Sunday March 21st, 6.00 pm

Hey. I’m having a really sucky weekend, man. I got so much homework to do, and I really just don’t care! Well, so be it. If they want to be assholes and give us way more work than it’s actually possible to do, then they can suck my fatty when it just ain’t possible.

I’ve been really getting in to this old show they’re re-running on channel 12, Renegade. It stars this guy with long hair who kinda looks like a fag to me, but is still a bad ass. He prowls these “badlands” on his motorbike after having turned against some cops gone bad.

Now, I’m not being funny or nothing, but aren’t we all taught not to tell tales? At the end of the day, Reno Rains (that’s Renegade) snitched on his buddies, so maybe he deserves to be out there on the run? Another thing is, they’re always going on about these so-called badlands he’s prowling, but exactly how big are they supposed to be? I mean, like, every week, he’s out riding on his motorbike in the same place and yet not once do the police catch up with him? Or anyone else see him and go, “Shit! Isn’t that the guy who’s wanted by the police?” (I forgot to mention that they framed him for murder after he snitched on them). I mean, if he was supposed to be some killer on the run, wouldn’t he actually run somewhere, not just hang around some small town in California, and continue to solve crime?

Don’t get me wrong or nothing, I like the show, but it just burns me up when things like that don’t make any sense. I like the other dude, his best buddy, a native American called Bobby Sixkiller. You’ve gotta see this guy’s mullet! It rocks! And I love his real name: Branscombe Richmond. He sounds like a bad ass. But Renegade’s real name is Lorenzo Lamas. See what you can do there? That’s right – Lorenzo Lameass. And it’s probably a name he made up himself. What a dick!

There’s also this blonde chick in it who’s another good guy, and she’s one of those weird ones who’s kinda hot – but at the same time, she kind of looks like a mom shopping at the mall. Do you know what I’m talking about? I think this show’s from like 1994 or something, and it seems to me that all women looked like that back then. Like you’ll rent some Van Damme movie and his love interest (who always, I repeat always, gets to see his goddamn ass) will be kind of blonde with big hair and tight jeans with a tucked in white shirt. Like, they always wear that same outfit! What was it with women back then? I mean, I get the whole Winona thing, don’t get me wrong, although she will still NEVER be the Goddess that is Vanessa Hudgens, but most of these other chicks you see in movies from back then look like they’re going to watch their kid play soccer or something!

Anyway, I’m kinda getting off the point. Renegade rocks – check it out. Another show me and my buddies have always loved is Police’s Scariest Shootouts with the biggest bad ass ever, Sheriff John Bunnell. You know the guy – he’s got grey hair slicked back, a real big jaw, kinda like that dick William Devane, and he’s always justifying how the police have to kill everyone they see!

Like me and Jake where watching one where there was some dude who was trying to get out of his car and they just shot him dead! And sure enough, Bunnell was like “The police had to do it. They had no other choice. He could have been armed!” And we were like, “No way dude, he had his hands up!” Now we’re saying that shit all the time, like the other day Jake trips Randy over and he’s like “I had to do it! You could have been armed!”, and we were laughing for like ten minutes! It was such a blast!

Randy didn’t seem to like it, though. He can be such a jealous dick. Like, just because he’s not into Sheriff John Bunnell, he seems real sore that me and Jake are. But when him and Jake went to watch The Dark Knight without even inviting me, was I all pissy about it? Was I hell!


A Love Lost...or Missed? Leave your messages here for strangers who bowled you over!

To the very cute dark haired guy who works in HMV, Oxford Street - don't ever speak to me again, or I will mace your face off...To the person on the train, that time. I really think you are lovely. Marry me?...I've been watching you for a while.I sit outside your flat and watch you come and go. I can see you showering right now. Lunch?...To the flirty guy in uniform on the train, pretending you "needed to see my ticket" and presenting me with a "£20 fixed penalty fine" when I didn't have one - you are such a tease! Drink sometime?... To the scruffy little scottie being walked in Richmond Park last Thursday...walkies?...I'm trying to track down Faizal Mohammed, from Kilburn. I met him in Islamabad. I think he might be a Muslim....You warned me you'd give me a pair of elephant balls if I didn't stop picking on my brother Wyatt in the film Weird Science; can't stop thinking of you babe...You died for my sins on the cross, now I can't get you out of my mind - call me....


