Rupert Goodwins' Diary

Monday

Down in the West Country, oh yes, staying at my parents' vicarage next to the Tamar. Even in the Seven Stars, one of Plymouth's better pubs, my quiet chat with the Reverend Goodwins is peppered with overheard snippets from the bar where people are talking about Web sites and AOL accounts. Is there no escape anywhere on the planet?

Apparently not. According to the Guardian today, two senior citizens made a drive of over a hundred miles to get to a radio station. They turfed up at Reception, and said "Hello, dear. We've come in response to your invitation"

Receptionist: "Errr, what? What invitation?"

Wrinklies: "You know, the one on the radio. You said in an advert we should come and visit your Web site. Well, here we are!"

I believe they were given a cup of tea and sent packing. Rumours that they were then promptly hired by VNU to head up the New Media division are entirely scurrilous, and I shall not sully your screens by repeating them.

Tuesday

Preparations are progressing for the TV quiz show I'm doing with my mother on Thursday. This is called Today's the Day, and is largely based around events that happened on the date of broadcast. Our date is March 5, so I plug away gamely on the Internet, pulling down screeds of stuff from various 'today in history' sites. Useful, that: it turns out that this was the day Stalin died, Churchill made his 'Iron Curtain' speech and Rex Harrison was born. Also Eddie Grant and Bernie Washington.

Mother and I sip gin over piles of printouts, murmuring to ourselves that it was just as bad as being back in school. I point out that gin was not normally encouraged in the classrooms (although our headmaster could normally be counted upon to have enough in his bloodstream to fuel at least three squadrons of F1-11s). Whoever said schooldays were the happiest of our lives