Dear me

This is twice in the last couple of weeks I've nearly forgotten to write my blog last thing at night. You'd think it would be a matter of routine by now. So I'm forced to dash something off while playing othello and watching football. Tell you what, I'll just write this measly little paragraph tonight, and do a really big and interesting blog entry tomorrow, okay?

I'm a writer!

Woohoo! You all thought I'd never do it, but yes, I've finished the rough draft of How To Be Clever that was going to take me a week or so to put together when I first started talking about it back in 2003 or thereabouts! Wow, what am I going to do with all the time every day that I previously spent not writing my book?

Well, for starters, there's another Online Memory Challenge tomorrow. Please do come along and have fun!

Yesterday and today

Other things worth mentioning about yesterday - the uni provided biscuits and crisps at the demo. That's a first. And they also put up posters all over the place promising a presentation by "James Paterson, a memory champion". Also, they gave us a bottle of wine, a box of chocolates and a thank-you card. I took the chocolates.

As for today, I found out that I've got a second interview, on Monday, for that job that I really liked the sound of at Gardner Aerospace, so everyone has to cross their fingers for me. But not particularly tightly or fervently, because I've also got a temp job at Saint Gobain Piping out in the wilds near Ilkeston, starting on Tuesday - just for a month, and it's just making sense of badly-recorded payments to customers, but it'll keep me off the streets. And who knows, it might even be fun - it'll be a lot of playing with Excel and reconciling numbers, and I do love that kind of thing. I'd still prefer the Gardner job to work out, though. The 'interview' for this temp job today consisted of me sitting in the boss's office while he told me anecdotes about people he's worked with and then offered me the job. I hardly said two words. Some short-term jobs don't bother with an interview at all, but perhaps he just wanted to know what I look like before he hired me.

Tomorrow, book finished. Weekend, book sent to anyone who wants to read and criticise it for me. Also I might look in to getting it published, but then again I might not. I'm not sure I can really be bothered with that, all I care about at this point is finally doing this thing I've been vaguely meaning to do for so long.

Earthquaaaaaake!

I was late going to bed last night, as I always am when I know I need to be up early in the morning, so I was just dozing off at just before one o'clock in the morning, when I was woken up again by the bed shaking. It only lasted a few seconds, but it was really weird - I've never felt an earthquake before. So that's another thing I can add to my list of life experiences.

If there hadn't been an earthquake last night, this blog would have been called "Green Egs And Ham", because we went to Royal Holloway University in Egham today for another memo demo. This one went really well - sixty people rather than six, and they all seemed to have a good time. And I won the journey-home Tetris tournament 43-23.

And tomorrow it's another middle-of-nowhere interview, for a temp job this time. It's a hectic life, considering I'm unemployed. But progress is still being made with the book. Friday, definitely, final deadline, all finished. Probably.

Well, I think it's a silly name

Breedon-on-the-Hill is sort of on a hill, I suppose. It's higher up than the villages around it, anyway. But the thing is, there's another, larger hill right behind it. So if you stand in Breedon and look north, it looks like you're actually down at the bottom of a hill. When I go to a village that has 'on-the-Hill' as part of its name, I expect to be able to look downwards from all directions!

Apart from that, it's a very nice place - one of those old-fashioned, impossibly picturesque places that looks too timeless to be real. I had lunch in a pub where even a five-foot-eight man like me has to duck low roof beams all over the place. Even the aggregates-and-building-materials company I was being interviewed at has its head office in the old manor house, Breedon Hall. It's all very pretty.

The job doesn't impress me so much now I know more about it, though. To be honest, I'd rather not get this one.

Brum

Today's trip to Birmingham University got off to a cracking start. I realised when I got to the train station that I'd left my hat at home. This is, obviously, preferable to leaving it on the train, but it was still annoying, especially since Emma from ITV was coming to film the memo demo, as a taster for the genius documentary. I get very few opportunities to wear my poor hat on TV without people complaining that it shadows my face because of the bright studio lights. Still, I managed to meet up with James and catch our train without any real difficulty, and we spent the short trip up to Birmingham discussing various memory-related topics.

