There's another grant!

Nando Too!

Nando's car has broken down! Recently, he was left stranded. Someone told him he had a blown head gasket, which is usually an expensive repair, possibly more than he paid for the car. That leaves our household totally carless, at the moment. Hitler's Nephew doesn't own a car and Nando and I own ones that are inert. Hitler's Nephew does own a motorcycle, which he conned someone out of, but for some strange reason, he's put it in our back garden and doesn't use it. It's been there for over a month, since before he went on vacation. I suspect it's because he's too much of a weenie to ride it in the winter. I wish I could use it, but since I can't stand him and we are not speaking, that's not going to happen. In any case, Nando's not happy about not having a serviceable car. "I don't know how you do it," he said, commenting on the fact that I've gone four months on public transport. At this point, I don't have much choice.

Sharing Chocolate

My racist, Italian housemate, Nando, has been doing a lot for me, lately. Today, I was able to do something for him. I brought home three chocolate brownies, from work. After dinner, I asked Nando if he wanted to join me for a brownie. I happen to know Nando loves chocolate, so I wasn't surprised when he accepted. As I was dishing them out, I decided to give Nando one and a half, while taking one and a half for myself. In this way, we used up all three brownies and avoided that awkward, future situation where I would have one for myself and none to give him.
I brought Nando's on a plate, to him. As I was back in the kitchen, getting my serving, Nando called out to me, "this seems like more than one." I chuckled to myself. Was he complaining? I explained that as I had three, I decided to split the entire amount in half. I think Nando wanted to make sure it was all for him, before he scoffed it all down, just in case I had put both of ours on one plate. Although not helping either of us in our diets, the chewie, chocolaty brownies tasted so good. Sometimes, even in the autumn, it's good to indulge yourself.

Government Efficiency

In the UK, the Assets Recovery Agency was created in 2003. This government agency was given the power to seize wealth from people, even though they hadn't been convicted of any crime. Billed as a way to strike at organized crime, by confiscating assets, a new report by a committee of the House of Commons may be its epitaph. Over four years, the agency spent £65 million to seize £23 million. Thankfully, the agency is due to be shut down, next year, but it seems that the terrocrats still haven't learned their lesson. The duties will be taken over by the Serious Organised Crime Agency. Oh please, get serious! No matter how much they reshuffle the players, government is inherently inefficient.

Asking Mother to Call

Last week, I called my mother, again. Now, I had an ulterior motive for calling her. I wanted something. My mother being how she is, she rabbited on, about this and that, leaving me little chance to get a word in edgewise. Those of you who know me may find that hard to accept. Anyone who's spent any time with me would probably expect me to dominate the conversation. I realize I am a bit talkative, especially for a man. It could be that it comes from growing up in a household full of women, or it could be genetic. All the immediate relatives, with whom I grew up, talked a lot. However, they were all female, so who knows what caused it.
So, my mother was talking away and I realized that time was passing without me making my grand request. Perhaps I was apprehensive and so quite happy to delay asking. In any case, my mother ended up starting to end the conversation, when I finally spoke up. "I haven't gotten to say what I called you about!" I said, with exasperation. She paused for me. Timidly, I inquired if, possibly, there might be a chance, however small, that she might call me on my radio show. As I think I feared, deep down, she said no.
I tried to talk her into changing her mind. With my mother, such persuasion has to be quite gentle. If she feels pressured, she'll stubbornly refuse and accuse me of causing her stress. "If you are so desperate for callers that you need me to call in, you're in bad shape," she said.
"That's not the reason," I explained. "You'd be very entertaining. Other radio personalities have their mothers calling. Howard Stern's mother used to call him and you have a much better voice than she does. Besides, you're very funny, without realizing you're funny."
"That doesn't sound good," she snapped back, starting to get her back up. Oh-oh! Time for a bit of back-peddling.
"But in a good way," I add, as damage control. Earlier in the conversation, my mother had mentioned that she'd like to do more background artist work. When I first started working in films, my mother decided to give it a try, much to my surprise. Most of my life, my mother has been the most anti-social person I have known, so the idea of her hanging out on a busy film set and putting up with cameras pointed in her direction came as quite a surprise. I was not above stooping to use her desire to rekindle her acting career to bolster my case. "You could call regularly, then use that on your resume." She wouldn't budge. I decide to let the matter drop...for now.
"What about getting Inez to call?" Inez is my mother's only surviving friend. She met Inez while working on her first film and Inez is a fellow actress. Maybe Inez would be more willing and could pretend to be my mother. As has been typical of my mother, throughout my life, she refused to provide me access to her friend. For the time being, my show shall remain motherless.