Tuesday March 3rd, 19.18pm

Today I’m a little more chilled. Math was kind of cool, though I don’t know why, and after school I swear I saw Jill Rayner looking at me kind of funny. Not like, “yeah, I want to fuck you”, but kind of “hello there, maybe I’d like to fuck you”. It’s been a while since I seen any action, so I’m kinda stoked!

Me and Jake and Randy are hopefully going to be scoring a lid tonight, and then we’re going to go and get real high! I’ve already got a real cool mixtape with some cool old shit on it. Not like Green Day or anything, I mean old – the Doors, a little Lynryd Skynyrd, Pink Floyd, Hendrix, all that shit. It’s going to be rocking. We’re going to just chill at Jake’s, watch cable, smoke a bone, it’ll be a blast.

Brian McCracken is the biggest dick in Oakdale High. I mean, by a mile. Have you seen the way he walks around like he’s been shot in the leg or something? Yeah, maybe with your dad’s steroid gun, McCracken!

Stuff: Everyone’s always going on about Britney, but straight up, I’d rather fuck Kelly Osbourne. Seriously. Straight up. Totally. Ok, I’m lying.

Vanilla Coke: What’s that all about?

Does anyone else really really hate Zac Effron? I’d like to kick him in the jaw. Just seeing his stupid face makes me sooo mad!

Personally, I can’t wait for Crank 2. Can they improve on perfection? Let's see!

Instead of Facebook, which is really faggy and lame, they should have like, Assbook. That would kick ass. Or kick face, or something.


Come on, come on! Stop dropping litter!

Alright! It's Gary Glitter here, disgraced former glam pop titan and new government spokesperson for their latest anti-litter drive.

Hello, hello, I'm back again, and when it comes to putting my used litter in the bin, I'm the leader of the gang. Remember me this way - the man who told you to stop the drop. You'll be doing alright with the boys if you follow my advice. What your mama don't see is, dropping litter is really wrong, as it pollutes the environment, but I'm not going to stop until you listen to me, even if it takes all night long.

A bin asked, "Do you wanna touch me?" and the answer is, I do!


Monday March 30th, 6.17pm

School's out! I’m like totally on vacation and don’t got nothing to do all day! I can get up anytime I want! Well, OK, mom will start making shit loads of noise if I’m still in bed past eleven, but that don’t really bother me. Easter man, lazy days. What a blast! Anyway, with all this extra time on my hands, I’ve actually taken to reading. No, seriously! I read some book by a guy called Ellis Peter, it’s called Cadfael. It’s like a true-life book from the eleventh century or something, about this monk who solves all these crimes. Now you might be thinking “Eric, how many crimes can a monk realistically solve?” Well, stop player hating! Back then, like, everyone was a total bad ass, and they’d always be killing each other over anything? Haven’t you even seen A Knight’s Tale, dude?

Anyway, now I’m trying to read a book called The Catcher in the Rye. Who writes this shit? This guy gets thrown out of college and goes to New York and just basically hangs around acting like a fag? If I wanted to know about that I’d just follow Peter Purnell from math on his vacation! Bad, bad shit.

Other stuff: The way these rappers are always having beef with each other is like, the coolest thing about the whole scene. Like, I didn’t mind Eminem but generally I don’t really like rap. I much prefer rock, man. But why don’t those guys ever shout each other out like they do in rap?
Wouldn’t it be so much better if you had, like James Hetfield from Metallica threatening to pistol whip Anthony Keidis and have his buddies buttfuck him if he ever looks at his girlfriend again? Or Bono stabs Bruce Springsteen or someone because he said his style was wack on a track?

