If you can fly a Sopwith Camel...

I have been working at home this week, so I haven't had the (mis)fortune of braying at Logan Josh and his usual apish antics. I did go to the cinema though, twice, in fact. 'Twice in week? You must be crazy' I hear you say. Well, believe it, baby, because I did! I went to see Hobo With A Shotgun on Monday and then the Congolesian crime drama Viva Riva! on Tuesday. Helen also called over on Tuesday on her way down from Edinburgh. It would appear that my house is now a pit stop and lies equidistant between Edinburgh and anywhere that anyone wants to go. So the cunts line up at my front door to use the amenities. Well, sleep on the sofa anyway. And eat my crumpets. Helen interrupted a get together drink with Chris, Jitka and Ryan and forced her way into the pool team. Even with three against two the game lasted for about eight hours, so we got our money's worth at least. In all seriousness, it was good to see her again, even though it was only a couple of months ago when I last saw her at Lindisfarne.

Speaking of Logan Josh, I saw him this afternoon. He'd manged to find the Holy Grail of soundtracks in Oxfam and sent me boorish and bragging photos of it on his phone. It was the Biggles: Adventures in Time soundtrack on vinyl. Let me allow that to sink in:

The soundtrack to Biggles: Adventures in Time on vinyl.

On vinyl. This was it, this was the big one. Now if you know me like I know me, then you will know that Biggles: Adventures in Time is my second favourite film of all time. Ever. It has one of the best ever songs ever recorded ever in it, Do You Want To Be A Hero? Ever. I looked at the pictures the ape had sent and wept like a baby. This was the kind of item I would gladly give my first born for. I told him so. I shouldn't have because it gave him a position of high ground over me. I should have feigned disinterest, played hard to get, but emotion overcame me and I was caught in a moment of weakness. He said he would be up for a trade of an item of equal worth. Secretly he wanted my Oddball hooded top, but I held out on him until finally he buckled and money spoke louder than trinkets. I have yet to hold the item in my hands, but believe me, it will be mine, oh yes.

Featuring Motley Crue!!

He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named is not the only one to send me bizarre and abusive text messages. During the riots Danny Salter made the mistake of making an inflammatory remark on Facebook, which I told him I'd forwarded to the Police:

You're nicked sonny...

Later that evening I had the following text conversation with him:

Him: There are police helicopters circling above my house. Is this anything to do with your web of lies? You shit.

Me: I hope so, you're going down in fast track justice!

Him: I'm not going down without a fight. I'm going out in just my pants to face the filth. Let it be known that I intend to have 'Alex Sotheran Is A Twat' carved onto my gravestone. Nothing else. Just that.

Me: I hope they tear gas you, like the dirty rioter you are.

Him: I've always loved the police, you know that. I was devastated when ITV axed The Bill. Your filthy hate campaign has brought me to this. I hope you're satisfied, you shit.

Me: I'll only be satisfied when you're getting bummed in prison.

Him: I'm not here to at out your sexual fantasies, Sotheran. They'll never take me alive. Onwards to Asgard!

Then ten minutes of silence, until:

Him: It turns out all the helicopters had RADIO CORNWALL emblazoned on the side. May have been a slight misunderstanding. Slightly regret the little rocket launcher thing. Fuck em.