The eyes are gradually returning to normal after the laser surgery and I've suddenly discovered I have eyebrows like the Archbishop of Canterbury, so they've got to go. And this haircut. Jeez. It may look okay with the speccy image but not any longer. So that old adage about men ending up with the haircut they had when they were 21 might be true, though I may forego the blonde highlights.
And while I'm at it, have I always had those bags under my eyes and crow's feet at the edge? How much is botox? This could be a slippery road.
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All this fuss about my peepers has made me neglect this blog so I hope I can get back to doing it daily if you'll allow me to.
Today is my wife's birthday. As well as that of Britney Spears. Do you think they could be twins?
It must be nice to share your birthday with someone famous. Me? I've got Cliff Michelmore, Brenda Lee and Nigel Winterburn so I really got the dregs of the celebrity barrel whereas my mate Stuart Selner shares his with former President Jimmy Carter and Dame Julie Andrews (as well as Robert Shepherd, ex Ilford County and now on the News of the World.) Stuart sees this as a form of oneupmanship for some reason. That's what boys are like, always cheap point scoring. But then he's a four eyed git and I now have 20/20 vision!
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Interesting exchange on Sky News the other day as I woke up with better vision to be confronted by the sight of Eamonn Holmes, a man for whom flatscreen TV seems a misnomer. He had a journalist from the New Statesmen on the sofa with some blonde autocutie journalist from Sky and they were talking about the BBC running the Panorama programme on FIFA fixing.
The blonde, and I really don't know her name, said she thought the BBC should have held on to the report until after the World Cup and you could see the real journalist next to her almost visibly scoff.
I'm with him. What's the point of doing the report AFTER FIFA's result and, second, what kind of journalist would ever suggest holding off a genuine story on FIFA corruption to avoid embarassing FIFA, for goodness sake. Sky is turning into Fox.
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Talking of which. Wikileaks. Don't care if loads of the revelations were obvious (Russia is run by the Mafia, the French smell of garlic, James Corden isn't funny, bears shit in the wood etc). It was a damn good story and the fact that it annoyed Sarah Palin is good enough for me.
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It's Christmas and I'll avoid the obvious blogger remarks but I went up (or down?) Oxford Street this week, during lunch, and it was surprisingly quiet. Even at the Tottenham Court Road end - or as it's known by Londoners, 'the Chav End' where they sell knock off perfume and men shout at you through loudspeakers.
That's my analytical research into the economic situation. It's quieter than last year.
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Over the last week three journalists who I have worked with have passed on, the latest being Lester Middlehurst, possibly the campest man in Fleet Street at a time when the industry tried its very best to be as macho as it could be. The full details are not out but his death seems particular tragic and sad.
Before that was Jim Lewthwaite who, I remember from when I was on The Sun, was 'retired' by phone while he was on the train going home one night after decades of service. Enough reporters made a fuss about this that he was taken out for lunch and fired properly!
Both will be missed....cheers, Solly
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