As we were getting off the train at New Street, the man who'd been sitting opposite us and listening in on our conversation said "Excuse me, isn't that your bag?" I'd very nearly left my trusty rucksack, containing my laptop, on the overhead rack. "And you're the memory man!" added the observant gentleman. He obviously thought we'd just been having him on about the whole memory thing. I don't know which would have been more devastating, the loss of my expensive laptop or the loss of my beloved falling-to-pieces rucksack.

Waiting for Emma in the pub at New Street station, we had a go on a quiz machine. One of the questions it posed us was "Who won the men's Wimbledon championship in 1975?"

I grinned at James, who has memorised all the post-war Wimbledon winners for the purposes of our university demos, and said "Hah, great question!" He replied "Um..."

He did get it, just in the time limit, so we both avoided a lot of memory-related embarrassment before the demonstration started. We met up with Emma, got down to the university, prepared our powerpoint demonstrations, had lunch, met up with Other James, found the room and were all ready to begin with plenty of time to spare, for a change. Also for a change, nobody from the university staff came to talk to us. James had been dealing with a Jo, and he did speak to him/her/it on the phone once, briefly, but otherwise we were left to our own devices entirely.

It then turned out that the university hadn't advertised the memory performance at all, and they'd scheduled it to start two hours after lectures finished for the day, so nearly everybody had gone home. We got a whopping six people in the audience, two of whom had to leave early for a seminar. So, all in all, not the best of our demonstrations to have Emma filming. Nonetheless, it all went well. We educated and astounded, as usual, and of the brave six who knew the event was happening and hung around to watch it, at least a couple were very enthusiastic about memory, keen to take part in the upcoming university championship, and happy to spread the good word. So I'd still say the day was a success. Who knows, we might have a future world champion there!

And no long train journeys or overnight stays, either. All universities should be so close to Derby. Tomorrow, I've got this interview in Breedon-on-the-Hill, the most isolated and difficult-to-get-to place in the world. Still, beggars and unemployed accountants who need the money can't be choosers, and it's a good job with good pay. Maybe I could relocate to somewhere closer. Or learn how to teleport instantly from place to place.

Enormous throbbing pens

Another reason why I need a job is because I need to be able to steal pens from the office. I get through biros at a terrible rate - they either disappear or mysteriously break in half when I experiment with them to see how far they'll bend before they break. I bought a couple recently, and now I can't find the things. This is all the more annoying, because there are only two places I ever put pens - on my desk where I memorise things, or on the kitchen counter where I leave whatever I empty out of my pockets. Or occasionally here on the settee if I have occasion to write anything when I'm watching telly or talking on the phone. And yet the things disappear. Perhaps they're running away before I accidentally break them in half.

And no, the book isn't finished. But it is very, very nearly finished and I've done a lot of work on it today and it'll be finished very, very soon! Now I must go, the football's on telly.

A New Dial

Somehow, in the course of a very brief chat on Radio Derby this morning, I announced to the world that I want an old-fashioned telephone with a dial rather than buttons. This is true, and it's been on my mind since I found to my delight that there is one, and a working one at that, at Dundee university. So when Sally Pepper mentioned them in the interview, naturally I felt it necessary to expand at length on how cool they are.

You see 'retro-style' phones for sale in gimmick shops, but those are very tacky things with buttons arranged in the style of a dial. Very phoney and tasteless, and I wouldn't touch them with a bargepole.

I just said 'phoney' in a blog about telephones, and didn't realise that there was a pun there.

Anyway, my current phone isn't tacky at all - it's a very stylish transparent plastic one with coloured LEDs that light up when it rings. But I would cheerfully dump it for one with a real dial if I found one lying around.

I won't go looking for one just yet, though. If I stay at home and don't do anything else all day, I could finish my book tomorrow. That's the plan, anyway.

Has it really been that long?