More Listeners

I felt more relaxed doing this weekend's "Night Waves" radio show, on Seaside Radio. I did a lot more talking, then I did on the first show. My good friend, Mucky Sarah called in, but the equipment that enables us to put callers on the air wasn't working. I heard from more listeners, This week. Tom emailed me. I had texts from an unknown person, whom I dubbed "the anonymous texter," and from a new listener, Mandy.
I met two female DJs who are also on the station. The first one was Susan Dukes, who does 10AM to Noon on Saturdays. She's the one who didn't turn up last weekend and who I covered for. She's blond and very good looking, but, sadly, married. The second one was Karen, who does a jazz hour on Sunday evenings. Karen is brunette and also attractive, but also married. Don't forget, you can join in the fun by tuning in to "Night Waves," on Seaside Radio, 105.3 FM, Withernsea. The show starts at midnight, UK time, on Saturday nights, and runs till 7AM, Sunday mornings. If you are not in the Holderness region of Northeast England, you can listen over the net at: www.seasideradio.co.uk .

My Fellow Train Passengers

Every time I book a train ticket to Hull, which is the route I take to get to Withernsea, to perform my weekly radio show, I only seem to be able to get the cheapest fare on a Friday night, overnight routing. This route encompasses taking five trains, with four connections. The timing of the second and third connections places me right in the "witching hour," vis a vis people traveling from Friday night drinking sessions. In other words, I encounter a lot of drunks.
Last night was no exception. Quite the contrary, I think it may have been a record. First, on my second train, the Virgin Trains service to Birmingham New Street, during a stop in Coventry, or there abouts, a couple of dozen 20-somethings poured into the carriage I was sitting in. As it was around 10:30PM, these young men and women were on their way to Birmingham, for a night out hitting the clubs and pubs. Unfortunately for me and the few other people in the carriage, they appeared to have had a head start. Not only did they seem drunk already, they brought cans of beer with them. The boys were bad enough, but how could girls let themselves get in such a state? The amazing thing is that they were only at the beginning of their night. What state would they be in after hitting the nightlife of Birmingham? They were so loud, there was no opportunity for further sleep. Even though the ones sitting around me were the females, I still didn't enjoy their company. Drunken women just don't do it for me. I was happy none of them ended up throwing up on me.
Our arrival in Birmingham couldn't come fast enough for me, but when it did, I waited for the gang of young drunks to exit the train first. I let them clear off the platform before I got onto it. I made my way to platform 7A, for my next train, the 11:10PM to Nottingham, which stops at Derby, amongst other places. I, of course, get off at Derby. The platform was very full with other waiting passengers. I decided to stand near three beautiful, mixed race sisters, who were on their way home from a night out with their father. Sadly, the older two sisters seemed inebriated. At least the middle sister was quiet, sitting on a foot rail, with red eyes. The oldest and most talkative sister got into a conversation with a drunk couple, who spilled out onto the platform, near us, not long after my, sober, arrival. What a waste. I didn't move because the platform was so full and most of the other passengers seemed equally sauced. What is it about the British that so many of them find it necessary to become so inebriated on Friday nights? The girls' father was very dark skinned (kind of like Wesley Snipes) and I found it amusing when the man from the drunken couple asked the father how the girls could be his daughters, when they were lighter skinned (sort of Beyonce colored). The farther seemed shocked and offended. I thought "what do you expect, mate, talking to drunks?"
The train to Nottingham arrived late and was so full, I had to sit on one of the folding seats on the bulkhead, near the doors. To my right was a man with a baby in a stroller, and a dog. The dog was ugly, with tired, red eyes, which made him appear drunk, as well. Thankfully, man, baby, and dog got off at one of the early stops. The man walked in a way that led me to think he was either drunk, or tired. The baby remained asleep and I'm assuming he was just tired, but you never know around here.

