Venial and Trustworthy Messengers,

I finished reading Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha by Roddy Doyle. It is a fine book. It’s set in 1968 when Paddy is 10 years old. Doyle captures the thought process of a 10 year old growing up perfectly whilst telling the story through the eyes of Paddy. There’s a real mix of emotions felt by Paddy and the reader as he enjoys the warmth of family life before watching it deteriorate. It’s often quite funny but ultimately sad. Paddy doesn’t always deserve sympathy, for instance, in his battle for popularity in the schoolyard, but that’s why this book is so good, it is hugely realistic and accurate.

I was given the task of going to Kirkcaldy to buy a new football for our 5-a-side group. Driving was boring, the tedium was not aided by the fact that Fife Council have decided to dig up every road ever laid; Fife Council work in small spurts They must have decided to get all the work finished during the final throes of summer to enable them to sit inside until April, they’ll only venture outside for a bit of fly-tipping between now and then. Of course, come the start of April, they always realise that they haven't done anything and have major budget underspend, so they have to waste money extravagantly and quickly, so they dig up every road in sight again and create new disastrous traffic-calming road layouts.

Once in Kirkcaldy, I was asked for directions to the pet shop by a man. I reckon I am approached by complete strangers for this kind of job (give directions, take a photo etc) more often than anyone else. I don’t know why, maybe I look smarter than everyone else or perhaps I appear common (scruffy) enough to be approachable. I’m not very good at giving directions. I had to hide once when I gave someone rubbish directions, later I had to go somewhere near where they wanted to go and saw them still wandering about lost. Once, I also gave two people brilliantly precise directions to a certain street and then after they’d gone off, I remembered that I had confused their intended destination with another street.

In the sports shop, the manager was arguing with four men, he shouted ‘I do not operate a barter system.’ which was funny at the time.

I went in every clothes shop on the way back to the car. There must be some shop where I can buy the clothes that I’d like to. I don’t particularly need anything. I regretted going in the expensive shop, so fashionable that whole shelves are dedicated to single baseball caps. They stared at me in a manner that suggested that they didn’t think I belonged in their shop. My t-shirt cost £4 and the ones on sale cost £60 but I can buy and sell anyone now and again. I slid out - their loss.

The Bellyaches Music Prize winning My Latest Novel’s single did not receive the praise it deserved on 6Music’s Roundtable. Steve Lurpak ought to have lamped his guest Christian Reilly.

Football did not go well, every time I went forward, the guy who likes to think of himself as the best player was organising a pantomime in defence.

Rebus is on television but they always maul the plot of the novels, the drivel-box is hardly worth bothering with.