Why don’t they do this? All you ever hear is people pissing and moaning that hip-hop’s now bigger than rock, and it ain’t right. Well, do something about it! I guarantee you, if you can combine drive-by shootings and shankings with long hair, heavy riffs and crashing drum solos, everyone would be happy. But these idiots always think they know better than to listen to the little guy. Wise up!

My parents are going to Canada for the weekend, and they’re leaving me here alone! Well, with my sister, but she’ll be way too busy getting poked by her lame-o boyfriend Todd to know what we’re doing. I can’t wait! It’s going to be, like, a blast!

I really want Randy to get some girls over, man. But he’s all coy like he doesn’t know who to ask. But I know that he knows that Suzie Reeves has totally got the hots for him, and if he says he wants her to come and bring a few buddies (for me and Jake), she’ll totally have to say yes!

But that dick’s just all like “I don’t know who to ask”. Me and Jake want to punch him in the face when he says it!


"At the height of his fame in the Eighties, Rik Mayall was best known for playing skinny sociology student and self-proclaimed anarchist Rick. A quarter of a century on, it appears the comedian has succumbed to the ageing process with a middle-aged paunch".


"She's a trashy dog with no class", Price snarled. But Jordan hit back, saying "If she hates me so much, why does she keep mentioning me? She obviously fancies Pete".


By PR Executive Kirsten McTague

Kirsten, 34, is a PR Executive at a top agency in Notting Hill, West London. She lives in nearby Ladbroke Grove with her boyfriend, advertising executive Mark Crumpsall, 36.

Here she takes us through a day in her hectic life.


Monday is me-day. I get up really early and luxuriate in a long, hot bath, using seaweed scrub to make my skin feel radiant. Mark will often have to leave very early so we’ll try and grab some hot buttered English muffins and tea together if we can.

Then it’s time for work – I work close to home so I love to stroll along through Notting Hill and just take in the beautiful day. There are so many wonderful, exciting people – white, black, brown and yellow – it’s like a huge kaleidoscope. Sometimes I feel like Hugh Grant in Notting Hill – the film, not the place! (Well, both!)

When I get to work, I grab myself a scrumptious mocha latte (can’t think without caffeine!) and sit down with the papers – my faves are The Mail for the news, The Guardian for the features and The Sun for the gossip!

Then I’ll meet up with my team for a meeting at about ten a.m. We’re supposed to be discussing the week ahead, but usually we have to first get through the weekend behind us! (Come on girls, you know what I’m talking about!). My girls are great – there’s Shelley, 24, Clara, 26, Vanessa, 25, and Michael, 28 – I call him a girl as he’s a gay man! He doesn’t mind – he started it!

After we’ve got through all the gossip, we’ll get down to business and go through where we stand regarding various projects and who’s doing what in the week ahead. Now, down to work! Between quarter to eleven and one o clock I’ll sit at my desk, check my e-mails, take phone calls and read Eve.

At one I meet up with my best girly friend Maria who works nearby and we’ll just grab some sushi and a punnet of strawberries and go and chill in the park. Maria’s awful – she’s recently become single again and she’ll always be pointing out a hunk here, and a sexy bod there. Of course, I never look – well, not often! (Sorry, Mark hon!)

Then back to work for another four or so hours of e-mails, meetings and phone calls – life can be really tough at the top!

At six thirty I have my yoga class over in Holland Park, where I let the city pour away to be replaced by something more pure and wholesome. I don’t know quite what, but I always think it might be a little like humus.

When I get home, I just want to relax, so I change into my fave PJ’s and softest, comfiest top and go and lounge in the garden, ice cool Pimms in one hand, Marian Keyes novel in the other, my little toes running through the soft grass.

Mark usually has badminton on a Monday so it’s a great chance to just relax and indulge myself with a fresh chicken salad and a glass (or two!) of wine, and watch all my favourite soaps, and then if nothing grabs me, I’ll pop in an episode of Sex and the City on DVD and catch up with Carrie, Samantha and the gang.

And they say Monday is the worst day of the week? – It’s heavenly bliss!


