News of the blog Belle De Jour, for a long while a favourite of wibbler.com, has crossed the Atlantic – New York Post’s article “Kiss & Tell” describes Belle as “a fascinating character” and digs into whether it’s a real blog or not. The daily updates detail the seedy and not-so-seedy life of a London call girl, but it’s not for that reason I read it: it’s mainly because Belle, as I’ve mentioned before, is a good writer. A very good writer. And as for whether it’s real or not: I hope it is. Some wonder how a call girl can write so darn well, but Belle defends herself: “I have met stone-boring Ph.D.s and plumbers who were geniuses. I don’t think job choice is necessarily a reflection of talent or intelligence.” I know that many of the places she describes are accurate, and hell, even if it isn’t real it’s a jolly good read. But catch it while you can: she’s hinted that she may not be around for that long. “It would be a little depressing,” she says, “to be known the rest of your life as the documentarian whore.”

Are there really “Mole People” living under the streets of New York City? – The Straight Dope gives the surprising answer: yes probably. And as Tony H asked me, do they exist in this country? If they did, I’d imagine The Sun would have found them, given them a wad of money for the “amazing life story”, sent them to a few movie premieres, and then chucked them back where they came from..

Growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional.
Chili Davis
Elli has a birthday every year. As, I suppose, you’d expect. This year Michelle and I ventured up to her house in Balham, followed by a cracking meal in Pizzeria on the Green in Clapham, where even the severe lack of seats didn’t ruin the mood – and then onwards, across, deep down into the depths of Brixton. My Daily Mail-fueled expectations were not met, however – there were no drug dealers on every corner, no drug-fuelled brawls, no gay policemen smoking spliffs. In fact, it was a very enjoyable night, and Plan B nightclub managed to play an entire night of tunes I had never heard of. “House” music, apparently. I considered asking the DJ for a spot of Bon Jovi, but my life may have hung in the balance.
So, welcome to another year, Elli! Thanks for the night, and the bed, and expecially the chocolate…

Harold Shipman found dead in cell. Who gave him the rope?

Shared a nice drink or three with Tim “bloggerheads” Ireland on Friday evening, and he was much as expected – brimming with good bloggerheads-based ideas (nope, I’m sworn to secrecy, sorry…), search engine trivia – and all in all a damn fine pub companion. The only downside was the rock hard pork scratchings. Cheers Tim!

BBC’s collection of comedy video clips. Only BBC comedies, of course, but there are some crackers in there…

My idea of exercise is a good brisk sit.
Phyllis Diller
Those of you that have known me for any length of time will notice that I am larger than I used to be. Not just in wit and sheer intelligence (although it’s very good of you to say so), but in sheer physical size. University was the issue – the powerful combination of a student grant and a chinese restaurant within 100 metres overwhelmed me. And now, here I am, 3 stone heavier than I was, and finally determined to do something about it. But it’ll take some doing. There’s a lot of love in those handles.
So this New Year, I’ve resolved to shed those stones. The barely used rowing machine I invested in a year ago (virtually the only exercise it has seen was when I sprained my wrist building the damn thing) has been dusted off and spread out in the garage, accompanied by a heater for the cold winter days.
I write this while still under the severe influence of exercise. 10 minutes on the rower 4 times a week has reduced my legs to lead. Still, onwards and upwards.

Play carefully, it’s only in beta release: Boriswatch.

Rusedski fails drugs test – although, of course, he is protecting his innocence.

Friends foil Olympia man’s home. Prank idea duly saved in dark corners of my mind for a later date.