I've been doing this blog, every night except those nights when I didn't, for over two and a half years now! The time has just flown by, hasn't it?

Anyway, the interview today went pretty well, I think. I'm hopeful of getting a second interview at least for it, and Ilkeston seems like a nice place to work - I've never been there before, but it's populated by at least one person who recognised me from the telly, and another who admires people who wear Blue Peter badges. I'm sure the town would embrace me with open arms. And try to steal my badge, possibly.

Anyway, the weekend beckons, and things need to be done. Especially the book, I'm running out of excuses to justify to myself not having finished it yet. Especially since I stressed in the interview today how good I am at getting things done to tight deadlines. Funnily enough, in my accountant persona I really am very good at that, it's just normal-Zoomy who can't get his book-writing act together.

Busy day

Right, things I've arranged today - interview at Gardner Aerospace in Ilkeston tomorrow (roughly seven month thing covering maternity leave), interview of another kind on Radio Derby on Saturday (so, mister memory, just how can we remember those important anniversaries and names? Exactly the kind of thing I normally turn down, but a bit of self-publicity is important if we're going to get people to give us money for demonstrations/competitions in the near future), ITV coming to film us doing a uni demonstration at Birmingham on Monday, interview of the first kind in the middle of nowhere on Tuesday.

Also, I think I might have developed the ability to do a 'safe' speed cards run in under 30 seconds. Or maybe it just went extraordinarily well today with the three packs I attempted. We'll see - this was the first practice I've done for much too long, so I need to get back into things.

Interesting statistic

The train journey from Dunbar to Derby is precisely long enough to play 76 head-to-head games of DS Tetris. I would record for posterity which of me and James won the epic championship 40-36, but it wasn't me, so I won't.

One of these days, I'll find the time to write in detail about a uni demo, because today's was a lot of fun. However, today isn't one of these days, because it's late and I've only just got home. Tomorrow might be one of these days, though.

The Labour Party hates me

Let's have a lunchtime blog, just for a change, since this afternoon I'm off to Dundee, home of D C Thomson's comic publishing empire and probably other things too, although I don't know of any. It's a long old train journey just to display my memory to a bunch of students, but at least it keeps me off the streets.

There is an airport at Dundee, but apparently you can only fly there from London, and then only if you pay three hundred pounds for the privilege. The uni are paying for our travel, but I think they'd frown on that kind of extravagance. Although lastminute.com did offer me a wonderful route plan when I looked into flying from Birmingham - changing at Edinburgh and London. In that order. Birmingham-Edinburgh-London-Dundee. I was tempted to take it just for the sheer silliness of it.

Anyway, in the post today I got a little leaflet from Labour, very nicely printed, mail merge with my name and everything, they've wasted a very impressive amount of taxpayers' money on it, saying that they're 'on the side of hard-working families in Hartington Street.' There's not a lot of writing on the thing, just a couple of brief paragraphs, but it refers to hard-working families five times.

What have they got against single people? I'm not the only bachelor in the street, there are lots of single people here! Hard-working single people, too! In fact, although I haven't analysed the demographics, most of the street's old Victorian houses are divided up into small flats, so I'd be prepared to bet that the majority of residents around here aren't in fact families.

Well, squish to you, councillor Shiraz Khan and your vague pledges to 'continue improving Arboretum Park', 'start upgrading street lighting' and 'demand more Police Community Support Officers'. I shall jolly well vote for someone who isn't prejudiced against the unmarried!

Employment

At least one, possibly two job interviews tomorrow, depending on whether one agency gets back to me tomorrow morning before I leave for the interview arranged by another agency at another company. Both jobs are in horribly out-of-the-way places that would need me to relocate or cycle long distances if I got them, but hey, beggars can't be choosers.

On the other hand, employment in another sense looks like it might be possible at some point in the future - branching out from our university demos into demos for businesses, charging money this time and justifying it by using this money to subsidise schools demonstrations and competitions. Sounds like it could be fun, although it's a lot of work.