Friday, March 27th, 5:16pm

Boy am I pissed right now! Me and Randy and Jake were just at the Ezeefreeze on Canyon St when that asshole Michael Day waltzes up on his BMX and asks us what we’re doing. I’ve always kinda thought he was a dick since that time he pissed in Jenny Goffey’s hair on the trip to Omaha, but him and Jake get on Ok because their older brothers were both on the basketball team or something.

Anyway, he was being kind of snotty the way he always is, going "What you doing here? Why are you at Ezeefreeze?" and we’re like, "we’re just chilling and having a slurpee" and he’s like "oh wow, can I have a taste of yours?" to Jake, which really pissed me off as everyone KNOWS that he can afford his own, but that’s not even why I’m tripping. You know what this dickwad says then? He’s like "That new Fast and Furious sequel is gonna be shit!"

I’m like so shocked by what he’s saying that for a moment I can’t speak but then I’m like "What? You fucking moron! How can you say that? 2F2F (as me and Randy call it) and Tokyo Drift totally rocked!" The chases were awesome, the cars were cool, and that latino chick totally gave me a woody, even though I generally prefer a girl with bigger sweater puppies, if you know what I’m saying!

Day’s all like "I hate Vin Diesel", and I’m like "Kiss my ass!" And he's like "he's like a rapper / actor who can’t even rap!" What an a-hole. In the end, Day was kind of like "Whatever. I’m going to see Watchmen on Friday night" and left. Boy was I pissed! That guy probably likes Zac Efron!

Other stuff: Ms Petersen has real bad breath. She leaned in to correct something on my book, and I got a whiff. It was like "Eurgh! Have you been sucking dick? If so, get your boyfriend to wash his dick or something!"

Have you noticed how everyone all of a sudden is wearing Reebok again? What the hell happened to those guys? I thought they only did tennis stuff nowadays! Well, I was obviously wrong.

I really want to take a vacation in Europe. Ryan Jones’ parents just got back from there and they said it was great. But did you know that they don’t actually have "London Fog" clothing in London? What next?

Does anyone else think that maybe Eminem is a dick after all?

My sister’s cat Buffy is like the coolest cat in this neighbourhood. If it was a rapper, it would be like 50 cent or something. Whenever it leaves the house, you can see all the other cats quaking.


By Michael Aspel

All right Parkie, how are things? Good, good. Caught your radio show at the weekend, it was great. And how’s the wife? Great news.

Now listen here, Parkie, we need to talk. There’s something I’ve got to say to you. For a long time now I’ve been thinking about how much you and I have in common, and how that’s both a good thing – and a bad thing.

For example, you and I are both men of the world who’ve been round the block our fair share of times. We’ve carved out distinguished careers in British television, which is as we know the best in the world.

We’ve both bought a breath of fresh air to previously stuffy genres while adding a touch of gravitas to more lightweight, frothy affairs.

We’ve been a friend to the stars without letting that cloud our journalistic integrity, occasionally agreeing to sponsor the "right" product in order to live a more comfortable life. We’ve grown into much loved uncles for the nation, soothing their brows with our sparkling repartee, providing comfort and reassurance in troubled times.

Were the similarities to end there, I don’t for a moment suppose that there would be any major problems. You and I could happily co-exist in perfect harmony; maybe even host a one-off light entertainment spectacular or charity telethon together.

Alas, that is never to be, for we both know that to do so would be an act of incredible folly. For there are two further similarities between us that just take things too damn far.

Take your name, for one thing: Michael. It comes from the Hebrew Miyka'el, meaning "Who is God?" which in my case, is quite apt. In the right hands, it’s a great first name, one of the very best. Put Michael next to a certain kind of surname and sparks fly: Ball? Yes. Crawford? Of course! Aspel? Certainly. But Parkinson? All wrong. It exudes an air of amateurish half-heartedness, of slipshod sloppiness, of impotent incontinence.

