Midnight hour seX factor

Oh, those murky hours between midnight and dawn... Sleepy hours... dreamy hours... working hours, for some unlucky sods...

Sometimes sexy hours, too... As I was hoping last night. I had just left the X Factor rehearsals and was making myself comfortable at the back of Simon Cowell's limo, sipping Krug and smacking my lips appropriately, when I was nudged. Quite unceremoniously. It was more like a shove, actually.

The limo's door opened, I was shoved again (quite unceremoniously), and my big bum made a loud splat on meeting the pavement. Tut, tut, not what you want at 1am but helps you wake up.

Max's face was looming over me and as I was still in a sexy mood... but then I remembered...

The midnight hour is download hour - until dawn we get our downloads for free. And it was my turn to get up.

So much for Mr Cowell. Maybe just as well. I only sing when I'm shaving - not sure he'd appreciate my hairy legs... As for my singing - let's just say my legs are much more impressive (in terms of hairiness, that is).

When life tastes of brown...

How to save the pennies when on holiday in Africa? Easy...

Firstly, it rained so no money spent on beach parasols and sun loungers.

Secondly, got food poisoning so saved on food, and water was cheap as chips. The little I could manage tasted of brown (yes, that's right, the supposedly chocolate ice-cream tasted just as I said - of brown) or, in the case of local biscuits, it was like licking the shelf in the spice cupboard. Trying to eat the local meat was like chewing on wee-stained old man's slippers that had been shuffling around for ten years or so.

Thirdly, bought no souvenirs 'cause couldn't cope with being hassled at the souks.

All in, a financial success.

Oh, nearly forgot. The bastard sat next to me on the flight back gave me the flu.

Suppose I'm still in a shitty mood over this...