Anyway, going up to Dundee tomorrow night for another uni demonstration, after all the excitement of the interviews. I'll be worn out. Luckily, I've spent all day today reading Harry Potter fan fiction on the internet, just to conserve energy for the rigours ahead.

It's not the winning...

... it's the comforting knowledge that you avoided coming dead last by the narrowest of tie-break margins. So, yes, in terms of othello achievement this weekend wasn't the greatest, but, you know, it really is about the taking part. For the record, I won three and lost eight, and the ones I lost were often quite horrible thrashings generally brought about by stupid mistakes on my part. Still, I found out that I've been featured in Dutch news reports quite a lot recently, and not just for chimp-related reasons, either. And I had a strange dream last night in which Phil Chambers refused to let me audition for his pantomime production of Aladdin, on the grounds that my memory achievements make me too well known - this was apparently the kind of panto that avoids casting celebrities and insists on unknown actors in order to make it more believable. I'm not sure if this is my subconscious reacting badly to my recent fame, or reminding me of my lifelong desire to be a panto actor. Probably both. Aubrey also featured in the dream, now I come to think of it, but I can't remember how. He'd make a good Widow Twankey.

Anyway, I'm feeling all motivated and dynamic go-ahead achieveresque at the moment. There'll be books written, new jobs found, othello transcripts typed up and sent to Geoff, memory training sessions done, all kinds of things. A weekend away does you good. Except from a bank-balance point of view. Really need to do that new-job-finding thing quite soon.

Fame

Would anyone be interested in a Best Of Zoomy DVD? I got a copy of my Richard and Judy appearance in the post today, which I can add to my collection along with The Mentalists, The Memory Chimp and my starring turn on Blue Peter. As soon as I get round to finding an envelope, I'm going to send them to Raggs, who said he'll make copies for anyone who wants one. I know I could do it myself, or make them into torrents and upload them to the internet, if I was a) technically competent and b) not lazy, but this is the only way it's going to get done, believe me.

Anyway, I've done nothing today, no book-writing or anything, so go ahead and shun me. Going down to Cambridge tomorrow, and I think the book's going to still be not-quite-finished by then, but never mind. Who cares about deadlines, eh?

Conundrum

Great episode of Torchwood tonight. The basic plot was basically stolen wholesale from an old Star Trek episode, but the way it was done was very clever and different.

And speaking of remaking classic TV, I did have a friendly chat with the ITV people about documentarising me again, in a subtly different kind of way to The Mentalists. I must be mad. It was annoying enough the first time round.

I'm very disappointed with myself

I had plans for this blog entry tonight. It was going to be titled "Procrastinate? Me?", and then it was going to say "I drew a funny comic, look:", followed by a funny comic. And then I was going to say "Don't worry, I also wrote lots and lots of my book, too. It's nearly finished now."

But what I've actually done all day is non-stop book writing. I didn't have time to draw any silly pictures or anything. It's terrible, it's like I'm a real writer or something. I'm sure it won't last. Especially since it really is nearly finished now.

Well, I've got ITV people coming round tomorrow to talk about another TV show - something about genius, and whether it can be taught. They quite like my approach of saying 'anyone who calls me a genius is obviously a very stupid person' while still bigging up all the genius-like things I do. That always plays well, for some reason. I must have a real genius for coming across as a nice guy.

Spring has sprung!

What a lovely day! All sunny and warm and springy! So, since I woke up with a rotten cold and a headache, I thought a good long cycle ride would help me feel better. I toured all the local villages for a couple of hours, ending up at Elvaston Castle and generally enjoying the charms of nature. Didn't make me feel any better though - now I've got a rotten cold, a headache and stiff knees. I think I'll just go back to bed.

Deadlines! Really this time!

Okay, so last week, when I thought I didn't have any plans, it turned out I had lots of plans that took up practically all of my time. But THIS week, I really don't have any urgent appointments, and so I am really, definitely going to finish my book. Before Friday, when I go down to Cambridge for the weekend's othello tournament. And if I don't, well, then you should refrain from talking to me until I do finish the thing. Send me to Coventry, unless you're one of my friends who live in Coventry, in which case send me somewhere else of your choice.

