Monday 13th September

Woke up late. The milkman left three pints instead of four. Is the milk a trap? I know I’m being paranoid but I saw a film where a guy injected cyanide into milk bottles to kill a president or something so I’m not going to drink it, just in case. Still no word from Helen.

Tuesday 14th September

The milkman left five pints today. This could be to make up for not leaving four yesterday or it might be something more sinister - I’ll leave them where they are for now, see how things go. I tried listening to the radio today but the pains in my head came back so I had to turn it off. Helen didn’t ring.

Wednesday 15th September

Four pints today - I don’t know what to make of this at all. Jimmy Savile’s agent rang to tell me he’s been eaten by rats whilst on holiday in Scarborough. I’ve been asked to say a few words at the funeral but I don’t know if I can bear the idea of leaving the house at the moment. I remember doing a Top of the Pops with Jimmy in 1977 where he broke a girl’s arm by accident and the BBC had to pay damages. God, my toenails look like claws. Perhaps Helen will ring tomorrow?

Thursday 16th September

Four pints. I thought I heard voices last night but when I checked the house I realised I was completely alone. I checked the answerphone sixteen times today - I’m sure it’s broken or something because Helen wouldn’t forget to leave me a message.

Friday 17th September

Four pints again. I’m gagging for a cup of tea but I dare not leave the house because I swear I saw someone watching me from the oak tree in the garden last night. I’m sure Helen would say it was just my imagination playing tricks with me, if she were here.

Saturday 18th September

Four Pints. Jimmy Savile’s funeral today. Dave Lee Travis rang to ask for a lift as his car has been taken back by the finance company. I said I couldn’t come because I’d had a stroke, even though this wasn’t true. Dave wouldn’t shut up after that so I had to cut him off in case Helen was trying to call me. I think the man in the garden has a rifle so I’d better stay away from the windows.

Sunday 19th September

No milk this morning, as it’s Sunday. I watched a bird drinking from one of the bottles outside today. I envy him his milk but I cannot follow his example because the man in the tree is always watching the door. I tried to track the bird’s progress across the garden to see if it died but it’s hard to get a good view from the keyhole. Later I watched the Antiques Roadshow and I swear I saw Helen in one of the queues clutching a Royal Doulton character jug. I tried ringing the BBC but they cut me off when they found out it was me.

Monday 20th September

I was woken early this morning by two police constables. They came round because the dairy who deliver my milk had contacted them after they’d read I’d had a stroke in The Sun. They thought I might be incapacitated inside the house because I hadn’t brought any milk in lately. I tried to explain to the policemen that I was alright and that I hadn’t had a stroke, and that it was all a lie to get out of giving Dave Lee Travis a lift to Jimmy Saville’s funeral. I think they believed me but it’s difficult to be sure as I couldn’t see their faces through the letter-box. I rang the dairy to cancel my milk order which should stop them interfering in my affairs. Helen hasn’t rang.

Tuesday 21st September

Soon be Christmas. Tony Blackburn came round this afternoon so I hid in the bathroom and pretended not to be in. I heard his car leave after twenty minutes but stayed hidden behind the shower curtain for another hour in case he came back. I knew it was him because he was shouting and he was the first voice on Radio One back in the good old days.

Wednesday 22nd September

Tony Blackburn rang to see if I was alright because he’d read in The Mirror that I’d had a stroke. I cut him off because call waiting started beeping and I thought it might be Helen. It wasn’t her, it was Mike Smith. He wanted to know if I was alright because he’d heard on ITV news I’d had a stroke. I cut him off.

Thursday 23rd September

I tried cutting my toenails this morning but broke the scissors. Sky News says I’m close to death after suffering a massive stroke. I rang the news desk to explain I hadn’t had one and that it was all a ruse to get out of giving Dave Lee Travis a lift, but the woman said she didn’t believe I was who I said I was and terminated the call. The man Helen’s staying with while she’s away rang to ask me to stop leaving messages or he’ll call the police. I rang him back to explain that the police had already been round and that I hadn’t had a stroke but he cut me off.

Friday 24th September

I’m writing this under candlelight because the lights are off in the house and I don’t know why. The fridge and television have stopped working too. I wonder if there’s been a nuclear attack? Lucky I’ve some tins in.

Saturday 25th September

Still no power to the house. There is an upside - I can now keep my eye on the man in the tree during the night time because he can’t see into the house anymore, so every cloud has a silver lining. I’m still avoiding the windows during the day, especially the dining room ones because he has a clear line of sight for a head shot. No word from Helen, but this is not surprising if the balloon’s gone up.

Sunday 26th September

I could murder a boiled egg.

Monday 27th September

Dave Lee Travis rang. He said there hasn’t been a nuclear attack at all and that a fuse has probably blown, but I don’t believe him. He asked me if I’d like to come to dinner on Wednesday to celebrate Jimmy Young’s birthday. I said I couldn’t because I’d had another stroke.

Tuesday 28th September

One of my daughters (the blonde one I think) came round today. I saw her car from a hole in the attic roof I discovered last night whilst looking for some of mother’s old clothes. She hovered around the house for at least an hour before dropping a note through the door. She said she was worried about me because the television had said I’d had a series of strokes that had left me at death’s door. I rang her to explain that I hadn’t had any strokes and that they were just a ruse to get out of driving Dave Lee Travis to Jimmy Savile’s funeral and going to Jimmy Young’s birthday party. She started crying and put the phone down on me. Still no lights.

Wednesday 29th September

Peter Powell rang to tell me Dave Lee Travis is very upset with me for telling him I’d had a set of strokes when I hadn’t. I tried to explain to Peter that I had to get off the line in case Helen rang, but he started shouting at me, so I cut him off. Tesco delivered fourteen bags of tinned food and candles today. I told the delivery man to leave it by the door and tonight I shall attempt to collect it under cover of darkness.

Thursday 30th September

Yesterday’s mission to retrieve my food was not a success. The fishing rod snapped in half as I was lifting the first bag and I nearly fell from the spare-bedroom window. I tried repairing the rod with sellotape, but the roll ran out so now it’s useless. Luckily I still have two tins of beans and a Fray Bentos chicken pie in the larder which should buy me some time whilst I devise a new plan. No call from Helen.

