Neon Does 'Top Gear'

No, that's not street parlance for taking drugs, I'm referring to popular car review programme 'Top Gear'. In case you haven't seen it, Top Gear is a brilliant show where these guys just have a laugh driving cars, or doing zany or wacky things involving cars. Once, they drove through the Southern States of the USA with cars with logos on them saying "gay love rules OK"! How crazy is that?! But this isn't a review of a car review show (BUT SO WHAT IF IT IS JAVIER? IT'S MY BLOG AND I'LL REVIEW WHAT THE HELL I LIKE. MAYBE WHEN YOU'VE WRITTEN A SUCCESSFUL BLOG I'LL LISTEN. BUT YOU HAVEN'T SO SHUT UP), but merely a comparison as I'm also quite a zany guy.

For example, when I go to the local recycling centre the guys who work there shout "Look out! It's Stig of the dump!" To which I make car noises as if I'm driving really fast, and move my hands as if steering a car. It's this kind of in-joke that we have, since 'The Stig' is actually a mysterious driver who races cars on Top Gear. I can't actually drive a car though, insomuch as I had my license suspended after I drove past a nightclub and Rufus leapt out and attacked a bouncer. In my opinion this is no reason to revoke a person's driving license because a rabid koala attacked someone.

Well, I sort of threw him at the bouncer. But whilst being a bit unusual it's hardly a criminal act. Still, you do zany things when you're drunk.

Anyway, my review is just the sort of thing they'd do on Top Gear, because I did mine in the boot of a Ford Mondeo (old shape, not the new one), which is a pretty crazy thing to do. Actually if they do try reviewing cars from inside the boot on Top Gear then they've stolen my idea. And it's not the first time I've been locked in the boot of a car (or had my ideas stolen Tom Schulman); Thames Valley Police used to do it whenever they found me at the scene of an 'incident'. It was a new policy apparently that only applied to me. That was just before the chief constable had his nervous breakdown.

Now as cars go I think that the Mondeo is an underrated vehicle. It has a sizeable boot, and comes in a variety of colours. Dave's dad used to drive one and said that it might not look like an Aston Martin, it handles well and was perfect for towing their caravan. Theirs was an estate car though, so the storage area at the rear of their car was different.

The Mondeo's boot is lined with a strange sort of fur, which is neither soft nor fluffy. I kind of imagine it's what Sean Connery's back must feel like, although I'm sure that doesn't smell of petrol like the Mondeo's boot does. Also, there were some old plastic bags, that people normally put fertiliser in. Obviously these aren't a standard feature in a Mondeo, and ultimately you're entitled to put whatever you like in the boot of your car.

So in summary I'd have to say that the old shape Ford Mondeo is a good car, with a NeonSamurai Kick-ass rating of 12.

Neonsamurai Kicks Ass: FACT!

I am still in hiding.

No sign of Burian (or Rufus) since the 'incident', which we've all agreed was not my fault. If he wants to press charges then he's going to look pretty stupid taking a koala to court. And let's be honest, it wouldn't get that far when the judge realised that Rufus was actually a small, aggressive marsupial and couldn't give evidence. Although I don't think that matters in Pakistan, where people marry goats.

Needless to say I've been having to find things to keep me occupied during my time in hiding. Firstly I tried calling Thames Valley Police, as I'm on their witness protection scheme, but they denied all knowledge of this. In fact they went as far as to say that they don't actually have a 'witness protection scheme', which meant I was either speaking to an idiot, or it's actually so top secret that they deny it exists, which I think is probably the latter. Although in all fairness, even Littlehampton Police deny the existence of it too. Very professional.

As I've not been able to return 'Cloverfield' to Scope, and get a decent film out (probably 'Doom'), and my research into women isn't possible unless they walk past my flat, I've been watching day time television. Now most of it is rubbish, but some of the shows are good. One of the best is Jeremy Kyle.

Basically 'The Jeremy Kyle Show' works by getting a bunch of morons on the show, getting them to argue and then having Jeremy tell them they're all dullards. For my money, it's a formula that works as there are loads of complete retards out there who are always opening their stupid gobs and coming up with all sorts of ill-considered opinions. Oh look. Here's some of their emails (to me):

"The point of Avatar was that we shouldn't impose on other races for profit, and that corporate greed is destroying the environment and indigenous societies, not that people in wheelchairs can't be trusted. You are honestly the most-untalented, self-opinionated hack I've ever read. No wonder nobody will give you a job reviewing films, you don't even know what they're about."