Secondly, there’s the hair. A silvery grey mane can be very, very distinguished (see Aspel), denoting age and experience alongside a certain rakish devil-may-care attitude. However, on the wrong person it’s just grey, drab and makes you look like you’re dying. For every Snow, Ravanelli, or Aspel, there’s a Major, Schofield or Parkinson.

Basically, there isn’t enough room in British broadcasting for two silver-haired Michaels, so one of us has got to go. What happens when I present you with the red book on This is Your Life? – people won’t know who’s who. What about when you have me on your talk show? (Why the hell not?) And perish the thought that I should ever get struck by Parkinson’s! That J Fox business was confusing enough!

So the silver Michael who has to go is obviously you. You’re all wrong. Your name doesn’t suit you, nor does your hair. That’s two strikes – you’re out.

I, on the other hand, am in every way a silver-haired Michael of the first order, and everyone knows it. I bring a natural energy to the role that few can match.

Seeing as I dominate my name and hair colour so majestically, I think you should change yours. You could become a dusky James or a raven-haired Robert. That ‘s up to you; I wouldn’t dare presume to be so arrogant as to tell you what to do with your own name and hair. But do it fast, before any more damage is done.

In case you’re feeling a little hard done by, I think you should know you’re not the only silver-haired Michael in broadcasting that I’ve got my eye on.

I’d always liked Michael Barrymore, a gay little cockney sparrow. In no way did his knockabout physical comedy and mincing manner pose any sort of threat to my more serious TV persona. Furthermore, his shock of jet-black hair was if anything a lovely reminder of how we TV presenters can be all the non-colours of the rainbow.

In the past few years, however, things have greatly changed. Ever since that poor butcher was found in his pool, buggered senseless, Barrymore has been an outcast in British television, a disgraced pariah, and his hair is beginning to tell the tale. That dark thatch is rapidly greying around the temples, and eager to look suitably penitent, Barrymore has been nowhere near the Grecian 2000. Worse, there has recently been talk of him having a comeback, with a new kind of show. What if it’s more serious? It beggars belief.

I also just want to say: Palin, stick to the travelogues. Caine, you’re a great actor, but do you really think you could read an autocue? Yeah, right! Buerk, your weighty tone is right for news, but interviewing Nina Myskow, you’d be fucked.

No, I’m British broadcasting’s premier silver-haired Michael. The rest of you can fuck off.


By serial killer Alan Hudd

Hi, I’m Alan Hudd, the notorious serial killer. You’ve probably heard of me. I killed over 40 men, women and children in the states of North Dakota, Minnesota and Idaho between March 1999 and October 2004.

Now I’m on death row, awaiting execution any day. This is undoubtedly the end for me; my lawyers keep saying that they can try one final appeal but we all know that it’s never going to happen!But before I leave this earth, there’s something I’ve got to make clear to everyone: something that needs to be said. What? No, I’m not going to apologise for my crimes. So I brutally butchered a few kids. Boo hoo; go tell it to your mama!

No, what has greatly upset me is that some people have described my pattern of murders as "seemingly random, with no prior thought". Not true at all! Throughout my homicidal time, I always strived to be as even-handed and racially inclusive as possible. For too long now, serial killings have been far too exclusive in approach: "X only beheaded Jews", "Y always murdered white women" etc – get out of the dark ages!

Attitudes like that should have been left behind back in the 1960’s! No, what we need is a more progressive approach to multiple murders, taking into account all the wonderful colours of people who stand on our great earth. And I won’t shy away from saying it: If that means positive discrimination and the dreaded ‘quota system" then so be it!

But in my own career, such measures were never needed. I strangled a black girl in Minneapolis, set fire to a young Bangladeshi immigrant in Fargo and sodomised a rabbi in St Paul’s, alongside the countless white victims I encountered. My attitude has always been one of tolerance - as Shakespeare put it, "If you prick us, do we not bleed?" (Yes, very heavily – try cleaning it off leather some time!)

In fact, racial diversity can really liven up a serial killer’s work – you never know what you’re going to see next. And what’s more, some of my best victims were black. Some people think black people would be too tough to show you they’re scared, but believe you me, when you get out that chainsaw, the piss will be running down their leg as fast as any Caucasian!

