Is it a turbot? Is it a trout? No!

I don't like answering the door these days.

I'm not paranoid, I don't read the Daily Mail and believe that outside there are a load of knife-wielding illegal immigrants on benefits burning pictures of Princess Diana.

No, it's just that unless it's the postman it's someone trying to sell me something.

Today I'm working from home (fully dressed, before any of my work colleagues ask)and I foolishly answerd the door. A man with, I'm pretty sure, half the recommended level of teeth introduced himself.

"Hiya Pal".

Not a good start. 'Pal' is my least favourite term of unfamiliar familiarity. It also reminds me of the dog food. I imagine Cesar used to get annoyed by that too.

"I'm just talking to people on the estate. I'm the fish-man."

Now, at this point you can imagine the scene in my head. I know that by 'fish-man' he means someone who sells fish. of course I do. I'm not mad.

But in my own head I wanted him to be a mutant superhero. Part man, part fish. I started scanning his face for signs of gills, glancing down to see if his legs tapered into a tail - I might have also inhaled quite a lot to see if he smelt funny.

And why was he here? Was he about to thwart crime in a nearby stream or sea (presumably he'd be either sea or freshwater based)? Maybe his lack of teeth were a side effect of him being out of the water for long periods of time? Was his nemesis Lionel Rod (ooh, that's good) on the loose?

But, of course, he wasnt. He was a man trying to sell me fish. I hate fish. So I told him the only possible answer to make him go away quickly.

"Sorry. My wife is allergic to all fish" (she isn't). There. I thought. Get out of that one so-called fish-man. All fish. Yeah. Allergic to all of them. Even Michael Fish brings her out in a rash. Or Fish from Marillion. Checkmate.

"That's ok. I also sell chickens and vegetables" he replied instantly.

So he wasn't really fish-man was he? He was food-man. And that was a much less likely name for a superhero. I wanted to tell him this, but his teeth were concerning me again so I used the 'we're moving' reason, pointing to the For Sale sign and he smile and went on his way.

Thing is. I know that we'll get a knock at the door later, because our windows have been cleaned.

And if he introduces himself as Window-man it'll be the same thing all over again.

Living Joy

As you might recall (you might not, you might have had your memory wiped) we’re in the process of selling our house. And, stone me, if we don’t appear to have sold it. Despite my best attempts to offend the people who have eventually agreed to buy it.

It was a very simple mistake.

The buyers arrived at the door – woman, child and man. As the woman was the person I had been told was buying she came in first and put out her hand to shake – which I did. The 11 year old boy then followed, so in the jovial/borderline psychotic manner I’ve developed with viewers, I thrust out my hand to him and said rather loudly “I’ll shake everyone by the hand”.

So by the time the man had got in the door I already had my right arm extended for a good old manly handshake, a gesture derived from showing one’s hand didn’t contain a weapon, a sign of ‘I’m pleased to meet you sir, this is what men do’.

That’s when I spotted he only had one arm, and it wasn’t the one I was extending my welcoming hand towards.

Thankfully the chap must be used to it and turned his left arm round to shake me as if it was his right. But as far as first impressions of a house go, I might as well have opened the door smeared in marmite with a swastika emblazoned t-shirt speaking only in binary.

Anyway, it all seems to have amounted to nothing as they went and put an offer in a few days later and we’re now well on the way down the process. Honestly, if I’d know this I’d have been more offensive to people from the start.

Whilst we can’t wait to move into a new house, you always end up thinking about some of the great/bizarre times you’ve had in places you’ve lived. Such as these:

2 Winstone Avenue Torquay (1986ish)
We lived there from when I was 6-13 and was woken up by the milkman one morning. By that, I mean we woke up to find a milkfloat upside down on the garden, having crashed through our back fence. It even sat there with a comedy ‘spinning wheel’. It could only have been better if a Rice Krispies plane had crashed landed there too, followed by a light shower of sugar.

41 Park Road Torquay (1996)
My brother went home from a night out early and when I got home, he’d left the key in the lock meaning I couldn’t get in. So, after 4-5 pints, I thought the best thing to do was climb onto a wall in the backgarden, make my way across the flat roof, through the 2ft wide gap with the neighbours house and in through a conservatory window. Yes, I was a lot thinner back then. And spiderman apparently.