Friday 1st October

Pinch, punch, the first of the month! Helen always used to do that. I’m still unsure how I’m going to get my food and candles which is annoying because I’ve already eaten all of the beans and half the pie. There is some pasta in the cupboard, but I’d better not touch that because it’s Helen’s and I wouldn’t want her going hungry when she gets back from visiting that man.

Saturday 2nd October

Tony Blackburn came back again today so it was another hour of sitting in the bath for me. He left a note that said ‘Noel, are you on holiday?’ which I found hysterical for some reason. I looked through the letter-box and saw that he’d interfered with my tins, but I don’t think he’s stolen any of them. I’ve eaten all my food now so tonight I must retrieve them. Helen hasn’t rung.

Sunday 3rd October

Still no success with the tins. Dave Lee Travis rang to say he’s very annoyed with me and can he borrow £30,000 or the bank will re-possess his house? I wrote him out a cheque and put it through the letter-box, so hopefully he’ll be able to sort it out now. I’m very hungry so I’m going to bed early.

Monday 4th October

Still very hungry. Some university has sent me a letter asking if I’d give my permission for them to use Mr. Blobby for a fundraising event. I rang the chap at the university who sent me the letter and said he could use Mr. Blobby on condition he came round and helped me with my tins. I don’t think he fully understood my predicament because he started laughing and said I was ‘ever the joker’. I put the phone down on him.

Tuesday 5th October

Very very hungry now. Thought about eating Helen’s pasta but decided to give her another day in case she gets back late and needs something to eat. I must retrieve the bags tonight because I’m down to my last candle. I might have some more in the cellar but I daren’t go down there because I think there’s some sort of wild dog behind the boiler. How it got in I don’t know. No word from Helen.

Wednesday 6th October

I have my tins! Mike Read rang and I explained my problem and he suggested I tie a crook-handled walking stick to some bedsheets and it worked a treat! I got all the bags up the moment it got dark and I’m now sitting writing this bathed in the warm glow of fresh candles with a bellyfull of Heinz Ravioli. I shall have to be careful with my supplies because I don’t want to go through that nightmare again. Helen always does the shopping every other Wednesday and I don’t want to mess with her routine. If she’s not back by next week I’ll order some milk so I can have a nice cup of tea.

Friday 7th October

Dave Lee Travis rang today. He says he’s not going to speak to me anymore because I didn’t lend him the £30,000 I said I would and now he’s lost his house and has had to move into his brother’s bungalow. I told him I posted it on Sunday but he said he never recieved it and put the phone down on me. I’m sure he’ll get on fine with his brother.

Saturday 8th October

Not long ’till Christmas! I wrote my Christmas cards out this morning and I hope I haven’t left anyone out. Last year I forgot to send one to Tommy Vance and he died the following year. I wouldn’t want this happening to Andy Kershaw or Simon Bates! Helen still hasn’t phoned.

Sunday 9th October

Someone I didn’t recognise came to the house today and started peering through the windows and trying the doors. I saw him through the hole in the attic roof, but I don’t think he spotted me, even when I started coughing. Eventually he went away but I have been left wondering who he is and what he wants. Perhaps he is an accomplice of the man in the tree? God forbid.

Monday 10th October

Who the hell was that at the door yesterday? I’ve been wracking my brains all day waiting for Helen to ring and I can’t think who it could be. I did order a Babyliss hair-removal thing from Argos Direct a couple of weeks ago to try and keep this ruddy beard under control … could it be them? I couldn’t see the delivery van but this doesn’t mean anything as Iceland always parks at the house gates after I shot at one of their trucks when I thought it was terrorists. It was two days after September the 11th and I’m as good a target as the next man.

Tuesday 11th October

I’m not happy about this at all. I rang Argos today and they said there was a delay on my delivery after the UK government gave asylum to 200 Albanian female weight-lifters. Apparently they’ve snapped up every hair-removal device in England which is all well and good, but what about my beard?

Wednesday 12th October

I’m writing this from my hiding place in the attic after the intruder of Sunday night returned. I was just about to place my order for next week’s shopping when I heard the letterbox open and it took all my wits to stop myself from screaming. Dashing upstairs to the attic I saw the creature walk across the lawn from the hole in the roof and what an odd-looking thing it is. Although it wears the clothes and has the stance of a man, its face resembles that of an ape. I know this because it looked back at the house before disappearing into the trees – like that Bigfoot footage somebody filmed in America.

Thursday 13th October

I was roused from my slumber in the attic this morning by the sound of breaking glass followed by cluttering and banging and general commotion. Terrified, I grabbed one of my father’s old golf clubs and made my way downstairs. A trail of chicken bones led from the kitchen to the living room and it was there I discovered the beast I described yesterday, fast asleep on my sofa. Except that it wasn’t a beast at all but some bloody tramp called Alan who says he has squatter’s rights because the house was unoccupied and anyway he isn’t going anywhere. I did try to explain to him that the house was occupied but he was having none of it and went back to sleep – a state he’s been in ever since. Is this legal?

Friday 14th October

I rang Tony Blackburn this morning to ask about the Alan situation but got an answer phone message saying Tony’s gone in to have his feet done, whatever that means. I’ll try again tomorrow.

Saturday 15th October

I came down this morning to find Alan has removed himself from the living room. He’s still somewhere in the house because I heard him going to the toilet earlier and he was making a right song and dance about it. At least his departure from the living room has allowed me to remove his toe-nail clippings which were all over the rug. Great big knarly yellow things they were. Helen hasn’t phoned.

Sunday 16th October

Tony Blackburn phoned this afternoon to discuss my uninvited houseguest. He suggests I get some form of humane trap like the ones you use for mice, only bigger. I’ll ring the pet shop tomorrow.

Monday 17th October

Well that was a waste of time. The pet shop told me in no uncertain terms that a trap the size I would need to capture Alan did not exist. They said I should try Environmental Services but when I rang them there was no reply. Alan challenged me to an arm-wrestle this evening and won. Still no word from Helen.

