Old Boot Camp

Has anyone seen that TV magician Dynamo? His tricks are great but when he talks...well, let's just say the magic goes. You'd think someone with that much talent could conjure up a personality. And how comes he can walk on water but can't pronounce his rs.
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I'm not obsessed by The Only Way Is Essex, honest. But it seems that everywhere I go round here I'm destined to bump into the oddly coloured cast and crew of this particular programme.
Popped in for a coffee in the road that used to be my local high street, Buckhurst Hill. The local paper proudly reported, this week, that this road now has 13 hair salons.
This is a street with around 50 shops in all so one in four is now a place to get your hair done. And yet so many seem to have blonde highlights that looks like straw growing through tarmac.
I was standing outside chatting to my old primary school teacher who was on her way to pilates (which I want to pronounce to rhyme with pirates) when that strange one from TOWIE walked past. Which strange one? The tall dark haired skinny bird who has had so much work done she has lips like Daffy Duck with a touch of the former Libyan leader's melted face look thrown in - Gadaffi Duck if you will.
And she was wearing a dressing gown.
Soon the whole lot were milling round the street, all in dressing gowns.
Then back home I'm walking past a clothes shop and some second rate paparazzi are outside waiting for Sam or someone to come out of the shop. She's being filmed inside buying underwear, apparently.
So I take the dog for a walk in the forest and come to a clearing and there is a group of people wearing high vis vests saying 'Loughton Boot Camp' hopping through tyres.
Looking closely I see that instead of a bunch of fat people getting slim, it's once again the cast of TOWIE in perfect make up, running around picking up logs.
I looked up Loughton Boot Camp and they claim to be based in a lodge in the middle of Epping Forest. As far as I'm aware there is no lodge in the middle of Epping Forest.
They are obviously holed up in a house round here somewhere but instead of using their own grounds, they run around the public forest for free shouting 'shu'up' and 'reem' while bench pressing a semi decaf moccachino.
It's getting so bad that the last time I popped in to get a paper I ended up with a burnt ochre St Tropez spray tan and a vajazzle.
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The news is begin to confuse me. I don't understand why a load of people in tents means a load of blokes in dresses have to resign. I don't understand why the Greeks can't work beyond lunch and pay tax and I don't understand why someone doesn't just punch Hugh Grant in the face.
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Perhaps the answer is to treat every world event in a Homer Simpson manner. The Greeks are going bust. D'oh. But the rest of Europe will help them out. Woo hoo. But they are going to have a referendum to see if they want to be helped out. D'oh. But that doesn't matter because the Chinese say they'll prop them up. Er, woo hoo?
Hugh Grant is a dad. Woo hoo. But it's the result of a brief fling. D'oh. But he'll play his part in his upbringing. Woo hoo. By popping round for an hour every few months between playing golf and leading the fight against corruption in the world's media. D'oh.
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Is there a more useless sop to 'doing the right thing' than that most nonsensical of small print additions to alcohol ads, Drink Responsibly? We're offering ten cans of extra strong lager for 10p. Drink Responsibly. Come to our arms fair and buy lots of lovely weapons of mass destruction. Nuke Responsibly. This set of steak knives will be the only knives you'll ever need. Stab Responsibly.
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Off to Rome for a few days, as it's somewhere I've never been. That's me, an atheist Jew and the missus, a lapsed Catholic. I'll blog on it when I get back. Read Responsibly....Solly