The Last Word Is Dead / High Noon

The Last Word Is Dead.

Leamington to London Marylebone train, Thame Parkway. I have been in personal crisis management mode all weekend after a series of disasters. It has been really tough but I feel progress is being made.

Peace has broken out in the Leamington Garret. Thank God! (I lit a votive candle overlooked by Our Lady in the nearby church, which may or may not have helped).

Whatever, we are now on far better terms than we were at this time last week. We went out for some drinks on Monday night and I enjoyed his company. It was a great night!

I have not been as fortunate with my car, The Last Word (In Luxury). On Monday morning, my colleague and I went over to the place where it had been taken without my permission - on the orders of Warwickshire Police.

The gentleman at the customer service desk informed me that over the weekend the fees had soared to around £230 plus VAT. And that did not include the 60 quid to
scrap it. My response was to say that this was, in my view, daylight robbery and to demand to see the manager.

The boss was not available and instead I had to talk with his assistant, a near seven foot tall man mountain. I persuaded him to sit down and politely explained that I did not feel my car should have been impounded in the first place.

He said he would try to reduce the bills but returned a few minutes later and angrily shut the door and started to make threatening noises.

It seemed that the man on the desk had complained about my daylight robbery remark. 'If you have insulted the staff, you will have to pay in full,' he grunted.

I told him not to be so silly and, eventually, negotiated the release and destruction of The Last Word for just under 200 quid.

Still a rip-off, in my considered opinion, but not as bad as it might have been. It was rather sad removing the radio and furry dice. I have had fun with The Last Word.

It was a nice little car - and did not deserve a sudden death in ghastly circumstances.

Since then, I have written a five-page letter to John Burbeck, Chief Constable of Warwickshire Police,, demanding to have my money reimbursed and asking for an apology for the behaviour of his officers, and an investigation into who trashed The Last Word in the first place.

I have included three witness statements which prove, in my opinion, that John Burbeck's officers have been telling porky pies. I intend to take this one all the way. (I Fought The Law. . .

I am sure John Burbeck will see sense when he realises how serious I am about it.

Financially it is a disaster. I have lost £200 and, far worse, my car. I have been three thousand pounds overdrawn at the bank this week and simply cannot afford to buy a new vehicle.

Indeed I have had to reorganise my life so that I can cycle everywhere. It means going via the Leamington Garret on Monday morning and Thursday afternoons to drop off or pick up my stuff, and then leaving my working materials and suit in my little room at the Day-Job during the week.

It has been hot and cycling has been a killer. I need to get a lot fitter and faster on the bike. If I cycle until the end of October before buying a new old banger (how oxymoronic is that!) then I should be able to pay off my debts (and lose weight and get in shape).

This week, I have made strides in that direction. I should get £80 back from the road tax, and around £50 from the (useless) insurance. The insurance company is not paying me a penny because I had a third party, fire and theft policy, and the person who smashed into The Last Word raced off.

I have been laughing in the face of adversity, and some good things have happened. I received another lovely letter from my cousin Laura (hello, Laura!), and also had a good night out with the marvellous people in my department to mark the departure of our administrator who has been on a one-year student placement.

She has been brilliant and we had a very jolly time together down at the Jug and Jug last night. I think I am becoming quite well established down there. The gaffer called me 'Chief' last night and the pretty singer Sinead gave me a lovely smile and rubbed my arm for some reason on her way to the loo. She seems a very pleasant girl and a good singer, too.

It was a good day yesterday, particularly because I have managed to do something really good for one of my colleagues which will make a significant difference to him. It is great to do something fantastic for someone when you it is right and just.

So, it was a double celebration last night, and we all got pretty drunk. The pool games seemed to go on for ever! I vaguely recall that me and one of my colleagues triumphed in the doubles, but God knows how. I could hardly see the table!

I know I had a tremendous hangover this morning and have been feeling poorly all day. Peddling the five miles into work in my suit was sheer hell.

I have not been in Lewes since last Friday. The trip up to Loch Ness was fun, although somewhat marred by my holy trinity of crises (accommodation, car, debts).

I particularly enjoyed the journey up on the Caledonian Sleeper. In the very comfortable lounge car, we had a fabulous meal (delicious haggis washed down by loads of gins and tonic). Everyone was in a good mood.

The journey back was also very good, although they seemed a bit short of food in the lounge car. I got quite drunk on red wine and gin.

During the weekend, there were ups and downs but on the whole it was a successful. We got our tents up OK, and I stayed at the campsite while the Fat Boy Slim performance was taking place. I did not mind. I have to confess I am not a great fan of rave music, and you could hear it perfectly well two fields away.