Tuesday 18th October

Dave Lee Travis’s brother rang me today to ask if Dave could move in with me for a bit. I told him no as I already have one bearded tramp breaking wind in my living room and I don’t need another one, thank you very much.

Wednesday 19th October

My food shopping was delivered today and Alan brought it in for me which made life a whole lot easier than last time’s disaster! As a reward I made us both a lovely cup of tea which Alan tried to give me a pound for. I tried explaining it was free but he didn’t really understand and has been eyeing me suspiciously ever since.

Thursday 20th October

What with one thing and another I almost completely forgot that today is Tony Blackburn’s 80th birthday! I rang to congratulate him, but his mother answered and told me she was helping him into the bath and could I ring back? It’s not the same when it’s on a different day.

Friday 21st October

Alan went to have a look at the tree and came back to report that the man has gone. I’m still on my guard because he may have just moved to another tree.

Saturday 22nd October

Six messages from Dave Lee Travis’s brother on my answer phone. I can’t think what he wants, though it’s probably to do with Dave’s hygiene issues. I’ll ring him tomorrow if I have the time.

Sunday 23rd October

Dave Lee Travis has been thrown out of his brother’s house! He phoned me from a box and asked if he could come and stay with me and could I lend him some money? I lied and said my house had been commandeered by the British Army and gave him the address of Jimmy Saville’s mobile home in Scarborough … well he won’t be needing it anymore, will he?

Monday 24th October

Got a phone-call this morning from an Inspector John Harper of Scarborough CID. Apparently Dave Lee Travis has been arrested breaking into Jimmy Saville’s caravan and he’s saying I gave him permission because Jimmy left me the caravan in his will. Well I’ve looked high and low amongst my documents and I can’t seem to find anything relating to the caravan … did Jimmy leave me it? I’ll have to ring his solicitor in the morning as I don’t want Dave to spend too long in police custody.

Tuesday 25th October

Jimmy’s solicitor tells me he left the caravan to David ‘Kid’ Jensen. I rang David ‘Kid’ Jensen and he told me he is pressing charges against Dave Lee Travis for breaking into his caravan, so that’s that sorted out, I think.

Wednesday 26th October

I caught Alan trying to boil fish in the downstairs lavatory this morning. He had set up a campfire at the base of the porcelain and was poised over the bowl with a piece of turbot on a string. I left him to it and now the toilet is black and the room smells of boiled fish. He’d also cooked a quantity of peas in the water, some of which were still there. He is a monstrous creature and I hate his guts. Helen didn’t ring, either.

Thursday 27th October

It gets worse! This morning I thought he’d forgotten to flush but on closer inspection found the objects floating in the bowl to be beef-burgers! You don’t boil beef-burgers, for crying out loud. Why can’t he use the cooker like normal people? Dave Lee Travis’s brother left me an answer-phone message, but Alan won’t tell me what he said.

Friday 28th October

Apparently I have been entered into a Europe-wide lottery and I’ve won! A man called Xavier Jimenez sent me an e-mail this morning saying the money will be deposited into my account once I pay an administrative fee of £2500. I have wired the money to Xavier and I’ll have to keep an eye on my bank account as he says he’ll be depositing £3,000,000 some time soon. Who says I’m unlucky, eh?

Saturday 29th October

I haven’t a clue what was in the toilet this morning because the smell prevented me getting further than the door. I’ll have to talk to Alan about this, I really will (if I can find him). No word from Xavier … or Helen, for that matter.

Monday 30th October

Dave Lee Travis rang to say he’s out on bail and can he come and stay at my house? I told him I had bowel cancer and maybe in a week if I’m feeling a bit better. Still not managed to track Alan down even after following a trail of used condoms.

Tuesday 31st October

Some children came to the house asking for money. At first I thought we were under attack from the undead until I remembered today is Halloween. When I tried to explain to them that I didn’t have any cash in the house, they began attacking my windows with rotten eggs, so I ran away. Luckily Alan came to my rescue by pelting the children with frozen fish fingers. They left after only an hour and with only minimum damage to my Bentley Continental.

Wednesday 1st November

The whole pinch/punch thing back-fired this morning. I think I should have woken Alan beforehand. Hopefully the swelling will go down in a couple of days. No e-mail from Xavier. Not in the mood to write more.

Thursday 2nd November

I tried sending Xavier another e-mail but it was returned to me. I hope he’s alright. Perhaps there’s been a revolution in Spain? I vaguely remember there being one in the seventies but now I’m not sure it wasn’t Peru or one of those other places. I’ll ask Alan once he’s finished cooking.

Friday 3rd November

Mike Smith rang to ask if I wanted to appear in a show he’s making for satellite television about the O.J. Simpson trial. He’s already asked Peter Powell and Janice Long apparently, though what they know about it I couldn’t tell you. I said no.

Saturday 4th November

I’m beginning to have reservations about this whole Spanish lottery thing. I’ve still not heard a thing from Xavier and the three million has yet to materialise in my bank account. I tried asking Alan his thoughts but he just roared at me and shut himself in the lavatory with a frozen pizza and a handful of firelighters. And the rug is missing from the dining room.

Sunday 5th November

Whilst trying to find my blessed rug I came across a letter addressed to me dated October 31st. Alan must have hidden it to use as toilet roll despite the fact I’ve told him countless times I keep thirteen hundred rolls in the cellar in case we are attacked by a re-vitalised Soviet Union. Anyway, the letter is from Channel Four and asks whether I’d consider presenting a daytime quiz show about opening boxes. I’ll have to think about it.

Monday 6th November

Well that was a great night last night and no mistake. About twenty minutes after I finished writing last night’s diary entry, Alan remembered it was Bonfire Night and all hell broke loose. The fire brigade took four and a half hours to get the blaze under control, hampered in no small measure by Alan firing rockets at the engines from the west wing tower whilst hollering like a wild beast. I didn’t even know we had any fireworks because the last time we celebrated Bonfire Night I ended up in intensive care after one of my daughters (I forget which) nailed a catherine wheel to my shoe. God alone knows what the insurance people are going to say.

Tuesday 7th November

Rang the insurance company. Not good. Apparently I’m not covered for arson if a member of my household started the fire. The whole east wing is a ruin and will cost a fortune to restore. I wonder if Alan has a savings account?