Nando Gives Me Clothes

Yesterday, when I got home from work, Nando, my racist, Italian housemate, was sitting in the lounge. When I walked in, there was a small pile of neatly folded clothes, sitting on the sofa I usually sit on. Nando told me to look through the pile and if there are any items I want, I can have them. Otherwise, he's going to get rid of them.
Nando's style of dress is a bit different to mine. He wears a lot of T-shirts and pull-over tops. I tend to prefer button down shirts. Still, I'm not one to turn down the chance for free stuff. I was concerned because I think Nando is a little smaller than I am. At first, none of the things I look at fit me. Finally, I started to find items which are my size. I ended up with a couple of pull-over tops and a light-weight jacket. I have wanted a light jacket all summer, so I'd have something to wear on summer evenings, when it gets a little chilly. Innocently, Nando admits that the reason he wants to get rid of these clothes is that they don't fit him anymore. It must be the weight he's put on. His loss is my gain, or vise-versa.

An Autumn Day

When I got off the bus from work, today, I felt so good. The weather was nice and I could smell the smell of fallen leaves in the air. It was nearing sunset and there were wonderful colors in the western sky. I'd brought home a free bucket of rice, from work and it just felt good to be alive. It didn't matter that I am 48. It didn't matter that my car doesn't work. It didn't matter that I don't have a romantic relationship, at the moment. Life is just great! So, I wonder why I am in such a good mood?

Miss England is Angry

As everyone who's ever used Myspace knows, some people create fake profiles, pretending to be celebrities. I have no idea why anyone would want to be bothered doing that, but they do. Well, it seems that fakers have struck Miss England. The real Miss England, Georgia Horsley, is angry that there is a fake Myspace profile of her. She is outraged that the fake profile makes her seem stupid and "tarty." Her mood is described as "horny," she's listed as single, and has drinking as a hobby. Metro Newspaper quotes Horsley, a Miss World contestant, as complaining, "they have made me come across as a bit thick and a bit of a tart." Honey, you're a model and a beauty pageant contestant. Why on Earth would anyone think you were a thick tart?

Brown Bottler

Prime Minister, Gordon Brown, announced that there would be no election this autumn. After the Conservatives gained in the pools, following their party conference, cutting Labour's lead, it seems Brown is afraid the risk is too great that his party would lose. The result might have been the shortest Prime Ministership in recent memory. Conservative Party leader, David Cameron, challenged Brown to call an election, giving a confident speech at his party's conference. When Labour was ahead in the polls, party leadership seemed anxious to call an early election, but lost their nerve when the gap closed. Here, Parliamentary elections are not set, like elections are in the United States. The Prime minister has some leeway over when to call an election. Brown gave the unconvincing excuse for not calling an election that he wanted to "establish his vision for the UK," before facing a general election. What nonsense. Regular readers might remember that I wrote, earlier this year, that Gordon Brown's wife is attractive. Well, Cameron's is even hotter! These lovely women are burdened with nit wit, politicians for husbands, when they could have me. Shame.

Night Waves

Saturday night, I performed the first of my weekly radio shows, "Night Waves." The bulk of it is, technically, Sunday morning, as the show starts at Midnight. It's a marathon, seven hours. A lot of things I wanted to do weren't ready, but I enjoyed doing it. This will definitely be a work in progress. I ended up playing a lot of music, as it's a long time to fill, with no one in the studio to talk to. I do everything, produce the show, run the equipment, run the station, and answer the phones. No one called, this first night, but I had several emailers and texters, so someone was listening. The last hour, between 6AM and 7AM, is the hardest. My eyes are very heavy by then. After the show, I start my journey back home, taking the first of five buses. Join us next weekend, at www.seasideradio.co.uk .

