Piccadilly et al

And so the day arrived. My planning and rehearsals and practice. I got changed in a newspaper vendors booth, which surprised me and him. After all, it's not many sellers who have a world class actor disrobe and place a flan on his head.

Then onto Piccadilly itself. Oh, the rush. The uninhibited exhibitionism I felt I cannot convey in words. Imagine being on a Rollercoaster while eating a roast beef platter. That was the feeling. Although the potatoes probably weren't done the way I like them. I think if you cook them in a garlic butter instead of a standard fat mixture, you get a more flavoursome result. You try telling the so-called Chefs that in these places and they get all hoity-toity about it. I've been cooking my potatoes like that for years, and apart from one incident of Berri Berri with no ill effects.

It was about now I was arrested. I have to say there's a lot written about a Police state, and I didn't agree with them or believe in such a thing, but the actual monstrosity of being manhandled into a van, naked, my flan laying crushed on the floor seemed to indicate otherwise. Savagery. The Illuminati. You wouldn't have got this treatment in Columbo.

Upon reciept of my one phone call I called 'Tatchelliski' and told him my predicament. Which was met by howls of laughter and not the supportive swing into action I had expected. It was then I smelled something of a rat. He sounded exactly like Charles Dance. "You stupid cock!" said Dance, yielding to his native cockney tones "We was yanking your chain". The line went dead.

The papers of course had a field day. In my haste to get the characterisation right, I had forgotten to have anything to actually say what cause I was supporting, and very little chance to articulate it because the Filth arrived. I would like to say I was not sexually liasing with a flan in anyway whatsoever.

This is not the first time Dance has stitched me up, as he would put it, 'like a kipper'.