Wednesday 8th November

Tony Blackburn sent me a photograph of his backside which showed a cluster of what looked like boils. Looking this up in my medical dictionary, I discovered the correct term for this affliction is a ‘carbuncle’. I rang Tony with the news and he didn’t sound too pleased. Channel Four phoned about the ‘What’s In The Box’ game. I told them I have a bladder infection and can I ring them back?

Thursday 9th November

Tripped over an empty can of crab-meat in Alan’s cooking toilet today and I think I’ve broken my nose. Dr. Slikes visited and insisted I attend Accident and Emergency at the hospital. I told him Alan would drive me there and he went away happy. I couldn’t bring myself to actually go to the hospital, but have found some Milk of Magnesia in the bathroom cabinet, so hopefully the pain should subside after a few spoons of that.

Friday 10th November

A rancid smell of onions mixed with burnt masonry managed to waft its way past the blood-clot barrier in my nose and nearly made me sick. Further investigation led me to Alan who was boiling some of Helen’s shoes filled with onions in the downstairs loo. For what purpose I couldn’t tell you, but she’s going to be mad when she gets back because the shoes were made by some Italian man I forget the name of now.

Saturday 11th November

Tony Blackburn rang to tell me the boils on his backside don’t amount to a carbuncle. I have my doubts on this. Helen hasn’t phoned in ages; I wonder if she’s on holiday?

Sunday 12th November

No sign of Alan since Sunday’s shenanigans, but I did finally receive an e-mail from Xavier. He tells me the money I sent him last time was lost due to an administrative error, and could I wire him the same amount again? If it’s the only way I’m going to get my hands on that £3,000,000, I suppose I must.

Monday 13th November

Channel Four phoned me whilst my mind was distracted cataloguing my collection of Thirteenth Century medical experimentation instruments and I inadvertently agreed to present the ‘What’s In The Box’ show, even though I don’t want to. Apparently the show requires a studio audience and twenty two contestants! I’m going to have to have a word with Wally Farrow about this.

Tuesday 14th November

Rang Wally and he agrees with my idea of building an underground chamber where I can house all the various elements of this ‘What’s In The Box’ show. We have decided on a studio set situated underneath the Ballroom, with corridors leading to fifty guest rooms, a reception area, a restaurant with kitchens, and an underground car-park and road leading to an entrance/exit situated outside the estate gates. Four separate decontamination chambers will also be built, two for myself as part of my private Ballroom entrance, and two (larger) ones for the staff, crew, and contestants. He’s drawing up the plans now and will get back to me in a week or so, he says.

Wednesday 15th November

Rang the Ministry of Defence about radiation suits, but they weren’t all that helpful to be honest. The lady I spoke to thought I was joking when I explained my plans – no wonder they keep saying this country’s going to the dogs.

Thursday 16th November

Alan turned up today. He says he’s been to see the magnificent spires of Salisbury Cathedral. This is clearly a lie because Salisbury Cathedral’s only got one spire and anyway I found a rubber woman in the dining room and he didn’t have that when he moved in. Now the floorboards are covered in Vaseline, so I’d best be careful or I’ll end up breaking something else.

Friday 17th November

Xavier sent me an e-mail asking for more money because his house has been bombed by terrorists. I wired him £3,000 and a note telling him to keep an eye out in the future because you never know who’s about.

Saturday 18th November

I’ve spent the best part of the day arguing with Alan about who wrote ‘The Hound Of The Baskervilles’. He claims it’s Michael Crawford, who played Frank Spencer in the 1970s. I’m certain it’s Arthur Conan Doyle, but he won’t have it. After five hours of shouting at each other, he sulked off to his cooking toilet and soon the house was filled with the overpowering odour of boiled cabbage. Disgusting.

Sunday 19th November

Dave Lee Travis is here! I came down this morning to find him playing Sorry! with Alan on the kitchen table. Both of them refused to move their collection of carrier bags when I tried making my breakfast on the oven, and I had to make do with boiling my kippers in the toilet. If I’m honest, my stomach’s had better days.

Monday 20th November

Came down to find Alan and Dave Lee Travis watching The Fimbles on all six of the house’s television sets. I tried explaining that I needed at least one so I could watch the business news on the BBC, but they didn’t hear me because they’d both gaffer-taped pillows to the sides of their heads. Ordered a new television from Curry’s Online and listened to the business bulletin on Radio Four.

Tuesday 21st November

Received the following letter this morning which I found stuffed down the back of Alan’s underpants,

Dear Mr Noel Edmonds

I have your dog Spike. If you don’t give us £500 you will never see him again. Wait by the telephone box in the village at 8:00 p.m. on Friday for further instructions. If you call the police, the dog gets it.

Well I’ve gone over this time and again and I can’t for the life of me remember owning a dog, let alone one called ‘Spike’. It’s the fact the letter’s addressed to me that’s puzzling though.

Wednesday 22nd November

Rang the Kennel Club to find out what sort of dog gets called ‘Spike’ and they suggested a Yorkshire Terrier or perhaps a Jack Russell. This only confused matters more because if I was to own a dog, I wouldn’t get either of these breeds because they’re a bit small. I tried ringing Jimmy Saville because I seem to remember him saying he had a dog once but there was no answer. I later recalled he’d been eaten by rats.

Thursday 23rd November

Wally rang to keep me updated on the plans for the new show but I wasn’t really listening. Alan has disappeared off again. I have heard the odd howl coming from somewhere in the attic area so I assume he’s keeping himself busy – as is Dave Lee Travis who’s amusing himself by boiling eggs to the point of disintegration in the downstairs toilet. Still don’t know what to do about my (?) dog.

Friday 24th November

What an awful day. Not only did Alan and Dave Lee Travis ‘lose’ poor Spike’s ransom money twice but they also waited at the wrong phone box for their instructions. Luckily, one of the kidnapper’s brothers lives in a house opposite and spotted the two of them hanging around (they’re not exactly hard to miss). The kidnappers were alerted and handed the dog over after accepting £494.47 – it would have been £500 but Alan had to buy an emergency packet of Chesterfield’s. They arrived home smelling suspiciously of beer with Spike on a string all looking very sorry for themselves. The dog promptly pooed all over the carpet before collapsing dead of a heart attack. So that was money well spent.

