Some old biddy keeps phoning me up at night. It's always when I'm on the Internet so her call gets automatically redirected to BT's Answering Service. Then when I hang up I have to phone BT to find out who's been trying to get in touch with me, so I've no idea who she is or what her phone number is. The biggest problem is that she thinks my name is Karen and that I'm obviously related to her. A few weeks ago I got the message (said in an extremely frail 90-odd year old sounding voice): "Hello Karen. I was just phoning to see if you're all right but you're obviously busy so I won't bother." After I'd deleted it I felt like a total bastard for not being able to get back in touch with her to say that she'd got the wrong number. I don't know why I felt guilty exactly...but I did. It must have been the simple pleading in her sad little voice...the loneliness of it all at being abandoned by some callous daughter with better fish to fry.

This sort of thing has happened several times now. Tonight I got the message (sounding even more pitiful and frail than usual): "Hello Karen...it's me again. I'm wondering why you haven't been in touch and what's the matter. Please let know that you're all right." Fuck...what a right cunt I feel now and no mistake. I'm thinking of having some sort of message installed at the beginning of the answering service...something along the lines of: "This isn't Karen you stupid old sow. Now fuck off and stop making me feel guilty before I send an electronic pulse down the phone that'll blow your hearing aid up and glue what's left of it to your sad old ear drum."

Local News: Ageing, gargoylic tax-evader and unfunny Liverpudlian Ken Dodd appeared in court today...this time, for once, on the side of the prosecution. Apparently for the last ten years he has been stalked by an obsessive fan. (Christ...talk about the lives that are going to be wasted in Iraq. At least they won't be wasted through their own choice.)

During the trial, Doddery (aged 96...which is considerably younger than most of his jokes) blew his opening gambit when he turned to Judge Penelope Mollusc and stated: "Tattifilarious! I say, Madam! What a wonderful day...what a wonderful day for running up some talentless old twat's garden path, sticking a dead rat through their letter box whilst it's on fire and then crapping in their rose bushes shouting, "You're fucking dead you buck toothed wanker.""

The trial continues tomorrow, but nobody gives a shit.