-squaaaaal1988

"are you for real!!?!??!?!! noone could be as dumb as you are!!!!! i feel sorry for youre koala. if i knew where you lived i would tell the cops that you mistreat that animal and you should be arrested. never dress him up in human clothes and feed him drugs. you are a FREAK!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

-JoZo-lol-

"I'm not going to warn you again. Sonja Wade has told me where you live and if you write one more thing about Emily I'm coming over to give you a bloody good thumping!"

-Alan.Stephenson

Crazy huh? Jeremy Kyle would have them for breakfast. He'd be like "Avatar was about the incompetence of the disabled: FACT" or "a koala could pull your face of you idiot" or "where I come from that's a threat!" If they were on his show it'd almost be embarrassing to watch as he pointed out their sub-normal intellects.

For these reasons I support Jeremy Kyle. He's insulting thicko's because he cares.

The 'easy' way to borrow money

Okay, I would have posted this on Tuesday, but I've sort of been in hiding. I've not actually got anywhere to hide though, because Dave's gone to his nan's and his mum won't let me in their house unsupervised. Not since the accident with their washing bin. So I've really just been making excuses to hang around the clinic, or at the Job Centre, which got really boring. Eventually I went into hiding at home, because I've got my laptop and my DVD player there, and at least I can do research or watch films.

So on Sunday, Burian (Grigore's friend) turns up to discuss a loan. He's not quite what I'd expected. He doesn't wear a suit, or believe in personal grooming of any sort. If fact he's not really what I'd expected a private loan arranger to be. But you do crazy things when you're in love so I invited him in, made him a cup of tea (no sugar, I've run out) and told him how much money I wanted to borrow. Big mistake.

Now, for those of you who don't know about private loans, they differ from normal loans insomuch as they don't actually involve money. Burian can't carry large sums of cash about, because he might get mugged (although at 6' 4" and built like a tank, I doubt he would), so he normally just uses 'I owe U's' so after I'd explained how much I wanted to borrow, and Burian wrote me a note saying he owed me twenty thousand pounds. Conversely I wrote him a note saying that I owed him twenty one thousand pounds (because of the interest), which he hung onto. He then explained that we had exchanged contracts and it was now a legal requirement that we honour our agreement. He then left.

So far so good. But on Monday Burian wakes me up at 9am banging on my door and demanding to be let in. Being the polite host I open the door, but he squares up to me demanding his thousand pounds, which I was legally obliged to pay him. When I tried to point out that I hadn't actually received my twenty thousand pounds he slapped my face and told me to shut up. Now, if I had received this sort of treatment at a bank I would right now be writing a very stiff letter of complaint to their head office, but as Burian is a sole-trader I really didn't want to make him any angrier than he already was. So I sort of shrugged and told him I didn't have a thousand pounds to give him, so he slapped me again.

Eventually it became clear that if I said anything that Burian didn't like he would slap me rather hard, so I conceded that I would pay him his thousand pounds, by the end of the day or he'd come back and beat the money out of me (technically not possible). So I scraped together all the money I had (£47.28) and collected all the things I had of value (TV, DVD player, laptop, clock radio and microwave) as well as a few of the DVD's I didn't want any more ('Cloverfield', 'Tim Lovejoy's Football Heroes') ready for when Burian came back. But when he did, and I showed him my assorted valuable items he just stared at them silently with sort of wild eyes, shaking slightly. And when I asked him for my twenty grand he went ballistic.

Apparently, he thought all of my stuff was 'shit' and proceeded to throw my furniture about. Telling me that this was what happened when people try to cheat him out of a thousand pounds.

Now, it's important that I explain at this point that if you have a marsupial that has gone into a sugar-induced coma waking it up unexpectedly in a violent manner is amongst the worst things that you can do, and if Burian hadn't got me by the throat then I would have explained that to him. But I didn't. Mainly because I didn't know Rufus had passed out atop my bookshelf in an empty cardboard box, and was NOT in the mood to be disturbed. Also, I would have closed the front door had Burian not been in such a hurry to get his money.