Saturday 25th November

Dave Lee Travis buried Spike today in a lovely spot under the willow trees by the pond. I think he’ll like it there as it gets a lot of sun in the summer time. The pond also gets a lot of ducks and suchlike which dogs like chasing if I remember rightly. It’s a shame I didn’t get to know him better really, especially as I’m still unsure whether he was my dog in the first place. I’ll ask Helen when she gets back.

Sunday 26th November

Alan insisted it was Remembrance Sunday today so we all had to observe two minutes silence whilst he fired a shotgun out of the window. Dave Lee Travis sang the National Anthem and I remembered the fallen by cooking a fried breakfast and arranging the various bits and bobs into Union Jacks. We then watched the last half of ‘Von Ryan’s Express’ – we would have seen it all if Alan hadn’t taped over the beginning with a programme about elephants.

Monday 27th November

Another letter arrived from the kidnappers this morning demanding money. I rang the kidnapper’s brother and he said that the letter had been sent in error because the kidnappers had assumed I wouldn’t pay up. I told him the dog had died and he asked if he could have its body as his mother was wondering where it had got to. I told him Dave Lee Travis had buried it in the garden and this made him very angry for some reason. So I put the phone down.

Tuesday 28th November

I now have conclusive proof that Arthur Conan Doyle wrote ‘The Hound Of The Baskervilles’ because Channel Four showed it this afternoon and it clearly said ‘Based on the novel by Arthur Conan Doyle’ in the credits. Alan still won’t have it though – he still insists it’s Michael Crawford.

Wednesday 29th November

Rang Michael Crawford’s agent and he confirmed that Michael didn’t write ‘The Hound Of The Baskervilles’. He says he’ll send me an affidavit which should hopefully shut Alan up for good.

Thursday 30th November

Gary Davies rang to ask me if the rumours are true that I’m Terry Wogan’s brother. I said I wasn’t and he said he’d pass on the information to Terry when he met up with him in Skegness next week. The kidnappers showed up at the house gates and demanded Spike’s body back through the intercom. Luckily, Alan was in the garden at the time digging trenches and managed to get rid of them by pelting them with rocks.

Friday 1st December

Christmas month starts today! Affidavit arrived from Michael Crawford’s agent which I showed to Dave Lee Travis. He said he’d tell Alan after he finished ordering his caravan. Which is funny because I didn’t think he had any money.

Saturday 2nd December

The house stinks of burnt plastic but I’m damned if I can find the source. I originally thought Alan had set fire to his sex toys but on further investigation I found them all in the downstairs pantry, nailed to the wall. I tried finding Dave Lee Travis to ask him if he knew the source of the smell, but I think he’s sulking after I found out he’d stolen my credit card to order a caravan off the internet.

Sunday 3rd December

Those bloody kidnappers have broken into the grounds and dug up Spike! They must have done it last night while we were listening to my disco collection. Alan’s furious and has sworn he’ll get our dog back or die trying.

Monday 4th December

God alone knows what Alan has planned in regards to getting our dog back. I rang the RSPCA to get some advice but they told me they only deal with animals that are still alive and perhaps I should call the police? I would do if I wasn’t unsure of Dave Lee Travis’s legal status in this country. I seem to remember him saying he was an Israeli immigrant or something, though I could be confusing this with a programme I saw about the Munich Olympics. Either way, I don’t want to be accused of being a whistle-blower.

Tuesday 5th December

Received a package this morning containing an original 1920’s scale model of the Chrysler Building in New York. I’m not sure, but I think I know why. Tried doing some Christmas shopping on the internet but all I could find was a book about Kung Fu. I ordered it but I don’t know who on earth I’ll give it to.

Wednesday 6th December

Tony Blackburn phoned to say the boils on his backside have got worse. I suggested he take a holiday in Morocco as I’d read somewhere that lots of British men go there to have their bottoms attended to. He seemed to take offence at this and put the phone down on me.

Thursday 7th December

Discovered the source of the smell that’s been stinking the house out since Saturday. Dave Lee Travis ordered a hundredweight of plastic Virgin Marys on my credit card which he’d planned to sell from a stall outside the house gates. They arrived when I was in the bath and he secretly stashed them in the cellar, not realising they were too close to the boiler down there. They’ve been slowly roasting away ever since and now there’s a large blue, white and pink lump glued to the cellar floor. I told Dave Lee Travis he had to get rid of the lump or I’ll not order him any more jars of crinkle-cut beetroot from Tesco’s.

Friday 8th December

E-mail arrived from Xavier this morning. He tells me he is on the run from the Spanish mafia and needs £4,799 to go towards a deposit on a farmhouse in Valencia where he plans to hide out. I sent him a cheque.

Saturday 9th December

Parcel arrived containing a model of the Guggenheim Museum with removable walls and detailed interiors. Tony Blackburn rang but I pretended I was Alan by swearing down the phone at him. He left a message with me for me saying his backside is no better.

Sunday 10th December

There’s a horse in the garden. Alan says it’s not his but I have my suspicions. He looked very shifty in the toilet this morning and wouldn’t let me see what he was cooking. It smelt like turnips but probably wasn’t. The toilet doesn’t look very good to be honest – I might call in a plumber, though God knows what he’ll say when he finds out both Alan and Dave Lee Travis use it to cook food in.

Monday 11th December

The horse is still there. I’ve had to order some hay from Bill in the village because there isn’t much in the way of food for it to eat, what with it being winter. Alan still insists the horse isn’t his, even though I found a photocopy of a horse in his room this morning.

Tuesday 12th December

Spike’s gravestone arrived today. It’s a bit superfluous to be honest, what with his body being stolen by his kidnappers. Still, it’s nice though. It’s in the shape of a bone and says ‘Here Lies Spike – Goodbye Old Friend’, which sums up how we’re all feeling about the old devil. Dave Lee Travis erected it next to the hole where he was buried and it looked very picturesque until the horse knocked it over.