So come on, serial killers of the world! I implore you - start killing across racial barriers for all our children’s futures. Thank you.




Present are Jack Steinbaum, executive producer, Michael Saint, producer, Bill Freely, writer and Steven Seagal, lead actor and executive producer.

10:31 am: Coffee and croissants are offered. All accept bar Mr Seagal, who asks for a glass of French tap water. Apologising profusely, Mr Steinbaum explains that they do not have any at present, and then sends an intern out to France.

10:39: The meeting begins. The main item of discussion is the current draft of the script, which has caused disagreement amongst Mr Seagal on the one side, and Mr Saint and Mr Freely on the other.

10:42: Mr Steinbaum outlines the disagreement: Whereas Mr Freely has written a tight, entertaining script about a white policeman who has to go undercover in the world of black music to infiltrate a top criminal organisation, Mr Seagal thinks that the new draft has put his character, Tommy Riolla (AKA "Tha Riol 1") in a bad light, which will lead audiences to look on him less favourably.

10:47: Mr Seagal concurs. He feels that in the new draft "Riolla is a pussy" who "no real Seagal fan is going to believe in".

10:49: Mr Steinbaum asks Mr Seagal to expound on his reasons for reaching that decision.

10:50: Mr Seagal feels that the scene early on in the film where Riolla is blasted out by an angry black lieutenant for blowing up the precinct is kind of cool in that it shows he is a bad ass who will do whatever it takes to get his man, and approves of his comeback to the Lieutenant’s threat that "next time it’s going to be your badge!" with "I never collected badges anyway".

However, Mr Seagal still feels that the very fact the police sergeant even raises his voice at him may undermine his authority. As Mr Seagal sees it, the lieutenant would be too scared to even mention it, despite the millions of dollars of criminal damage caused.

10: 55 Mr Seagal agrees to the dressing down as long as the lieutenant says it with a shaky voice and a tear in his eye.

10:56: Mr Seagal also approves of the fact that three female characters who Riolla encounters in the film are all attracted to him; one who he is flattered by but rejects (though his contract still stipulates that she is an ex-Playboy playmate), one who is killed, and one who he eventually has sex with.

However, Mr Seagal is alarmed that there is a delivery girl who brings him a parcel in the second act who in no way seems to be overcome by his total manliness. He feels that she should either make it clear that she wants him right there and then, or wear a boiler suit, shaved head etc, to underline her lesbianity.

11:00 It is agreed that the delivery girl will look at Mr Seagal and lick her lips seductively.

11:01: Mr Seagal said nothing, but stared out of the window intently for nine minutes.

11:10: In one of the film’s key scenes, Riolla is "beaten in" by a Los Angeles street gang. This shows that white Riolla has been accepted by the black gang – a rare honour. It is also in line with Freely’s research that this is what would really happen.

Mr Seagal is very unhappy about this. He feels that the gang would be too scared of him to even suggest the initiation, let alone go through with it. Even if there were ten of them, he feels that the audience will be unable to get their heads around how Riolla could possibly lose.

11:13 Mr Freely and Mr Saint strongly disagree. They feel that the scene is vital for a number of reasons.

11:15 Looking for some compromise, Mr Seagal wonders whether it might be made clear that Riolla is at all times letting the gang assault him – and possibly even have some apologise to him in trembling voices as they commit their cowardly act. Mr Seagal even mooted the idea of one of the gang visibly urinating themselves in fear of Riolla, though this was universally shouted down.

11:29 Mr Seagal agrees to the scene on the provisos that there are 30 men, he still gives as good as he gets for much of the fight, and at least two gang members get seriously injured.

11:41 Mr Seagal feels that a scene where Mr Riolla argues with long time mentor Jake Steel, ending in Steel reminding him "You can’t walk on water, you know!" is flawed, as it clearly isn’t true.