The highlight for me came the next day - Sunday - when it was really hot and we went down to Loch Ness (pictured) again. It was incredibly beautiful.

We walked round part of the Loch along the beach, the sun hot on our faces. I even paddled. As the sun was setting, the glorious news came through on my mobile telephone that England had beaten Ecuador to go through to the Quarter Finals of the World Cup. A marvellous moment.

And at that very second, I think I spotted the Loch Ness Monster (pictured!)

I had felt slightly annoyed at the campsite to see so many Scots wearing Brazil and Germany shirts. They are happy to work in England and listen to English disc jockeys.

They cherry-pick what they want from England and slag off the rest.

7.11pm. London Victoria - Brighton train, Battersea. The woman sitting opposite me is one of the most irritating and ugly I have encountered - even on this line.

A beggar has also come round, standing next to me and droning: 'I am currently homeless and sleeping rough and trying to raise eight pounds to sleep somewhere tonight. The eight pounds also includes a hot meal.'

I would give him the eight quid if I thought he was genuine. I know it would go on drugs, which is the last thing this brain-damaged dude needs right now.

One thing that troubles me is that I have not written a poem this week. In fact there are a lot of things I have not done. I think I shall knock up something about the demise of The Last Word. I did try to pen one about Rock Ness (the Fat Boy Slim gig), but my effort was, as my Beloved pointed out, absolutely rubbish.

I was not inspired - because I did not actually go into the gig.

7.51pm. Haywards Heath. I have allowed myself one can of Scrumpy Jack. Very tasty indeed. My hangover from last night is almost gone now.

Have been planning which comedy shows to review for The Stage at the Edinburgh Fringe.

I have picked out 16 shows, a good cross-section although no doubt every comedy PR girl in the business will be calling me to beg me to review their clients! I do not mind. It is the nature of the beast.

I have four pieces to write for The Stage's Edinburgh preview. I really must start work on them in earnest during my evenings next week. The good thing about comedians is that they should be available of an evening (when they are not actually on stage).

This year will be tenth going to Edinburgh for The Stage. The first time was 1997 when I covered the TV festival. After that, I switched to comedy which is, frankly, a lot more interesting than talking to drunken TV executives in the George Hotel.

My first visit to Edinburgh was marred by a horrible incident. I was invited along to a media curry by a TV producer working for the then Carlton/Central TV set-up,but the TV company's then head of press considered me to be a gatecrasher (which was certainly not my perception) and started swearing at me in the middle of the meal (and has never apologised).

It was most embarrassing. Funny how you never forget nasty incidents.

High Noon (Flashback to Sunday, 14 May 2006)

9.16am. Lewes Garret. Great excitement as my Beloved has been to the paper shop and brought back the Mail on Sunday with a front page splash headlined: 'Archbishop sacked gay man'.

I knew all about the business the story was referring to because I had worked with the chap concerned, a really lovely man called Stephen Noon, and for the cleric, Cormac Murphy-O'Connor, whom, I understand, was responsible for sacking him.

Like so many others who worked at that place, Stephen was shabbily treated. I feel so strongly about it, I have just banged off an email to him:

Hi Stephen,

I have just been shown a copy of the Mail on Sunday. I was vaguely aware of this having happened.

You were a wonderful appointment and did a great job for CMOC and I think it is good that someone has had the guts to bring this - one of the many injustices inflicted on the laity working for that organisation - into the public domain. My thoughts are with you.

Best wishes, Oliver

1.16pm. Overcast but brightening up on the skyline. Received a pleasant email back form Stephen Noon saying that he had appreciated that I had taken the time to write.

Leafing through the pages of the Mail of Sunday, I found another story about one of my previous, in my view, terrible employers - CNN Television. The headline read: £1/4m payout for CNN girl in night shift round.

Elena Cosentino, who I vaguely remember from my appalling year working for CNN's World Business This Morning shows, was, like me, kept permanently on nights by the management and suffered the medical consequences.

Now an employment tribunal has ruled CNN must pay her £246,799.

Good for her! I walked out in 1999 after, in my view, being mistreated by some of the bosses and a particularly bitchy producer (and the presenters) working there (one of the female anchors actually kicked me for a laugh one morning).

Being freelance, I did not receive a bean from them for the way I was treated. I have forgiven but not forgotten.

Midnight. Bed, Lewes Garret. Don't know where the evening has gone - very fast, considering I am as sober as a judge. I went for a long walk around Lewes. Very quiet and beautiful tonight. Before we quit this town, I shall take a series of Lewes photographs. It is the very least this great town deserves.

Oliver's Poetry