So, we can categorically agree that when Burian fell down the stairs with a koala on his face that I was in no way culpable, bearing in mind I was hiding under my upturned sofa (where I found another 57p) at the time. I even called the ambulance for him. Well I tried. But apparently 'koala induced concussion' isn't a recognised injury and is a 'waste of emergency services time'. Oh I'm sorry. Next time I'll just lie about what happened so that the injured party doesn't get properly treated.

But at least it gave me time to find the 'I owe U' that I wrote and tear it up (contract: closed), and also his cheque book (because technically the 'I owe U' he wrote for my twenty grand was still valid). It was then just a matter of emailing Natalia his bank account details, along with the pin number he'd written inside the front cover and making sure that she only withdrew twenty thousand pounds.

However, when I went outside to return his chequebook both Burian and Rufus had disappeared. So I threw it over the fence. No doubt somebody will find it and hand it in to the police station.

So until the dust has settled I'm staying put, lying low and awaiting the arrival of my lovely Natalia.

Rufus AWOL

Missing Koala

Have you seen my koala? He looks
like the one above but he's got sort
of a permanent scowl, and has
slightly lighter fur. Might also still
be dressed as a butler.

If you see him can you please try
and put him in a sack, or lock him
in your garage or something because
he might be high and when he is he
can be unpredictable and violent.

DO NOT feed him any of the
following substances:

Polystyrene
Daz
Sherbet
Crack Cocaine
Normal Cocaine
Silica Gel

If you do he goes mental.

Should you manage to catch him
please contact me via my blog:
http: neonsamurai.kicks-ass.net

Yes, that little Aussie bastard has got loose again. All it takes is a momentary lapse in concentration and he's out the door like a shot. Normally that's not a problem as he just clamps onto the first face he sees and I can prize him off with a fork, but this time he has vanished. If you've seen him around Littlehampton, please try and catch him then drop me a line here.

Love Hurts

Sorry for the lack of updates recently but apparently you can't use mobile phones in hospital. Why's that? Well it allegedly messes up hospital equipment. Who the hell designs equipment that can be 'messed up' by a mobile phone? I would have thought you'd have to go out of your way to make something that bad.

Scientist: "Well here's my new blood-pressure monitor. It works really well and is 100% accurate. But there's one little thing that might... No. That's not important."

Doctor: "This certainly looks like just the sort of thing we need in this hospital. But before I hand over this cheque for forty thousand pounds, what were you going to say?"

Scientist: "Only that if you use a mobile phone within 500 yards of it it kills the patient. With poison."

Doctor: "Good lord! How could it do that?"

Scientist: "If it detects mobile phone usage is shoots 40cc's of crayfish venom into the patients arm which paralyzes their heart. BOOM! They're dead before they even know it."

Doctor: "Why on earth did you design it to do that?"

Scientist: "I dunno. I got a bit bored."

Doctor: "Oh well. We'll buy it anyway. Here's your cheque."

That's insane isn't it? But why am I in hospital anyway? Could it be that I'm having an operation or something? No. I'm in hospital because apparently I'm a sexist. Ooh. Let's all call NeonSamurai a sexist because he wasn't invited to our meeting, to which men weren't invited because we're sexist.

Now I know that Hermione has got some well-paying jobs she keeps back for emergencies at the job centre, so I decided to try and get on her good side by turning up at this conference thing she'd organised and offering my support. Yes, I know that to a person with a normal brain that that's a really nice thing to do, and at the very least somebody who did something so selfless should at least be allowed some tea and biscuits (like all the other guests were allowed). But, no that's not the case, and then things get violent.

So the Saturday before last I hop on the bus all the way to sodding Chichester, which is a town that is of so little consequence that it should be bombed by the RAF. Only they wouldn't go there because it's of no consequence. I then head over to the community centre to take part in the 'Oppressed Women of the South of England and the Isle of Wight' meeting. Yeah, I know I'm not a woman, but as regular readers will be aware I am a very open-minded person and have a lot of respect for women.

But this mental tart at the front door won't let me in because I'm an oppressor. Me? An oppressor? I've never oppressed anyone in my life. Even the time I made my own dungeon room and brought all that rohypnol I didn't oppress anyone. Except that Avon lady who called for my mum, but that was only for a morning. Then Rufus ate all the rohypnol and then went on a very slow motion rampage through the house. That's when the Avon lady got loose. Christ. Those Avon women are nutjobs. If I ever have one call at my door again I'll make sure she doesn't get her hands on a frying pan. I had bruising for a month.