10 Reansway Square Wolverhampton (1998)
A rented house with no central heating or shower, which meant you had to have 15 second baths in the morning or you would die of the cold. And in the winter I recall sleeping in full football kit, tracksuit, scarf and hat to avoid death by chilliness. For some reason I wore the shinpads as well.

250 Renton Road Wolverhampton (2000)
I rented a room in a house with two cats, one with three legs. The best bit, arranging a music festival themed party called T2000 (like V you see) and issuing everyone with laminated passes on a piece of string so they could wear it like a festival pass. I made two mini versions with ‘access all areas’ on and had the cats wear them. They were the talking point of the party – apart from girl crying and being sick on the stairs of course.

10 Albany View Stainland (2004)
Despite sounding like the world’s worst theme park, living in Stainland was brilliant. It was a converted mill and the top flat I lived in was totally open plan with a ladder leading to the upper main bedroom. I had three walk in wardrobes up there that were so big, you could sleep in. And that’s exactly what my mate Daive did. We woke up one morning from a heavy night of indie partying to find him totally absent from the flat, until the door to the wardrobe swung open to reveal him and his sleeping bag. Bless.

There. You wouldn’t have had all that on Through the Keyhole.

Don't drink and drive if you're a goldfish

I get annoyed about plenty of things. Well, I say annoyed. More I talk things through loudly in my head and have to pour them out on this space - and you then read them, it's like therapy, although I have no intention of paying you.

I think if you look at 50% of the blogs I've written they are filled with annoyance - 80% of them about Myleene Klass (I'll explain my dislike for her one day).

What got to me most yesterday was this poster. Now, I know it's for a good reason. Drink Driving is possibly one of the worst things you can do, after watching BBC3 of course. But this poster makes absolutely no sense.

Firstly - "He drinks all day...". No he doesn't. He's a fish. He uses his gills to extract oxygen from the water in order to breathe. If he was drinking it all day he'd end up massive from water retention and there'd be nothing else in the glass.

Secondly "...but he'd never dream of driving.". No. I imagine he wouldn't. Because he's a fish. Without doing them down, fish aren't the cleverest and even if they were I doubt one would look out of it's bowl, see a car and think "If only I could drive?" because if he did, his next thought would be "How the hell do I have this level of consiousness?" or "How did Two Pints of Lager and Packet of Crisps get so many series?"

In a sense "he'd never dream of driving" is utterly correct. Because we have no idea if fish have the ability to dream really do we? Or have scientists worked that out, and discovered that, yes they can, but they draw the line at imagining themselves behind the wheel of an Austin Allegro.

Honestly, my head hurt so much after seeing this poster I needed a pint or two to recover. And a nice drive home. I'm joking of course. Remember, the only safe limit is none - and not 6, as my brother's mate found out when they took his licence away.

For other great posters like this, I like the one that was on the door of the local Shell Garage. It showed Michael Schumacher in his race car with some Shell Oil next to it and he was saying "I use Shell oil in my car...and so should you."

Yes Michael, but you only drive your car about a dozen times a year and when you do it's at 200mph round and round - it's not the same as popping to Tesco in a Nissan Micra - so I'm not sure the comparison works.

And it's not restricted to posters. There's an Oil of Olay advert at the moment that starts with the words "You don't need to take drastic measures with your skin...use Oil of Olay". OK, I've paraphrased a bit. But if you see the ad, check out the small print where it says "Olay results NOT comparable with drastic measures". Brilliant. A cream isn't the same as a surgeon hacking your face off.

I'm glad we were told.

Anyway, that's the session up now. I'll book in another one with the receptionist on my way out.

How (not) to sell your house

We're currently in the process of selling of our house. I say 'in the process of', by which I mean I seem to have handed over a lot of money to estate agents so far and spent most weekends hoovering.

Whilst we haven't had an offer yet we have had plenty of people round to see the place. This is particularly pleasing as most news reports suggest that you are more likely to build a life size replica of Coventry out of sticklebricks, than sell your house.

When you are selling your house, you also get people offering you bizarre advice. Someone said to us "Oh, you should get Kirsty and Phil to help you move." - yes, because thats what they do isn't it? They sell your house for you. You've got that the wrong way round I think - presumably you think Supernanny gives speed to toddlers and suggests they smear jam on the wall?

