Summer time, and the living is easy.

We have been having a hot and sticky summer here, so far. The type of weather that makes you wish you were beside a pool in Spain or somewhere.

Sadly, i had no swimming pool to hand the other day when feeling frisky and ready to party. The family had gone out somewhere so i decided i would invite all the neighbours in for a BBQ and party. After quickly designing and building a pool in the garden, i lit the BBQ and eagerly awaited the neighbours turning up. Unfortunately, most of them were away at work and only the women were available except for gay bloke who lives in my attic. Oh well, said i, life's a bitch but we must carry on. So, with just half the expected guests here, we tried to enjoy ourselves.

I of course, was the centre of attention and kept the girls entertained with jokes and impressions of famous, 19th c. authors. How how we laughed.





Gay bloke seemed content waiting for me in the pool while the girls assumed the position and limbered up.



















Later, when Gay bloke had returned to my attic to catch some Zzzz and clip his nose hair, i danced around the pool reciting the lyrics of Quadrophenia while the girls chilled around the pool.




After many beers, the girls started getting bitchy and really competitive to get my attention. There is nothing sexy about girls doing tummy-tucks in bikinis so i called a halt to the party, dug up the pool and filled in the hole so the wife wouldm't notice and went down the pub to meet the lads. What a great end to a trial of a day.

I'm back. i've been on tour with The Who

Ok, so not actually WITH them, but i went to several Who gigs over the last couple of weeks and where possible, i have taken some photos. It's been a gruelling schedule of long moterway trips and hotel rooms, oh, and trying to survive encounters with scallys in Liverpool. ( i think i just about managed to get out unscathed from that shithole of a city.)

I found it a bit difficult to keep the likes of Roger Daltrey and Pete townshend from bothering me but i eventually gave in to contant nagging for a photo session with Rog. He's a nice guy but he just will not take no for an answer. So much so, he did actually tell me to go fuck myself when i teased him about forgetting the words to "Who Are You" at Brighton but i forgave him.

Pete was introduced to me at Beaulieu but he didn't ask to have a photo taken; i think Roger had warned him of me. At Liverpool, i had to shield myself from Pete with my bodyguards and when Roger stopped in his car on the way home to offer me a lift, i again had to push some people in front of me and i politely declined -offering them as an excuse. My personal assistant, Elena, had a polite word in his ear and sent him on his way. Ta Elena.

Apart from all that trauma, the Who kicked fucking arse; especially the first night at Liverpool. Casbah Club were supurb, too.

On the downside, Mikey Cuthbert stood me up for a lunch date with a lame excuse.But he is a superstar so i forgive him.

My mates keep Pete at a distance.

Rog waits in the queue to meet me

He gets his wish.

On the right, Elena is telling to stop stalking me as he writes his hotel address down for me.

Some pics from Liverpool 2nd night.

Ok, i'm bored now and i think Rog is knocking on my front door again. Must go and hide.