So I say to this woman on the door "if you hate oppressors (men) so much why do you look like one?" Which was a particularly clever thing for me to say as she did look just like a man, complete with a dodgy haircut, which was sort of half mullet, half flat-top. But instead of saying "touche" and letting me in this gaggle of crazy women gathers at the door and starts telling me to get lost or they'll call the police. Then Hermione shows up and goes ballistic.

Cut a long story short: I'm not allowed into this meeting. Well, they didn't reckon on me being in love, and as happens in rom coms people in love do crazy things, especially if they need a well paying job to fly their Russian lover into the country. So I decided to simply climb in through the window and surprise them all with an impassioned speech about love and how at the end of the day, we're all the same. Especially that woman who looks like a man. Good plan, except the toilet window I climbed through had a woman on the other side (the one time I didn't want there to be). And to make matters worse she was French, and had ZERO sense of humour. And she also had some (illegal) mace spray. If a man falls on you whilst you're on the toilet, is that really a good enough reason to use a whole can of mace in his eyes? In France, it is.

So this crazy woman is yelling "Viol! Viol!" and I can't see a thing, but luckily I manage to get out of the toilet PDQ and head for what I think is the main hall. I'm guessing it was during this disorientating time that my trousers somehow came off, which is the sort of thing that could happen to anyone. Then I realise I've reached the hall when I hear the screams. And they're not screams of joy. So it's time to start my impassioned speech and I start shouting "I'M GONNA SHOW YOU MY LOVE!", just before the first chair hit me. Luckily it was just one of those plastic stackable chairs, which didn't really hurt. But the fire extinguisher did and that's what the doctors think caused my concussion.

Next thing I know I'm in an ambulance with a police escort. Luckily Dr Chen was at the hospital when I arrived and straightened everything out.

I'm not sure what's going to happen when i go to the Job Centre tomorrow.

If it's hot post it on IMDB (not)

Oh dear IMDB. How the mighty have fallen? Why it seems like only yesterday people were visiting your site to get news and reviews on the latest movies. Well since my blog opened up LESS THAN A MONTH AGO those people are coming here. At least I presume they are. I can't check the number of hits I'm getting, but I bet it's well into the thousands.

Anyway, back before people stopped visiting IMDB I wrote some of the best movie reviews they'd ever seen, so good that some of them got removed because of slander or 'not actually reviewing the film'. Luckily I've decided to share some of those reviews that were too revolutionary here on my blog.

Neonsamurai's 'Predator' review:

You'd think people would actually want help at an Anti-Hunt protest wouldn't you? Well that's what I thought, doing my bit for the environment and helping stop foxes go extinct. I've seen 'Predator' and understood the whole anti-hunting message in the film and knew that I had to do what's right for defenceless animals. Also, Rufus had eaten through the roof in the garage and escaped into the fields near Aston Clinton so I had to try and lure him back. I had previously told my mum not to leave boxes of Daz washing power where he could get to them, but oh no. Don't listen to your son will you woman?

I know for a fact that when Rufus has the contents of a family sized box of washing powder inside him, he normally goes looking for real narcotics to eat, but this time he made straight for this group of hunt protesters, and guess who's there? That complete spaz Derek Palmers and his wife, that's who. Well, as soon as I turn up he starts getting all jittery and nervous, telling his wife to sit in the car and lock the doors. I'm trying to explain that Rufus isn't that dangerous unless you make any sudden moves, but will he listen? Seems that Mr 'Don't Feed Koala's Class A Drugs' knows more about marsupials than I do and tells the people giving out RSPCA leaflets not to let me have any, 'Because he'll probably choke on them'.

I ate 3 leaflets just fine WITHOUT CHOKING just to prove a point when we hear the huntsmen approaching and all the protesters start screaming 'Murderers! Murderers!' That must have woken Rufus up or something because we went berserk, big time. Unfortunately Mrs Palmers panicked and couldn't open the car doors quick enough and then the unpleasantness began. To be honest I blame them for leaving their car's sunroof open in the first place.

Now bearing in mind that I am NOWHERE NEAR THE CAR and certainly didn't tell Mrs Palmers to lock herself inside it, whom do you think Derek blames for this? Rufus? Of course not. Yet again I am held responsible for that little Aussie Crack head's actions, even though it is he not I that has clamped onto Mrs Palmer's face. Anyway, she should have stayed put and gone limp (which usually works) but instead she stumbles out of the car and staggers across the field. Now Derek's going crazy at this point but unlike him I've read about the Suffragettes and just assumed that Mrs Palmers was copying Emily Davidson.