UK Radio Debut

I arrived in Withernsea at 8:30AM, Saturday. As I rode the bus from Hull, I started seeing signs advertising the radio station. Seaside Radio is one block from the bus stop. It didn't take me long to walk the distance. The door was locked, but the Station Manager, Justin, let me in. Because I arrived 15 hours earlier than my show's starting time, the manager said, "you must be keen."
"Actually, it was the cheapest connection I could get," I clarified. He led me upstairs to where the new studio is located and his office. I set my heavy shoulder bag down, happy to stop lugging the thing around. I relaxed and we chatted away, Justin was playing music on the station. He advised that some presenter wasn't available. Whenever there's no one else to cover a shift, Justin does it himself. He was waiting for a female presenter, who was due to go on air at 10AM. 10AM came and no sign of her. She hadn't called, either. Justin turned to me and said, "you're here early, you can cover." I thought he was kidding, but he wasn't. He expected me to jump in immediately and take over the airwaves.
After a little hesitation, I agreed to do it. I wanted the boss to think of me as someone who's willing to help in a crisis. I sat behind the board and took survey of all I needed to do. Before I got to it, I asked a few questions. Nothing major, just "how do I do" this and "what does that button, there, do?" In the beginning, I kept things simple. Just played music. That came almost naturally to me, given that I was a club DJ, over 27 years ago. From music, I moved on to talking. By the second hour, I was feeling more confident. Just when I was beginning to relax and enjoy myself, the next DJ turned up. All too soon, it was over.
Justin said, "good, now I don't have to stay with you during the first hour of your show, tonight." I worried that he still hadn't shown me how to take callers on the air. I'd just done a two hour radio shift. Ahead of me lay a marathon, seven hour shift, starting at midnight. 27 years and 9 months later, and 3,500 miles from where I started, I was back on the airwaves. D J Joey B is back. Will the world ever be the same?

On My Way

Leaving my preparation for my radio show till the day I left for Withernsea was probably not a good idea. When I got home from my day job, last night, I was tired and yet I had, seemingly, a million things to do. Originally, I had planned on taking a nap after work. That plan fell by the wayside. Instead, I was scrambling to email some songs I wanted to play, to the station. I was also listening to the station over the internet. It was the big re-launch and the first time I had he chance to hear it. The station manager was on the air.
For some reason, the audio files were extremely slow to load, when I was emailing them. It was taking too long! I still wanted to shower and have dinner, before catching my train, at 8:20PM. I also needed to place all my bets for the weekend, which involved getting the picks from Nando. After emailing two songs, I gave up. It was just taking too long. Having showered, I went downstairs to take my laundry off the line. Then Nando asked me to put a bet on, for him, on football. I didn't have time for it, if I was going to catch the bus to the train station. Thinking on my feet, I offered to do it, if Nando drove me to the train station, in his car. He agreed. That gave me enough extra time to have a quick meal.
I just managed to get Nando's bet placed and leave the house, with less than ten minutes till my train. Nando drives much slower than I do and as I sat in the passenger seat of his car, I found myself willing him to go faster. I literally just made it to the station platform as my train arrived. Once on board, I felt relaxed. All of a sudden, it hit me. In all the rushing, I had left some discs home I wanted for my show. Too late. It would have to wait for next time. Thus began a 12 hour journey, consisting of five trains and a bus, to get to Seaside Radio. I didn't mind. I was just excited to be back on radio, after 27 years and 9 months.

A Restful Evening

Finally, I had a restful night in. Last night, I stayed home for the first night this week. I hadn't seen Nando for days, as I go to work before he gets up and I've been coming home after he goes to bed. My racist, Italian housemate may be a decade younger than me, but he doesn't have my energy. My plan was to watch a little TV with him, then get some things ready for the big debut of my radio show, this weekend. I ended up falling asleep in front of the TV. Oh well, the preparation would have to wait for another day. I just needed sleep.

London Evening Hat Trick

Last night, I was back in London. This time, I was an extra in the filming of a documentary. Confidentiality restrictions prohibit me from discussing the content of the show, but there were a lot of women involved. In particular, a certain female, professional dancer, was there, who had an amazing body. Dark haired, tall, with a sporty build, she happened to end up near me during one scene. When the group of dancers she was in kept doing their bit I couldn't take my eyes off her.
When I arrived early for the shoot, I was told to come back in about an hour. Finding a near by pub, I treated myself to a pint. Three nights out in London, in a row, and still working my day job, leads, me to feeling very busy. There are some positives to this, as I hardly notice being single. On the other hand, I wonder how this will affect me for the weekend, when I do my radio show. Will I be able to stay up all night, Saturday night, or will I be too tired? The director seemed a bit loony, but all in all, it was a fun shoot. Filming ran late, so, once again, I was late getting home.

