You'd think a Sunday morning trip to a preview of the soon-to-open local country park with my Dad ( who was celebrating his birthday) would be pretty unremarkable and in the large part, it was. The local community television network was there interviewing the few people that had bothered to turn up, including my Dad, who was the most handsome, articulate and intelligent respondent of all. I watched him with pride. I can see now where I get my camera presence (!?) from. I had no desire to give my two penneth, mainly 'cos my paltry knowledge wasn't worth even that much. So it only took her once to ask me if I wanted a go, before I was reapplying my lip gloss and ad-libbing ( no autocue this time) to camera. I'm not sure the hastily applied make-up will differentiate me from the middle-aged ( I'm being kind) bearded blokes but at least I tried.

I left not before getting her to commit in principle to filming our Comedy Night next week. I don't think anyone watches it but it might excite the audience. They haven't had any media attention since the chemical works blew up in the neighbouring village 30-odd years ago. Come to think of it, they haven't had much excitement since then either.

That over, I flew back to pick up a mud-splattered Jack, losing half my exhaust en route, had a quick costume change before heading out to an authentic Indian lunch lovingly cooked by Surinder for me, Moustache Mark and about 80 of her closest friends. She'd pledged to donate any money they raised to Darb's Leukaemia Fund, so I had double, if not triple helpings. My charitable nature knows no bounds. She raised £750.

The media theme has continued into this afternoon when someone sent me the contact details of a bloke who I vaguely knew years ago, who now works for the Press Association. I emailed him. I wasn't certain whether he'd be willing or able to help, or even that he'd remember me. I added a postscript that I thought we'd shared a snog once, in the hope that it might just help my cause.
I sat back and waited. And waited. And waited. And in the time it has taken you to read the last line, I'd had a reply. Clearly my kiss had left an impression. It took less than a minute for him to get back to me. It was so quick I assumed it was an Out of Office AutoReply.

I've had 7 more emails so far this afternoon, providing direct contacts to each prime time news show in the area, with the names of presenters, producers and editors. I've had tips, suggestions and promises to send the information to other entertainment forums. Proving it's not what you know, but who you very nearly slept with that gets you ahead every time.