Now as I've already made clear, after watching 'Predator' I'd definitely never take part in fox hunting, but if I did and a woman with a koala on her face ran out in front of my horse I wouldn't avoid her by swerving into a crowd of 27 protesters. But clearly what I'd do and what huntsmen do are two entirely different things, particularly when another horse managed to almost jump Derek's car. The important word here is 'almost'.

The fact that at this point the fox hunt officially stopped is a good thing in my opinion, which you'd think the hunt protesters would thank me for. Well guess again because those lazy soap dodgers were showing their true colours, which was to curse and scream at me. Some thanks eh? Although I suppose that I should be thankful that they weren't all screaming at me, some of them were being far too self obsessed for that: 'I'VE broken MY leg.' 'Call ME an ambulance.' 'I'LL need drastic invasive surgery.' 'I'M losing consciousness.' It's all 'me me me' with those people.

Besides Mrs Palmers wasn't that badly injured and at least Rufus had let go of her face (and as per usual run off to let me take the blame). Of course the police didn't want to hear any of this since they have a new policy of arresting people, gagging them and then locking them in the boot of their squad cars. It seems that this policy only applies to me though as they let Derek waffle on and on with his version of the story and how he didn't think horse collisions were covered under his car insurance.

Typically, Thames Valley Police couldn't press charges because they had no evidence linking me to anything that happened, although Derek had tried to blame me for practically everything that had occurred. Luckily the police couldn't accept these allegations since one of the horses had kicked him in the face and given him a concussion.

And me? Well I just sat there in a trance repeating, 'The jungle came alive and took them' until my mum came to take me home.

Predator. You gotta love that movie.

Even more stuff that'd set IMDB on fire

I've been busy, and coupled with a rabid flippin' koala that thinks he's a facehugger and my still broken DVD player mean that there are no new reviews today. Although I am working on an absolutely kick-ass review (because kicking ass is what I do, just look at my page banner) of 'The Fantastic Mr. Fox' for the Littlehampton Echo. Obviously I can't post it here because someone will steal it and I'll forego my Disneyland Paris holiday.

However, I am going to share another review that IMDB couldn't handle. POW! It was like a punch to the kidneys for them! But I was rather annoyed when they took it down as it was one of my better film reviews, and because they left it up for two years. Oh well. Here it is:

Neonsamurai's 'Free Willy' Review:

Apparently:

‘The koala is a small bear-like, tree-dwelling, herbivorous marsupial which averages about 9kg (20lb) in weight. It's fur is thick and usually ash grey with a tinge of brown in places.'

Well, my description would be this:

‘The Koala is a violent angry creature who normally hides on top of my wardrobe and once jumped on my face and I couldn't pull it off. It has on more than one occasion mistaken a 3lb bag of sugar for cocaine and then went on a rampage through my mothers kitchen.'

Strange isn't it how the reality differs from the magical world of such ‘experts'. Yet to them, koalas are nice, quite creatures that wouldn't hurt a fly, but from personal experience when given some crack they go berserk and bring down aircraft. I'd liked to have seen Derek Palmers from the RSPCA get ‘holier than thou' about animal welfare after Rufus (the koala) threw himself at the bouncer outside Aylesbury's popular nightclub ‘The Lounge' and put the poor guy in hospital. Okay, so I threw Rufus the first part of the way as I drove past, but it was the koala who should be prosecuted for clamping onto the poor guy's face and not letting go until it was tranquillized. And whilst I'm on the subject of 'The Lounge', not wearing trousers is NO reason not to let someone into a nightclub.

But then, as if to rub salt in my wounds I see that Simon Wincer has directed a movie about a boy becoming friends with a killer whale. Apparently, this whale is going to be killed by the evil owners of an aquarium so the boy rescues it. Firstly, how can you become friends with a killer whale? That was stupid. At least in Johnny Mnemonic they had a dolphin with a TV in its face that was addicted to drugs; there was a creature with human failings that I could identify with and want to get to know. But this killer whale (that's right, a killer whale) is nice and kind and innocent. Yeah right, he's so perfect and gentle is he? Then how did he manage to get put in captivity? And how come he's called a killer whale? Well, my only explanation is that Willy is actually retarded, like the whale equivalent of Ang Lee (watch Pete's Dragon Ang! There's actually a dragon in that film!)

