This isn’t just a way to fill up some entries after falling behind by nearly a week – I don’t care what anyone says. It’s been a tough week, give me a break.
Anyway, what follows is the first part of something I wrote a while back. You have my new printer to thank for my ability to scan things like this in. What is it? (you may ask). It’s something I wrote when I was about 17. It’s a week in the life of Richard Whiteley, the dead host of Countdown. He wasn’t dead then. Can you tell I’d just started my obsession with Alan Partridge? [I must add that Whiteley wasn’t quite the studenty cult figure he would be a couple of years later, I’d intentionally gone for someone dull and then a little later would find out he was quite the tinker.]