BT Digital Music Awards

Last night, I attended the BT Digital Music Awards. A friend of mine, who works in television, got me a press pass, in exchange for me working as part of her crew. My duties included holding a bag for her, running across the street to buy batteries, and taking some snapshots on a digital camera, when the crew photographer was off, shooting somewhere else. I also had to fetch drinks. On the plus side, I got to drink free all night.
This awards show is less established and wasn't attended by too many A list stars. I got to stand near by, while our correspondents interviewed them. The biggest star of the night had to be Natasha Bedingfield. I was amazed at her figure. She was, by far, the hottest woman at the show. She had a curvy ass that beats Jennifer Lopez's. Natasha's figure was highlighted by a figure hugging mini dress, which showed off every curve, but in a tasteful way. Even one of the women in our crew was amazed at Natasha's figure. I'm not that impressed with her music, but she sure looks great!
Several "Big Brother" former contestants were there. Chantelle Houghton, the winner of last year's "Celebrity Big Brother," attended. She looked great, although overly tanned. My friend interviewed her, but made a slight gaff at the start. My friend started off the interview by calling Chantelle, "Chanelle." Doh! Chanelle was a contestant on this summer's "Big Brother." Needless to say, Chantelle was not pleased. Her eyes flashed and her nostrils flared, but all credit to her, the former Paris Hilton look-alike maintained her composure and merely corrected the error, saying, "My name is Chantelle," through slightly clenched teeth. For me, that was one of the funniest moments of the night.
We were also treated to Nikki Graham, one of the stars of "Big Brother," 2006. From this year's "Big Brother," we met the twins, Sam and Amanda, as well as Charley. The twins didn't do much but pose for photos and giggle. Charley spoke a mile a minute, just like she did on the show. She complained that she had ended up wearing the same dress as the twins. Charley looked better than she ever did on the show. It's the first time I have seen her really look pretty. Her makeup was perfect. Sadly, the tattoo on her right arm detracted from her otherwise classy look.
The second most funny moment of the night, for me, was when Simon Webbe, former member of boy band, Blue, came to the press area, to be interviewed. I happened to be heading to the loo at the same time. We came face to face at the entrance to the press area. Simon immediately stuck out his hand and shook mine. I returned his greeting, politely, then made my way past him to the toilet. He mistook me for someone he needed to talk to. There were a number of newer bands and musicians who I've never heard of. I was interested to learn that members of the major news media didn't know who these people were, either. My friend had equipped us with photos of each act who was attending. While we were covering the red carpet entrance, a TV reporter in front of us kept turning around and asking us who some of the people entering were. Many of the reporters and paparazzi help each other out, while working.
Hoping to start covering these sorts of events for my radio show, I spent part of the evening talking to a photographer for "the Daily Star," and a radio reporter for BBC Radio 6. I was interested n their advice on equipment. In particular, the Radio 6 reporter, who happened to be a woman, discussed recording equipment for recording radio interviews, with me. I told her I was trying to organize equipment for my new radio show. She was very helpful. I also spoke to two women who were covering the event for TalkSport Radio. I mentioned James Max and they seemed to know him. I think one of them said she produces James when he is on TalkSport. I managed to tear myself away in time to catch the last train back to Bracknell. My second night out in London, this week, yet I still had to be at my day job in the morning.