Anyway this massive killing machine ‘befriends' this boy who gets upset about the whale's plight. Where was this kid when Jaws was trying to kill the rest of Roy Scheider's family? I know he'd only be about 4, but surely he could have ‘befriended' jaws. Actually, I'm sure he wouldn't have managed, what with Jaws not being a sap like that dullard Willy. I'd like to see them try and put Jaws in an aquarium as well and make him perform tricks. His trick would have been to eat one of those annoying dolphin trainers, and maybe a few members of the audience.

Bah! Who am I kidding? I haven't even seen this movie! I'm just in a bad mood since that bouncer found me and duffed me over.

Still too Hot for IMDB

What's that IMDB? You can't take the heat? Well get out of my kitchen! Unbelievably I had this review removed from IMDB, probably after the film industry pressured them. To be honest I had a feeling my victimisation went all the way to the top. But it's back here on my new blog wher I'm not afraid to hit you with the real facts about movies.

NeonSamurai's 'Silence of the Lambs' Review:

As I type this I am seething, that's right SEETHING with anger over this debacle of a movie. Who are these movie execs who decide that names of films and market them accordingly? Well I wish I knew because right now I feel a severe BUTT KICKING coming on!

‘Silence of the Lambs.' SILENCE OF THE FREAKING LAMBS?!?!?! There where no lambs in it and the film had sound! I told this girl I met on the Internet that I was cultured and liked loads of films, particularly the classics. She told me she liked the old black and white silent films. Looking in the paper I found that my local cinema was doing a special showing of a film called ‘Silence of the Lambs' so I naturally thought this'd be right up her street and arranged a date with her, saying that I knew a cinema showing some old classics. We agreed to meet there and I even had a bath.

Well she turns up at the cinema and starts screaming. So do some other women as well. APPARENTLY ‘Silence of the Lambs' is a horror film and really scary. It must have been REALLY scary because the film hadn't even started; yet she was screaming and acting all hysterical. In fact we where still in the foyer! So there I was trying to calm her down when the manager of the cinema started shouting something like `Oh god! He's back again!' and suddenly the Police canine response unit shows up, and I had to lock myself in a toilet cubicle.

Needless to say my evening was ruined (although the girl from the Internet was ugly and had one eye bigger than the other, so maybe I had a lucky escape) and I had to jump out of the toilet window to avoid arrest.

So why the hell would someone make a film so scary that before women have even seen it they start screaming, yet give it a name involving lambs? What's next? ‘Fluffy Bunny Josie', a film that turns out to be about a flesh eating virus, or ‘Cuddly Bear and the Munchkins' that's about something so hideous I can't even imagine it? I could have had sex with a real person if this film hadn't been so badly marketed!

And whilst were on the subject of marketing how come the poster for it said things like `…True horror…': Empire Magazine, `…Chilling…' Time Out and `A master of terror': New York Times. Why don't they put things I say about the films on the posters? `The Director of this film is stalking me': Neonsamurai, `Where's my love and respect?': Neonsamurai and `Derek Palmers is a spazmo!': Neonsamurai.

I'll tell you why they wouldn't do that, because they can't handle my no-nonsense film review skills. I don't go on about juxtapositions or metaphors, I just cut to the chase with phrases like `Ang Lee is a retard' or `Rosie O'Donnell has a deformed head'. And guess what? I didn't even go to university. Well, I did go to university for a while until I was reported to campus security for scaring some of the female students. What's so scary about a naked man? I see myself naked in the mirror most mornings, but I don't call the police. I guess that's because I'm not ‘educated' like those girls in Cambridge, or a cinema manager.

I'm sure that movie studios would like me to sum up this film in a word so that they can put on the poster in order to fool people into thinking it was a good film, but I'm not going to. I don't want Sony or Tri Star or whoever made this god-awful excuse for a piece of classic cinema (it's not even in black and white!) an option to mislead the public any further. Instead I'm going to give you a list of some of the most outrageous, trumped up charges that Thames Valley Police have brought against me in recent weeks. Let's see them put these on a movie poster!!

- Failure to wear trousers in the presence of the mayor

- Throwing a marsupial at a nightclub security guard

- Attempting to fake own death for benefit fraud

- Ram raiding the Aylesbury RSPCA offices in a milk float