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Saturday 10th July 2004

CNPS numbers spotted 0 (899). Once again any tip-offs about where I might spot a rare 900 will be appreciated.

A mile? Ha! I laugh in the face of a mile. To me a mile is little more than a step and a spit. I wouldn't demean myself by running a mile, unless I was immediately going to follow it by running another twelve miles at least. And I wouldn't run the first mile at all if I didn't have to to get to the start of the second one.
But today I made an exception, because it was for Sports Relief and my friend Emma had asked me to do it.
In fact I've only been out running about three times since the Marathon and never for more than about twenty minutes, so I was interested to see if I still had any run at all in me and how fast I could cover the ground. Evil Tony Blairs did it in 8 minutes, which meant if I could beat that I would be crowned new Prime Minister. Then I could undo all the evil that Blairs (or as I cleverly call him B-liars - because he is a liar and if you take the B off his name and ignore the imaginary s and change a couple of the letters around it says "liar". I am satirical) has done to this country.
We were going to run in Bristol. I'm not sure why exactly, but I think they were a bit short of celebrities there. I wasn't sure how having the woman who used to be in the Heat advert (but isn't anymore) and a bloke who once plaeyd the voice of a spider on schools' TV (but then the tape "went wrong" and they got someone else to record the voice instead of asking him back) was going to help. But the people of Bristol are easily pleased and would probably gawp in wonder at anyone who turned up not coated in dirt and excrement. Which still didn't explain why Emma Kennedy would be of any interest to them. Ha ha, I am funny.
The other celebrities that they had roped in were at least partly famous and also extremely good looking (in fact I began to wonder if me and Emma had been hired just to stand near them and make them look even better). They were Jeremy Edwards from off of Holby City and Elize Du Toit who played the rather scrumptious Izzy in Hollyoaks. I want to make it clear that I was going to Bristol to help disadvantaged children and not on the extreme off chance that I might get to cop off with a young blonde actress (or failing that a young handsome actor). No, I love the disadvantaged children of the world and was acting selflessly and I hope you will all look up to me and see how good and noble I am and try to be a bit like me (you're never going to be as good as me, but you can try).
The run was around Bristol City football ground. In this stadium I saw the only live football game of my life (which I think I've mentioned before). I remembered it being a huge and intimidating place, but now it seems quite tiny.
Radio Bristol were in charge of keeping the fun flowing for the crowds and there was a quite excruciatingly embarrassing few moments where me, Emma and the proper celebs had to go on stage to be interviewed by a nervous bald man with a microphone that didn't work, in front of an audience of literally dozens of disinterested Bristolians. I giggled nervously with Elize du Toit and wondered how you pronounced her surname without being offensive.
Mercifully it was over fairly soon and we got ready to run our miles. I'd decided to join the more serious runners and do the time trial mile. I was interested to see how fast I could run it. I think the first mile I did in the actual Marathon was about seven and a half minutes (it was much too fast whatever), so I wondered if I could do better if I knew I hadn't got another 25 miles to do after. It might be worth taking into account that my training for this event has involved two months of heavy drinking and two weeks of being quite poorly.
I couldn't quite believe how short a mile actually was. I was holding some energy back for the second half, when I realised the finish line was about two hundred metres away. I finished in 7mins 40 and prepared for my call from the Queen asking me to form a government.
The others were running the freestyle mile and as I didn't want to hang around on my own and because I wasn't really tired yet, I decided to have another go. Maybe I could beat my time and be made President of America too. And maybe head of the Al Quaida network. I might be able to bring peace to the world, throught running. And I guessed that Elize du Toit would probably fancy me if I had all that power, even if she did just seem to want to hang around with Jeremy Edwards for some reason (as if he was more interesting or sexy than me or something).
As we approached the starting line a Bristol man said to Elize "I'm going to spray water all over your tits." I was proud to be home. Though slightly disappointed in his lack of imagination. There was something else that I would much rather have sprayed on them.
This time I thought I was running faster but came in at just over 8 minutes, which due to a ridiculous clause in the British constitution meant that the Prime Ministership of this country reverted to Tony "Bliars" Blairs (in fact I call him Phony Bliars now, because he is a phony and a liar and a bee). Apparently it's all down to the last mile you ran, not the best one you ever did. I shouldn't have got greedy.
After the race I was asked to sign a contract which would give Sports Relief all rights to photos and film of my run etc. The contract said that in return for my services I would get a pound.
"Where's my fucking pound?" I asked, not unreasonably.
"Oh that's just a contractual thing. We don't actually give you the pound."
"I only came here for the pound, " I complained, "I was promised a pound and I want my pound."
No-one made as if to give me a pound.
"Look, I've come here to help poor kiddies and not to get off with young actresses and spray them with my special balm and all I've had in return is two T shirts, three socks, a hat, some sandwiches, a beef-burger, a coke and some orange juice and a free cab ride here. I want the fucking pound that is due to me. So hand it over."
There was some nervous laughter. Sure this was a charity thing, but it's the principle of the matter. If the contract says I get a pound and then I don't get it, then why should I uphold my end of the deal and let them use photos of me in the paper? Just because they are unlikely to use photos of me when Prince William, Phony Bliars and some blkoe off a makeover show were running is not the point. I wanted my pound.
They didn't give it to me.
Later on I decided to rise above it. I said to them "Look, you know that pound you owe me? I want you to give it to Sports Relief. I don't want a big fuss made about it, I don't want any publicity, this can just be our secret, but I'd like to donate my entire fee. Hey, it's no big deal. I just want to show you that at least one person here isn't a selfish and stupid child. There are more important issues here today. Even though you promised me a pound and didn't give it to me. I'm going to let it go."
I could tell from their disbelieving faces that they couldn't believe how generous I was. Then I added, "And in return I hope that you and your organisation will turn a blind eye to the incident in the VIP room with Elize du Toit. I was just spraying some unguent around in there and Elize du Toit happened to walk into its path. If you inform the authorities then I will have no option to take the matter of the pound to the highest court in the land."
I could see that they were keen to forget all about the embarrassment of the fact that they hadn't given me a pound and were going to let the whole thing go.
Me and Emma then went on stage to draw the raffle. The nervoud bald man was still there and this time his microphone was working. But there were only about twenty children watching. Looking bemused. And wondering who we were.
I fear this might be the high-point of what little remains of my career.

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