11:54 Mr Seagal feels that the character of E Zee Dogg, the rapper who he teams up with to beat the bad guys, is given too much dialogue. When they are on screen together, Dogg gets 4% more lines than Riolla – Mr Seagal has looked into it.

He also feels that Dogg does not show him enough, respect, particularly disliking the line "Now, you'se my dogg!" This line was meant to show that Riolla and Dogg had got over the racial barrier between them, but Mr Seagal feels that some fans could think he is being likened to a household pet. Mr Seagal feels that the dynamic between them should be reshaped into something more like teacher and pupil; perhaps Riolla teaches Dogg how to read?

12:02 Everyone else strongly disagrees.

12:04 Intern returns from France with tap water.


By Dennis Haskins, better known as Saved by the Bell’s "Mr Belding"

Hi, I’m Dennis Haskins. You may know me better by my alter ego, the larger than life headmaster in Saved by the Bell, Mr Belding. For over a decade now, I’ve been keeping my wacky pupils in line, as that loveable bunch of tearaways try (and fail!) to pull the wool over my eyes.

I’ve been there to dispense much-needed fatherly advice where appropriate, but also to show that I can be one of the gang too with some hilarious one-liners and gentle put-downs when the guys get a little too fresh! I remember one time I was announcing at an assembly that the vegetarian society where looking for new members. I quipped, "All they are saying is give peas a chance" and almost brought the house down!

But there could be tears too as I helped Zack realise the depth of his feelings for Kelly, or young Brian (season seven) get over the death of his grandmother.And what about me and Screech? First as pupil, then as fellow teacher, we were a dynamite double act that recalled Laurel & Hardy or Sonny and Cher in their prime. At times you’d be forgiven for forgetting there were any pupils, as us teachers kept stealing the show!

Alas, time passes, and after three different generations of pupils have passed through the doors of Bayside (with me, I might add, as the one rock of consistency in those ever-changing times), the powers that be at NBC have decided to put the show out to pasture. Well, I can’t say I entirely blame them, there’s only so many adventures a loveable rogue, jock, geek, slut and girl next door can keep having!

However, I do think that they may have been a little rash in simply deciding that that’s it for all of the characters involved. It shows a lack of vision just to say "We’re cancelling Saved by the Bell, so that’s it for all the old Bayside regulars". Do I have to remind everyone of a certain little show called Frasier?

And that’s where I step in. I could be the next Frasier. All I need is a new set-up! Maybe my wife’s died and I’m moving to a new high school in South Central LA. Gives me a chance for some great Dangerous Minds-style "reaching out to my homies" emotional moments as well as some hilarious scenes where I bond with my afro-American pupils by wearing shades and a backwards baseball cap and saying "Yo!" a lot.

Alternatively, maybe I need a whole new kind of challenge. Maybe Belding has left high school teaching to teach at a college like UCLA or Yale. That way we can allow for some more sophisticated humour, maybe even a romance between Belding and a very hot 21-year-old student (handled sensitively, of course).

Or maybe now I’m a newspaper columnist in Chicago! A weatherman in Detroit! I return to my old hometown and take over as sheriff! Or I have to look after a South American street child under the terms of a will! The possibilities are endless!So come on NBC, what do you say? You don’t really want to miss out on the next Frasier, do you? No, I thought not. And the title? Well, I kind of like "Belding", it really has a ring to it.


First birthday. There have been 1433 posts so far. Going to re-post a few things from a year ago.


"We will never surrender to Britain!"


The Theory

By putting a range of popular first names, both male and female, into Google Images, but without surnames, one should in theory be accurately able to conclude who is the most famous person in the world with that name.

The Results

Obviously this could go on forever, so I limited ito a random ten.

John - John H Glenn, astronaut (deceased).

Peter - Peter Kay

Simon - Simon Cowell

Keith - Keith Urban

Chris - Chris Brown

Jane - Jane Seymour

Susan - Susan Ward (she was Meg in Sunset Beach and hot)

Claire - Claire Danes

Paula - Paula Devicq (?) beat Paula Abdul

Helen - Helen Hunt.

P.S: This was the fifth Helen image...