Door-to-door kidneys

I need to pay more attention to what I'm agreeing to do. Kidney Research UK asked me to help raise money for them, and I thought it was selling raffle tickets. Turns out it's putting little envelopes through doors on this street, and then going round a few days later to ask for them back, preferably bulging with money. I'm not sure I can do this. Pestering people I know to buy raffle tickets is fine, but going round to strangers' houses and demanding money?

It'll have to wait till I get back from Germany, anyway. I'm busy working out how I'm going to write this 50,000 word novel before the end of November - I've been busy tonight getting my stuff ready for tomorrow, then I'm up at the crack of dawn to get the plane, the next four days are crammed with wholesome activities, then Monday I'm coming home, and Tuesday I'm back at work. I'll take a pen and paper with me and do some frantic scribbling, but I'm going to be playing catch-up on the 1667 words a day for the rest of the month.

I know what I'm going to write though. It's tentatively called "Sympathy", and it's a proper serious book. I can't write things that aren't silly and nonsensical - when I try, I always hate how it comes out, so this exercise will hopefully cure me of the tendency to give up just because what I've written is rubbish. This is an important ability for any writer.

Trick or treat?

I've never been trick-or-treating, actually. Some kids did it even back in the olden days when I was young, but I lived in the middle of nowhere, and you really need neighbours if you're going to successfully demand sweets with menaces. I'm not sure I like the idea of threatening mischief if you don't get goodies - the more zoomy way to go about it is to be so incredibly cute and lovely that people give you sweets anyway. I do have a really cool rubber monster mask, though. Grr!

Anyway, I've got to pack for my trip to Germany some time. Tomorrow night, probably, because I'm very busy watching football at the moment. I should be doing a bit of mental calculation practice, really, because I haven't done enough (concentrating on the memory), but never mind. It wouldn't make a lot of difference, anyway. This involves the eternal dilemma of which T-shirts to take with me. You'd be surprised how much thought I can put into what to wear when I go away. It mainly involves remembering what I was wearing last time I met whoever I'm going to see, and picking something else. I don't own many clothes, so by carefully keeping track of what people have seen me wearing what, I can create the illusion of having a full wardrobe. Of shirts, anyway. I've only got one really wearable pair of non-work trousers at the moment, seeing as the hole in the crotch of my grey ones has reached the kind of level where you don't really want to be seen outdoors wearing them. Perhaps I should buy some more.

You'd better believe me, I'm a great big deal

I'm undecided about whether or not to be famous. By which I mean, I'm thinking about going in for self-publicity, to see whether I like it or not. Radio Derby asked me to let them know what happens with these competitions in Germany back when I was doing the Alzheimer's interviews, and I normally wouldn't bother, but I'm thinking that maybe I should. The logic behind it is that if I'm actually going to sit down and write this How To Be Clever book like I've been saying I would for ages, it would probably stand a better chance of being published if someone had heard of me. And I really could get into newspapers and on the local telly and things just by dropping them a line to say I'm great, write about me. It doesn't take much to get into the news around here.

Trouble is, I can't really get past the idea that it's horrifically big-headed to do something like that. It really isn't me, anyway. And I have the delusion that people look up to me as a shining example of self-effacing modesty, so I'd hate to lose the imaginary respect of this mass of adoring non-existent fans just to see a bad photo of me in the local free paper. What I need, in fact, is a publicist - someone who will send out press releases and things about my exploits, and ignore me when I tell them not to, for my own good. That way I can still convince myself that I'm not doing this kind of thing for glory's sake, and yet still become a real semi-celebrity and sell anything up to a couple of dozen copies of my book.

Trevor McDonald

The Royle Family special was very good, but I hope they don't do any more. I'd hate to see it become another Only Fools And Horses and keep getting resurrected every couple of years in increasingly awful last-ever-episodes. I hate seeing a great sitcom stretched out beyond its natural lifespan. Last Of The Summer wine is the exception, obviously, but then it was never all that funny to start with, so it's not such a big deal if it isn't funny today. And there's still plenty of time to stop doing the Royles before it becomes an Institution with a capital I.

Sorry for the brief and unilluminating post tonight, it's late and I've got to go back to rotten old work tomorrow.