“My own feeling at the moment is as if some mega production were going on off-screen, perhaps life itself, and I’m travelling through, documenting it. The film is a documentary. I’ve come back with a document from somewhere far away. Everything I pointed the camera at (my fellow cameramen pointed the camera at) had meaning, it didn’t matter what we filmed. The film is our fiction, we are in the story. After all, film is fiction, including the news, or if you want to reverse it, all film is fact. My film is as factual as the news.

As  I look out of my picture window onto the Charing Cross Road, I see the buildings being dreamt on architects’ drawing boards. The road itself was created in the late 19th century, it’s fabricated. Who dreamed the bluebells? So, if you are making a film, you can point the camera anywhere you want. Everything is to be interpreted, as Beuys said, ‘Everyone is an artist’, and we live in creation.”

(from ‘Kicking the Pricks’, Vintage, first published as ‘The Last of England’ by Constable, 1987)

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Later on during the adventure, I came across this massive pile of bricks.

I almost felt like I was the size of a small toy and approaching an unimaginative child’s Lego house.

If this doesn’t make Northamptonshire look appealing, you can always go to its main town to satiate your previously unacknowledged desires…click on the postcard below which has been sent here especially for you from the Grosvenor Centre, Northampton.

You really are sure of a welcome, I promise, despite everyone in the postcard looking distinctly disgruntled and avoiding eye contact at all costs.

I hope I have inherited this man’s intuition for style and his ability to represent his personality with fashion in an innovative and captivating way.

Funnily enough, I actually feel like Michael and I have something in common, aside from our genes and a penchant for woolly jumpers. I can see it in his eyes; he’s somehow amused by his job.

This man knows that the nation’s TV viewers are hanging on his every word, anticipating whether or not they’ll need to take out a brolly tomorrow, but he can have a laugh about it and doesn’t let the power go to his head.

I’m pretty inspired by old Michael; he manages to come across as both earnest (see above) and able to engage in a good old romp of jocularity.

Assessing and reporting the risk of deadly storms must take its toll and leave you feeling existentially confused.

However, this man understands the importance of friends and serving the community, as demonstrated by the picture below.

I hope I can do him proud.

It’s not really that scary to be alone on a dark night. As I was searching for Nono videos I found this rather unrelated one by Nancy Nova (who I should have known before this night…what a woman!), which proves that being alone isn’t so bad, especially if you can do dance moves such as these and have a coat that turns into a tiger.

If you like Nono, or have a lovely Italian grandfather, you could buy these mugs (although I’m not sure about the stigmata-style red heart on the stick boy’s hand):

Due to having a cold, picking up a pen has felt a bit supernatural this week. I have been incredibly unproductive, the most energetic thing I have done being the cooking of some frozen fish fingers whilst singing Celine Dion songs in a cockney accent. However, I did find an old advert I adapted (quite badly) about a year ago and pretty much forgot about. I found it in a book from a charity shop called the Guinness Book of Products or something. It is both ridiculous and endearing to me. It’s a remnant of a loosely productive mood; I’ve put it on here because it’s a pretty funny advert anyway. Check out how many brillo pads this woman has in her kitchen! I wouldn’t mess with her.