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This morning I got an email from Phil Daoust, the occasional Guardian journaloust and it was like getting a message from a rock star.
It wasn't even really to me personally - it was one that the Guardian was sending to everyone on its email list, but still. Phil Daoust. Emailing me. What a thrill.
To be fair I don't know much about Phil Daoust - I didn't even know what he looked like until I got the email. And I have to say he looks more like what Phil Daoust should look like than I could ever have imagined. And yet it still made me giddy to think that he had, without knowing or caring, emailed me.
You may know the name and understand the reference or you may not, but the reason I was so excited is that Phil Daoust is the subject of my favourite comedy song (and possibly song of any kind) "A Song For Phil Daoust" which I could try to explain to you, but it explains itself precisely.
This song makes me laugh so hard every time I listen to it. Catie used to put it on every now and again when we were driving somewhere in the car and we always had to repeat it at least three or four times. It's so rich with wrongness, comedy, unfairness, justice, self-defeating pettiness and heroism. And every phrase is poetry (even the childish ones -especially the childish ones). Sadly we can't play it in the car any more cos there's usually kids in there with us. But I love it when it crops up somewhere else.
If I was ever on Desert Island Discs I think this is my only definite choice of track and would genuinely be the one record I would keep if the other's washed away, because of its power to make me feel delirious and happy. Christ, even getting an email (not really) from Phil Daoust made my day.
The song isn't even really about him, but everyone who has ever been reviewed or represented badly will sympathise with it and the transgression of replying and the arrogance and weakness of doing so from a position of strength. Minchin is aware of all of this of course. It's why the song is always funny because it is coming from a hundred directions at once.
And why shouldn't someone reply to
a petty and mean-spirited review in a petty and mean-spirited way. It feels like justice. But totally unfair justice. The kind of justice that we are getting from actual justice these days.
It's a song written from the gut and the gut turns out to be cleverer than the brain. Has there ever been a better lyric than
"And with such a fine mind, I guess it has to be hard
To resist throwing narcissistic, intellectual tantrums In the supermarket aisles of your self regard"?
One always wonders how Phil Daoust must have taken this. On the one hand he has written a piece of work that is still being viewed twenty years on, but also every time he introduces himself to someone he must wonder if they know. Does he spot them in the act of some vague recognition? Do they say, "Oh I know you from somewhere, don't I?" Can he laugh it off? (I hope so) He must know that Minchin is equally the victim of the song too, but the victim who has also won.
Some comedians who like to take revenge for past transgressions in their life do not seem to include that vulnerability though. Minchin knows what he is doing ultimately makes him look bad too, but that self-awareness of his self-defeat does push him further towards victory. It's why this stupid, catchy, brilliant song is a work of art
Daoust just expressed an opinion - a wrong one - but it's his job to say what he thinks, just like it's a bully's job to flush your head down the toilet. We're all guilty of saying cruel stuff without considering the repercussions on others (or ourselves) and we're all bad at calling ourselves out on it, but remembering when other people do it to us.
Phil Daoust is all of us, maybe with a slightly smugger face. And I wish him nothing but the best. Without him, I wouldn't have this song and I wouldn't have felt genuine joy at getting this email.
I haven't read it though.
I had a personal training session in the village at 9am and so decided to head up early to do a cold stone clear, bringing the true star of Stone Clearing, Wolfie the dog with me this time. The results are just as you'd expect. Sensational. The FF are back in force and I was lucky to come out of this one alive. Plus the stones were largely clasped in the frozen vulva of the earth. But I still got a few to freedom.
The new year diet and exercise programme is going well (though it's easy enough to lose that bit of Christmas overindulgence) and I'm 2kg lighter than I was at the start of 2025 and feeling energetic from all the plants (I've had 60 different plants to eat this week so far, with one day to go). The last time I logged my weight turns out to be the start of January 2024 when I was 10kg lighter than I was at the end of that year. It's incentive to do better, but also a reminder (as this entire blog is) that ultimately I am doomed to yoyo back and forth until this kills me. Though my highest weight these days is some way off the heights that it got to in the past, so maybe there's an overall tendency downwards.
And it was all go as I then drove home to record another Book Club podcast, this time with Kate Summerscale, talking about her fascinating and horrifying book "The Peepshow" about the crimes of Reg Christie and the depressingly dank and unpleasant world of post-war London that the likes of Nigel Farage seem keen to return us to. She was a terrific guest - it'll be out next Friday.
Another chance to earn part of the greatest sporting arena known to mankind - three more pieces of my cut up original snooker board are now up on ebay, along with three of my balls (yes with this many balls I could afford to lose one etc). All profits will go to making more podcasts, though we spent so much cutting up the board and making it look pretty that we're really looking to just cover our costs. It's a chance for the true fans of self-playing snooker to own part of this ongoing transgressive art project.
Bid here. 