Wednesday 13th December

I don’t believe it! Dave Lee Travis woke me up this morning to tell me Spike’s gravestone has been stolen! I rang the kidnapper’s brother but he denied everything, even though I swear I heard sniggering in the background. So now, not only has my dog been stolen, but also his bloody gravestone which cost me £1000! I wouldn’t be surprised if I woke up tomorrow to find they’d stolen the hole he was buried in as well.

Thursday 14th December

This gets worse! I received a call from Tony Fisher this afternoon. Tony is the man who engraved Spike’s headstone and he was ringing to tell me that the damage to it is going to cost me an extra £300 to repair! I tried explaining I no longer had the bloody thing but I don’t think he was listening to me. That’s more money I’m going to have to shell out, no doubt. AND the horse is still here.

Friday 15th December

Detailed architectural blueprints for Albert Speer’s proposed remodelling of the centre of Berlin arrived this morning - Special Delivery. I know what this is all about. I sent a letter of complaint to the Society of Architects a while back objecting to the plans for the new extension to the Victoria and Albert Museum and this is their way of getting their own back on me. The plans went in the bin alongside the models of the Chrysler Building and the Guggenheim Museum. God knows what’ll turn up next.

Saturday 16th December

Came downstairs this morning to find hoof-prints in the drawing room. I would ask Alan about it but he hasn’t been seen since Thursday. Dave Lee Travis thinks it has something to do with Alan’s experiments but I’m not sure that it isn’t just an unnatural attraction to horses – even though Alan denies the animal has anything to do with him.

Sunday 17th December

Alan has kidnapped the kidnapper’s brother! I knew he was up to something and now I know what. I was looking out of the library window this afternoon and spotted the horse with a weird lump on its back. Thinking it had developed a tumour in the middle of the night, I sent Dave Lee Travis out to take a look and he came back to tell me it was a naked man wrapped in polythene strapped to the horse with ropes and padlocks. Alan later explained that the kidnapper’s brother has a fear of horses that dates back to the day he saw his mother squashed underneath an Arabian mare which had fallen thirty thousand feet from a cargo plane. He says he’ll only release the man when we get our dead dog and our headstone back and has written a note to the kidnappers telling them so. I wait with baited breath to see how this one turns out.

Monday 18th December

Dave Lee Travis took some porridge out to the kidnapper’s brother strapped to the horse this morning. He’s requested some winter clothes because he’s none too warm wrapped in polythene, especially at night. You’d have thought the horse would have given off a fair bit of heat, but apparently not. I’ve ordered him a cagoule off the internet.

Tuesday 19th December

Still no word from the kidnappers. Tony Blackburn phoned to remind me it’s my turn to host the annual Ex-Radio One DJs' Christmas Dinner, which I’d completely forgotten about to be honest. I’ve ordered a delivery of food and mince pies from Tesco’s and the guests should start arriving on Saturday. Hopefully we’ll have ridden ourselves of the kidnapper’s brother by then because I assume he doesn’t want to spend the festive season strapped to a horse in the garden.

Also, Alan and Dave’s Christmas presents arrived this morning along with a signed copy of Sir Norman Foster’s autobiography, which went in the bin. I’ve got Dave Lee Travis a litre of unleaded petrol and Alan some diesel in a special presentation can. There was also a package for Alan which smelt strongly of marzipan; I would have quizzed him about it but he left early for the local quarry for some reason.

Wednesday 20th December

Word from the kidnappers! They apologised for not getting back sooner but they’ve been on holiday in Robin Hood’s Bay (funny time to go there) and only got back last night. They’ve agreed to exchange their brother for Spike but refuse to give the headstone back because their mum’s apparently taken a shine to it. The drop-off’s tomorrow night so I’ll have to ring Tony Fisher and get him to make a new stone.

Thursday 21st December

Well we’ve got Spike back and the kidnapper’s brother has gone. This has pleased the horse immensely and he hasn’t stopped running around since. I had a look in the bag they brought Spike back in and had to have a lie down for a couple of hours.

Friday 22nd December

Tony Blackburn rang to ask if he needs to bring his own underpants or will I be supplying them? I advised him to bring his own because I’m not sure how many I’ve got left since Alan has started stealing them. Dave Lee Travis gave me my Christmas present early because he says he might be ‘busy’ on the big day. He insisted I open it and I’m now the proud owner of a plate with a painting of the Queen Mother on it, which I didn’t really want. I suppose it clears up the mystery of the £100 payment to a company called The Franklin Mint that appeared on my last credit card bill.

Saturday 23rd December

Only two days to go until the big day and the house is full of Christmas cheer. Various ex-Radio One DJs started arriving at the house this morning and now it’s all hands to the pumps. Alan handed out his homemade egg-nog which smelt of motor oil and tasted like dead fish and Dave lee Travis has been entertaining us on the accordion with his extensive collection of lewd rugby songs. Fluff Freeman has given me a photograph of Adolf Hitler for Christmas which is signed ‘Knock ’Em Dead Kev – Adolf Hitler’. I’ll have to get rid of it when Fluff goes back to his nursing home. Terry Wogan was meant to arrive today but has had to postpone till tomorrow because he didn’t realise he had to bring his own underpants.

Sunday 24th December

Christmas Eve! Terry Wogan arrived at five this morning and immediately started nailing portraits of himself to my walls. He has also commandeered my bedroom, so I’m writing this in the library where I’ve got a duvet and a couple of pillows set up on the rug. Alan got blind drunk on Bailey’s with Simon Mayo and Mike Reid earlier and toppled the Christmas tree on to David Jacobs and Peter Powell. They were arguing over the rules of Monopoly with Simon Bates at the time and didn’t see it coming. David’s ended up in hospital with a broken pelvis and Peter’s landed himself with a detached retina and severe bruising, but apart from that everything’s running smoothly. Better get to bed before Santa Claus gets here! Merry Christmas!