Or, if you're one of my friends whom I don't like, talk to me more than you usually do, to punish me for my laziness.

Hartlepool Romance

"Lady Hortensia," said the man in the chip shop, "always a pleasure to see you here. I was terribly sorry to hear about your husband. To be sucked into the workings of a street-cleaning machine and torn to ribbons alongside an assortment of damp crisp packets and fallen leaves is probably the worst way a man can die."

"Indeed," said Lady Hortensia. "My husband, of course, was shot dead by a bank robber during a bungled heist, and didn't die in the way you describe at all."

"Yes, I was trying to comfort you with the knowledge that it could have been very much worse," said the man. "Three white pudding suppers as usual?"

"I hardly think it would be appropriate," said Lady Hortensia, icily. "What with my husband dying and that escaped zebra not yet having been recaptured."

"Oh, hadn't you heard? They caught the zebra yesterday. It's back in the box now," said the man in the chip shop's civil partner from the back room.

"Oh," said Lady Hortensia. "I hadn't heard. My husband was always the one who kept track of the status of escaped animals. Dear me, I never considered how inconvenient it would be to be a widow. Will you marry me?"

"No," said the man in the chip shop. "Here are your pudden suppers, perhaps if you take them to Hartlepool and eat them, a passing man will feel sorry for you and propose marriage."

"It's worth a try, I suppose," said Lady Hortensia. She took the newspaper-wrapped revolting suet-based concotions and greasy chips and jumped on board a passing stagecoach bound for Hartlepool.

"Get the bleeding heck off my bleeding stagecoach!" the driver screamed, letting go of the reins and allowing the wildebeest to veer off into a cornfield. "There's no food and drink allowed on my bleeding stagecoach! The vermin! The vermin will overwhelm me, lusting for the fallen morsels you drop in your greedy consumption of your bleeding food! Didn't they teach you about bleeding vermin in school? Get off my bleeding stagecoach this minute!"

"Oh, I do apologise," said Lady Hortensia as the stagecoach careered out of control across the fields, mangling corn, scarecrows and hedges alike under its copper wheels, the wildebeest, free from the tyrannical reins that daily compelled them to follow tedious cobbled streets and asphalted motorways, chasing with gay abandon every blackbird, vulture and pine marten they saw, heedless of any obstacles in their path as they dragged the coach ever further away from its destination and ever closer to Scunthorpe. "I only wanted to visit Hartlepool in an attempt to find a husband. I don't suppose you would like to marry me?" she added as an afterthought.

"Okay then," said the driver, picking up the reins and attempting to return to the Hartlepool road. "I'm free next Saturday. Big church wedding, St Paul's Cathedral, eleven o'clock? Cost you a fiver, but buy a ticket to Hartlepool and you get to marry the driver for half price. Special offer."

"Splendid," said Lady Hortensia. "White pudding?"

"Don't mind if I do," said the driver. And thus they departed along the damp and narrow streets. Lo, Hartlepool! Slumbering city of romance and dreams, do you know, as you awaken this damp and gloomy morning that another stagecoach of love wends its way ever nearer to your towering and broken-glass-studded walls? That the magic of love inspired by your founder, Alan Hartlepool, so many years ago still permeates every mention of the fair city's name? Or have you, in your dank streets and crumbling overcrowded tenements, become so accustomed to the happy endings of your every inhabitant and visitor that you no longer register each miraculous romance as a thing of note, but merely an everyday happenstance? Lo, wildebeest, snorting in the stagecoach reins, your momentary freedom forgotten amid the excitement and smells of this familiar town! Lo, Dennis Boggis, sitting unmentioned in the chip shop throughout the duration of this story! Perhaps you yourself will one day visit Hartlepool and realise that your true destiny lies in street-sweeping rather than chartered accountancy when you get your first glance of the filth-ridden streets of the city of love!