Of course, what happens? I get back a short work email … entirely in Welsh. I can distill the odd phrase or word and get the gist of the email – all but the last sentence.

Now, do I:

- admit defeat, and reveal my inadequateness in using Welsh (after all, I’m not genetically Welsh and haven’t lived in Wales for three years)?
- soldier on, find someone to translate the text for me, and fire off some pithy comeback in Welsh, and keep the illusion going?

Oh, these work dilemmas…

Bah. Time to buy a Ferrari. If I can hear it coming.

GSG2DWS5 has a very short interview with the editor of Doctor Who magazine, Tom Spilsbury. It’s eight questions long, and since one of the questions is: “Do you have a girlfriend at the moment?” (prompted by Mr. Spilsbury, admittedly) we can ascertain it’s not going to win a Pullitzer Prize any time soon.

The highly amusing element is the legal disclaimer at the bottom:

“This interview has been officially endorsed by Tom Spilsbury himself. This is EXCLUSIVE to GSG2DWS5 and we reserve all rights on this interview. Any reproduction of this interview without consent from both GSG2DWS5 and Tom Spilsbury will result in legal action being taken. All Rights Reserved.”

Really…

I would say it’s mildly annoying, but people are generally slightly surprised when I open my mouth and an English accent comes out. (or as someone once said, Ewan McGregor’s voice ?!). And I was surprised when I once bumped into a Chinese guy with a Danish accent.

Hrm…. what do you think?

I’ve come back from two weeks in the United States – one week in Cleveland with HyperHam, and one week with (almost) my entire family exploring New York.

Whilst in New York, I had to pay for wireless Internet access. I ended up paying about $30 for Internet access on three of the five days I was in one of the world’s most amazing cities – although one time was so I could try to check-in for flights online, and another time was for a (failed) job application.

But really, I didn’t HAVE to have Internet access. I just wanted it. and there’s only so much walking around you can do before your legs fall off…

This seems a bit of a shame, since it’s the only forum I can ever remember seeing television people avidly scanning for the latest feedback, rumour and gossip on their production. It’s also possibly the only forum where your level of Doctor Who geekiness can be cemented by confirming each other’s usernames at a party or in a pub. (And this was a WOMAN I was talking to!). For the last four years, after every spring Saturday evening, I’d look up from the computer (after having watched Doctor Who and Doctor Who Confidential, naturally) after scanning the forums to realise it was mdinight.

Having said that, I haven’t logged on for ages, because sometimes the discussion just got far too complicated for me. And it seems my login is constantly disappearing.

When the new series fires up again next year, though, I’ll be avidly wanting to talk about it with like-minded people. (Again). So where will I go this time?

The ongoing saga of MP expenses has opened up a veritable kettle of worms in terms of what people earn, what they expect to earn – and crucially, how that compares to the rest of the population.

The Institute of Fiscal Studies has a handy calculator that compares your income against the British national average (£390 for a two-adult household, after taxes and benefits).

My details against the IFS calculator show that I have a higher income than around 85% of the population. Then again, I’m in a single household with no dependents.

I’m reasonably happy with my salary – I don’t feel rich, but I don’t feel poor either. I’m not buying Tesco Value baked beans, but neither am I buying organically grown gourmet beans flown in from Fiji. But then once I discovered that some people earned far more than I did, I was slightly peeved for a while – for no good reason. My income hadn’t changed at all, but the knowledge that other people were doing far better than I did suddenly started to rankle slightly. For no good reason.

There’s a fascinating – if somewhat biased article – in The Guardian about the *emotional* gap between those working in the City and their reality. How everyone in the City assumes they’re working for a slave’s wage, yet can’t grasp the reality that they are far better off than most people. Because, alas, most people aren’t around them – they only see their peers.

Which is probably why MPs had no clue that the rest of the country would see what they were doing as thieving.

I’m fairly sure most of my friends would consider themselves to be average wage-earners, not earning that much more or less. But then the reality is, in fact, that they’re probably all earning far more than say 75% of the population.

So … I’ve been semi-invited to a Burlesque and Blues night this week – and a Burlesque birthday party in July.

Now, of course, I like seeing scantily-clad ladies disrobing as much as the next heterosexual male – the weekend’s soaring temperatures in London proved that as much as anything. But I still can’t decide if it’s the sort of thing I can go to myself and come out feeling, well, good about myself.

It is a world away from seedy stripclubs with strippers who only see you as walking wallets, but I can’t help wondering if I’d come out still feeling slightly seedy and unsure of myself, if only because I hate paying for things.

The Guardian suggests that it has itself become somewhat of an industry that is itself rife for exploitation. But all the railing by feminists against the porn industry hasn’t stopped today’s yoof exposing themselves to anyone and everyone for a bit of fun.

Expression or exploitation?

First of all, some background. I’ve part-owned my flat for about a decade – but the parking space is not outside my flat, it’s further down the estate opposite someone else’s house. Since I don’t own a car any more, I rent out said parking space to whoever wants it, for about £5 a day. So far, there’s been no troubles …

until today. Some building company wanted to park their Transit van there for a month, and offered me a lump sum which I accepted. When they finally arrived at said parking space, they pointed out that there was already a scooter there. So I suggested they just park in the space next to the scooter.

Oh no. These numbnuts MOVE the scooter to the pavement.

Cue three of today’s finest yoof angrily coming out of the house opposite, (understandably) asking what on earth is going on. So now I have to prove my ownership of said space – which comes as a surprise to the evil Curly Watts lookalike (complete with bottles for glasses) who owns the house opposite.

Unfortunately, I’ve never been very good at confronting the thieving yoof of today, so while I’m trying to remain calm, I’m probably slightly stuttering and quietly spoken. But the leader of the yoof gang gleefully informs me that I’m shouting, but then of course everyone else is shouting at each other. Oh, and for bonus points, he says I stink – which is as close as you can get to a racist insult without it actually being a racist insult. Hell, he might as well have said I stank of curry powder.

So all this took the wind out of my sails, but at the same time, the kids withdrew back into the house, with the Curly Watts lookalike threatening to beat us up. The owners of said Transit van are no longer sure that the parking space is safe, and thus leave.

So I’m left with a house at the end of the street that hates me, a parking space that I can’t really use for fear that one of them will vandalise anything that’s put there, and a reminder of my utter ineptness at dealing with the arrogant yoof of today. Just like the time in Cardiff when I confronted someone trying to steal my bike and HE CARRIED ON BREAKING THE LOCK WHILE I WAS THERE.

Just another random muggy spring night on my housing estate.

Apparently not. Madam Miaow works up a firestorm of a rant in pointing out that More Light at the Arcola Theatre (written by Bryony Lavery and directed by Catrina Lear) is casting white women as Chinese women. What makes it deliciously ironic is that it’s about … the burial of Chinese women. And of course, none of the theatre reviewers have even noticed.

It’s been a long time since I even dabbled in the world of Chinese actors/actresses and theatre but I … just thought you ought to know. Not too sure what people can do about it – for the fourth largest ethnic minority in the UK, the people in power are remarkably blase when it comes to applying the same rules for Chinese people/roles as they would do to white/black/Asian roles…