Monday 25th December

This has been, without a shadow of a doubt, the worst Christmas day I’ve ever had. It even tops the year those kids emptied a wasp’s nest through my letterbox and I ended up in Intensive Care. The day started off well enough with presents being opened and gratitude all round, but rapidly escalated out of control when Dave Lee Travis admitted he’d broken the oven. Alan and I discussed this and he somehow persuaded me that Christmas Dinner could be cooked entirely in the toilet. Despite my scepticism that a boiled turkey doesn’t resemble a roasted one, any way you slice it, he chipped in and said we could paint the bird with wood varnish to give it that ‘just-roasted’ effect. How I agreed to this I don’t know - perhaps I didn’t want to lose face after the triumph that was Janice Long’s dinner last year? Anyway, the deed was done and Dave Lee Travis painted the turkey and the boiled potatoes (to resemble roast potatoes, God help us) and the whole flabby, watery mess was served up to the expectant DJs.

Well, it was awful. I don’t know if you’ve ever eaten boiled turkey, but if you haven’t I wouldn’t bother. Simon Bates threw up all over Steve Wright’s back and I think Fluff had a heart attack because he turned a really weird shade of green. Terry Wogan walked out in disgust, taking his portraits of himself with him and the whole mood of Christmas camaraderie we’d built up over the last few days was soured. Not even Alan’s homemade crackers could lighten the mood – probably because the last thing you want after wading through turkey and potatoes coated in wood varnish is for a small incendiary bomb to go off in your hand and shower you in used condoms and lurid photographs of the Duchess of York.

But the best was yet to come. After we had finished our puddings (thus solving the mystery of my missing underpants in the process– Alan had boiled our dessert in the gussets), we were ushered into the toilet where Alan had set up what he called his ‘piece-de-resistence’ – a marzipan model of a Thai fishing village arranged around the rim of the bowl. He told us he was going to ‘recreate the Boxing Day tsunami’, and as Dave Lee Travis led us in a rousing rendition of ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen’ Alan depressed the flush, there was a bright flash of light, then everything went dark.

I awoke some time later to find myself in the cellar. I’m pinned down by debris but at least I can breath. I’m not happy that my left arm’s glued to the floor by melted blue plastic, but at least I’m alive which is more than I can say for Peter Powell, who’s body (but not head) I can see out of the corner of my eye. It’s only a guess but I assume this has happened thanks to Alan’s little ‘visit’ to the quarry the other day. Pardon my French, but I hope the fucker’s dead.

Tuesday 26th December

Boxing Day. I’m still stuck to the floor under a pile of rubble. I thought I heard a dog earlier on but I’m not sure now. The mind plays tricks.

Wednesday 27th December

Still buried under the house. Luckily a pipe was broken in the explosion and is drizzling water on to my feet, so at least I’ve something to drink. Quite hungry though because I didn’t eat much of that dinner on Christmas Day for obvious reasons.

Thursday 28th December

God I wish that bloody water would stop drizzling on my feet. I understand why the Japanese used it as a form of torture because it really does drive you mad. Hopefully the rescue team will find me soon.

Friday 29th December

Still under the house. Not happy at all.

Saturday 30th December

Don’t these bloody people have listening equipment? Five bloody days I’ve been here now and I haven’t heard so much as a drill. I’m very hungry and cold and I’ve had just about enough of watching Peter Powell decompose. And why didn’t Dave Lee Travis get rid of those melted Virgin Marys when I asked him to? They’ve completely pinned me to the floor now that they’ve cooled down.

Sunday 31st December

New Year’s Eve! Not that I’ve much to celebrate about. Peter Powell’s decaying corpse is looking more and more appetising by the day - if it wasn’t for this plastic pinning me to the floor, I’d be sorely tempted to eat one or two of his fingers (though not the nails … a man has to draw the line somewhere). Heard faint sounds above me a couple of hours ago - it could be a rescue team, or wasps, I’m not sure.

Monday 1st January

Very weak. Can’t write much. Feet completely frozen solid. Peter Powell’s neck is oozing matter. Not nice to look at … have I missed Crimewatch UK?

Tuesday 2nd January

I’ve been rescued! Dave Lee Travis told the fire brigade that was the last of them when they pulled Simon Bates’s body from the rubble, so they left me under the house. I’d have died if Tony Blackburn hadn’t regained conciousness. Apparently he woke bolt upright and shouted “Noel Edmonds!” at the top of his lungs. The doctors realised I was missing and alerted the authorities - that was the noise I heard yesterday - and they came and dug me out. They had a devil of a time prising me off the floor and I’m ashamed to say I lunged for Peter Powell’s flesh the moment my arms were free - hunger does terrible things to a man, it really does.

Wednesday 3rd January

Alan turned up at the hospital today to apologise for blowing up my house thanks to his idiot toilet experiments. He said he’d painted me a picture and I’m looking at it while I write. It’s divided into four sections, each one depicting a different James Bond with various explosions in the background (except for the fourth panel which seems to depict a constipated Vincent Price). In the centre are four smaller panels containing three pictures of women with their breasts bared and a lady’s naked bottom. Across her buttocks is written the legend: Greetings From The Algarve. I shall ask a nurse to dispose of it in the morning.

Thursday 4th January

The full grim toll of Alan’s Boxing Day Tsunami recreation has become apparent. According to Dave Lee Travis (who I awoke to find rifling through my pockets), only himself, Alan, Tony Blackburn and I got out alive. The police want to speak to me apparently. They’ve already talked to Wogan … who’s no doubt spread his usual web of lies.

Friday 5th January

The police questioned me today about the events of Christmas Day. Alan has already lied and blamed a gas leak and I decided it would be best for the families to leave it at that. I’ll have to have words with him about this when I’m allowed out of here. You can’t go around blowing up two generations of Radio One DJs and expect to get away scot-free … no matter how mentally ill you pretend to be.

Saturday 6th January

Dave Lee Travis telephoned the hospital. He says he’s found us all temporary accommodation at some B&B he says he knows the owner of. He told me he and Alan are off to the house to dig up Spike so we can all be together again. They better not put his corpse in my room, that’s all I can say. I’ve had enough of sitting in a room with a decomposing body to last me a lifetime, thankyou very much.

They say I'll be discharged from the hospital tomorrow. Every cloud ...