I digress. So far our 'viewers' have fallen into three camps. The disinterested, who are probably thinking at some point about moving in the near future, possibly. Then there's the hopefuls - people who've either sold their house or are first time buyers and know that they could crush our moving dreams - oh, I can see that evil glint in their eyes.

Then there are the insane people. "Ideally I was looking for a 5th bedroom" said one woman. "Might I suggest you don't come to a 4 bedroom house then? Or did I not mention the SECRET INVISIBLE ROOM..." was what I thought of saying at the time, I didn't say of anything course - you're not allowed to be nasty to people who might buy your house. Even if they are clearly mental

Showing people around your house is always strange. As the missus works quite a few weekends, it's mainly me who has done the dozen or so viewings. It's become a bit like a standup routine now.

Everytime I show people the downstairs toilet I say "And here's the downstairs, as they call it. 'cloakroom'. Ideal for those times you have any 18th century nobles around who want to put their cloak somewhere.". As we go up the stairs I say "and these are the stairs" and when I show them one of the spare rooms I say "We call this the mummy's room, because thats where the mother in-law stays - nothing to do with Egyptian kings."

With people who clearly aren't going to buy the house I'm tempted to make things up such as:

"We've renovated the garden somewhat, well, we've moved the headstones."

"We considered converting the garage into a kitchen, the kitchen into a bedroom, the bedroom into the stairs and the stairs into a garage"

"I really like this room because I watched Batman Begins in it, have you seen it? I love it"

"I suppose some people might be put off by a ghost, but we find it a unique selling point."

"Every house has a negative point and ours is the fact that the utility room causes people to age at five times the normal speed. I tend to only pop in there when it's really necessary"

Fingers crossed we sell the place before I end up saying any of these out loud, or before I refer to the bedroom as 'where the magic happens'.

Save me from that and get on rightmove now.

Timmy and the resolutions

Disappointly that title isn't the name of my new band. Or is it? No. No it isn't. If i ever have a band the name will more than likely be Badgercull (it's a long story).

Anyway. New Year and time for resolutions.

Over the years I've made some pretty ambitious resolutions for the year. That one about learning to fly (not in plane, just physically being able to fly) never worked out. And the one about inventing a machine to destroy Myleene Klass is still very much in the blueprint stage.

So this year here's a few I want to stick to. Perhaps you can try them too. Or perhaps not, what am i? Your mother?

Complain more when it's appropriate
When it comes to complaining, I'm awfully British. In a restaurant I can order a cheese toasted sandwich, they turn up with a lump of plutonium attached to a picture of Richard Littlejohn's backside with a side order of diesel flavoured paper clips...and when they ask "was everything ok with your meal?" I'll mumble something positive. Well no more. From now on I shall say when things are wrong. Conversely, that then means I can praise when things are right. Here's to a year of either discounted meals and apologies, or waiters piddling in my dessert.

Eat more fruit
Sounds tricky, until you realise that last year I ate the equivalent of 3 apples. I can surely do better than this? Ok, I don't like fruit and veg as much as sweets and curries (come on, I'm 35, I'm still young) so if I eat 4 apples I will have succeeded. And tictacs, they're fruit aren't they?

Tell people when they are being rude
Probably similar to my first one, but this is inspired by people who generally are rude and need to be told. Case in point, last year someone turned up late to an event I was at and apologised by saying "Oh, it's my son's carol concert/birthday/first vampire communion etc." They then proceeded to show half a dozen pictures of said event to me on a phone. I tried to be nice and showed some pics of our cats doing amusing things. The response to which was "I don't like cats." And in turn that led me to say "Yes, I don't like other people's children either - but I'm not rude enough to say it to their face." I must do more of this. I consequently look forward to being on the dole by March.

Stop calling people 'squire'
I do this quite a lot. In some cases, as a term of gentlemanly greeting - that's fine. But I also do it a lot when I forget someone's name. Honestly, it's a terrible habit and something I have to not do anymore. Please pull me up on it.

Finally write that book of short stories
Yes, there's a set of horror themed short stories in my head that might/might not involve the following - a set of haunted golf clubs, a dog that turns out to be a robot, the internet in your eyeball, a possessed polaroid photo and an express elevator to Croydon. Yes, some/all/none of that must be written.

I'll report back in a year on my progress. Until then, speak to you later squire.

Bugger.