Goldenballs

A production company contacted me and asked if I would attend a taping of this game show, "Goldenballs." While I wasn't that interested in the show, I agreed to do it. I had done a show with this same company, over the summer, and I was flattered that they kept my details and thought of me. I figured I might as well show that I am willing to help them out and maybe they will do me a good turn in the future. Besides, it would be a cheap night out. They offered me the opportunity to bring a guest, so I accepted. That lead to the dilemma: who to bring?
I mentioned it to Chef Anthony, at the restaurant where I have my day job. As usual, he claimed he wanted to go. However, in the past, every time he's said he wanted to go to some show, or another, with me, he's always backed out at the last minute. I decided to continue searching for someone to go with me. I asked someone who's previously been a close, personal friend, although she's seemed a bit distant, lately. As she lives a bit far, I expected that she would decline and she did. Sadly, my former friend, Jan, the artist, recently ended our friendship, so there was no point inviting her. I decided to call Mucky Sarah. She agreed to go, even though she'd have to leave work a bit early. That's one problem solved, but that left me with a new problem.
My new problem was how to break it to Chef Anthony, that I'd chosen another person, over him? Really, I shouldn't be bothered, as many times as he's cancelled on me, or just not turned up. In the end, I said, "do you really want to go to see 'Goldenballs' with me? A woman I know wants to go."
Immediately, he said, "take her." That worked out fairly easily.
The taping was yesterday. I had arranged with Mucky Sarah to meet outside BBC's Television Centre, where the show is taped, at 6:15. 6:15 came and went, but no Sarah. The production company had said that we needed to enter by 6:30, or we wouldn't be let in. I sent her a text. Shortly after that, my mobile rang. It was Sarah. "I'm still at work," she said.
"So you're not coming?" I said, coldly.
"No I'm still coming," she replied.
"You have less than fifteen minutes to make it," I explained. "I don't see how you can possibly make it in time." She reiterated that she was coming, then we both hung up.
I started walking toward the entrance. I was going inside now and she could just fend for herself. At the entrance, the BBC has as much security as Heathrow airport. My bag was x-rayed and I had to walk through a metal detector. My steel toed work shoes set off the alarm, so I was subjected to a wand search. This was the most security I have ever been subjected to, just to attend a TV production. Once past security, I then spoke to an audience coordinator, who checked my name on the guest list. She asked about Sarah and I advised her that Sarah was running late and might not make it. The coordinator said the taping was going to be late starting, so Sarah might still get in. I was then directed to a waiting area. I sent Sarah a text letting her know that she might still get in, even if she was a bit late. Then I settled in to wait for the taping to begin.
When I attended the shows that this production company did over the summer, which weren't done at the BBC Centre, they provided snacks and drinks. At the BBC, no refreshments. The waiting area had a small cafe where one could buy refreshments. I was so thirsty, I bought a Coke. There was also a store selling DVDs of BBC shows, as well as souvenirs. I browsed through the DVDs, looking for a bargain. I quickly discovered that I was looking in the wrong place. The prices were astronomical! I'd do much better on Amazon. Giving up on the store, I found a seat and read the paper, while waiting. Would Sarah turn up in time?
When the ushers finally led us into the studio, Sarah had not turned up. It was more than 45 minutes past the time she'd originally agreed to meet me, so she joined the club of the unreliable. I found the game show to be a bit complicated. The warm-up comic was entertaining, though. I spotted an attractive woman in a blue business suit, sitting with a small group of people, on the other side of the studio. During one of the breaks, when the comic was entertaining us, I asked him to bring the suited woman over to us. It turned out she was the "independent adjudicator," observing the show to make sure no cheating was going on. He did bring her over and tried to match-make us. She was single and I am. She was a lawyer and I like professional women. When he asked her if she liked Americans, she said yes, if the have a lot of money. Oh dear! Even if I was rich, I think that would put me off her.
When the show ended, I made my way home. No text or voicemail from Sarah, explaining her absence, or apologizing. I hate that the extra space was wasted. Maybe I should have invited Tom, instead. I think I need to restock my supply of friends.

Breakup Podcast

I've recorded another podcast with Anjelika Jinx, about Breakups. We recorded it last night, and I am filling in for her regular co-presenter, Wanda. You can listen to it at Anjelika's blog site, www.naivelondongirl.com . Her blog and podcasts are very "adult," but very entertaining. If you haven't listened to the Naive London Girl podcasts before, you should check them out. Especially the latest one, cause I am on it. You can even hear me sing on it! Leave her a comment and tell her what you think of it and of me. Also, if you come to read her blog, or listen to the podcast because you heard about it here, please leave a comment or email her and tell her that.