Sunday 7th January

THE TIDESWELL BED & BREAKFAST

Well I don't think much to the accomodation Dave Lee Travis has found for us. He's used my credit card to book two rooms and, despite the fact I'm paying for it, I've ended up sharing an en-suite twin with Alan, Alan's rubber women and other sundry contraptions, and the body of Spike. He's wrapped the dog up pretty securely in polythene and stored him at the back of the wardrobe, but despite these precautions there's still a bit of a whiff in the air. God alone knows how many health and safety regulations we're breaking. Probably loads.

Monday 8th January

For crying out loud! One day we've been here - one! And what do I find when I wake up? Alan stacking firelghters and kindling round our en-suite toilet, that's what! Well I was furious. I told him in no uncertain terms that he wasn't starting that caper up again, and confiscated the matches he'd foolishly left on his bed. He didn't take this very well; he grabbed two of his rubber women and informed me he was moving in with Dave Lee Travis. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say.

Tuesday 9th January

The landlady of the Tideswell knocked on my door this morning to inform me that I was to pay for the damages to Dave Lee Travis and Alan's en-suite toilet immediately, or she'd call the police. I begrudgingly handed over a cheque. When she left, I rang the estate agent's to see if they had any large properties for sale with plenty of bathrooms. They said Hartsford Hall was for sale, and would I like to arrange a viewing? I didn't relly want to leave the safety of my room, so I've told Dave Lee Travis he has to go and look at it tomorrow. He didn't half grumble about it.

Wednesday 10th January

Received a letter from a woman in Dubai this morning, claiming I was the father of her son, Pedro. I don't ever recall sleeping with this woman, but thought it best to put a cheque in the post just in case I had slept with her and had forgotten about it. I included a note saying Pedro should spend the money on a new pair of football boots and, if there's any left over, get himself some gobstoppers. Do they have sweet shops in Dubai?

Thursday 11th January

Tony Blackburn rang to tell me someone disguised in the uniform of the Salvation Army had posted a large quantity of faeces through his mother's letterbox. He wanted to know if I'd ever had faeces posted through my letterbox, and I said that I hadn't, though I had had a wasps' nest. We left it at that.

Friday 12th January

Dave Lee Travis has finally been to see the hall. He says it's in a bit of a state because the last owner went mad and let her dogs poo all over the carpets. They've got rid of the muck, so Dave Lee Travis says, but you can apparently still smell it. I'm not sure I want to live in a house that smells of dog dirt.

Saturday 13th January

My Magic Tree air fresheners have finally arrived. I've suspended them from every available fitting and fixture in the en-suite room, but you can still smell Spike. I'm seriously reconsidering my decision not to buy the hall. I'd rather live with the smell of old dog dirts than the stink given off by that old dog in the wardrobe. When do they turn to bones?

Sunday 14th January

Alan has been spending a lot of time digging around in the local landfill. He says he's unearthed indisputable evidence that Michael Crawford wrote 'The Hound of the Baskervilles'. I asked to see this evidence, and he came at me like an angry Rottweiller. Thankfully, Dave Lee Travis was just leaving his en-suite room as Alan's attack began, and he barrelled into Dave Lee Travis instead of me. This gave me enough time to barricade myself inside my room. Alan's been ferociously pounding on my door ever since, calling me every name under the sun.

Monday 15th January

Terry Wogan's secretary rung me to say he's forgiven me, and can he come to stay? I tried explaining I was living in a bed and breakfast and that my room's full of Magic Tree air fresheners and Alan's filthy sex aids, but she cut me off. I went online and ordered some underpants in case Terry Wogan carries out his threat.

Tuesday 16th January

Received a letter from Pedro. He thanked me for the money and said he'd bought some action films on DVD with it. I was a bit angry about this, as I'd specified my son (?) should spend the money on football boots. I wrote him a letter to that effect, and gave it to Dave Lee Travis to post the next time he goes out collecting bras off washing lines.

Wednesday 17th January

Well both the underpants and Terry Wogan arrived today. He marched in and started nailing the obligatory portraits of himself to the walls. The landlady complained that this was against bed and breakfast regulations, and Terry flew into a fury. Within minutes, he'd pulled his blessed portraits off the walls and stormed out of the bed and breakfast, swearing never to return. So that's money I've wasted on those blasted underpants, then.

Thursday 18th January

I was woken very early by an envelope being slid under the en-suite room's door. I opened it up and inside I found a picture of Michael Crawford dressed as Frank Spencer writing 'The Hound of the Baskervilles' in the old days. Underneath the picture Alan had scribbled the word 'PROOF!' in big letters. I'm not sure how authentic this picture is because it's wrapped in so much sellotape you have to squint to make it out. I've decided I'll challenge him about this when he gets back from Oxford.

Friday 19th January

Tony Blackburn rang to say he's had more faeces posted through the door. He also asked if I'd ever considered owning a cat, as he knew where one was going begging. I said I didn't want a cat because I have incurable kidney cancer, and then cut him off.

Saturday 20th January

The Sun rang me up this morning to ask if the rumours of my incurable kidney cancer were true, or if they were lies like the last time I lied to get out of driving Dave Lee Travis to Jimmy Savile's funeral after he was eaten by rats in Scarborough. I confrimed that I'd lied about the cancer because I didn't want a cat that's apparently going begging. They said they're not going to use Tony Blackburn as a source again.

Sunday 21st January

A cat arrived in a box for me this morning. The note attached wished me all the best with my incurable kidney cancer, and was signed by Tony Blackburn. Dave Lee Travis said the cat looks a bit like Adolf Hitler, and that we should call it Adolf Eichmann. I asked why we couldn't just have done with it and call it Adolf Hitler, and he said that Adolf Eichmann wasn't quite as evil as Adolf Hitler was, and that it wouldn't be nice to burden a cat with Adolf Hitler's name. So we've called it Adolf Eichmann.

Monday 22nd January

Adolf Eichmann keeps pawing at the wardrobe door. If only he knew what was in there!

Alan has returned from his 'investigations' in Oxford (investigations, I might add, that were funded by yours truly), and he says I can just forget about Arthur Conan Doyle and my assertion that he wrote 'The Hound of the Baskervilles' thanks to a series of discoveries he's made. Alan says he's putting his findings together, and will present his case to Dave Lee Travis, Adolf Eichmann and I at a future date. I only hope this presentation doesn't involve dynamite.