The weather's turned again. Bloody Essex. You never know what you're going to get round here, that's for sure. Last week I was outside pruning back my corn and and tomato plants in the vegetable patch in my garden. They'd starting to grow again, thinking it was spring. It was that hot! But now we've had frost every morning for three mornings, and yesterday it rained.

Its always been like this, though. I remember remarking to Garry Bushell a few summers ago how you'd have to be a fool to live in Essex, and a bloody idiot to live anywhere else in the world!

It was only then that I remembered that he was from London, and that it was Richard Littlejohn who was from Essex. I've never been so embarrassed in my life.

It's a cliche to say it, but you have to be mad to work in comedy. And a racist, if you listen to those poncey bastards in the press.

I'm not a racist though, and I don't think I've ever met one in Essex either. Its only when I go to London and meet all those preening media types that I encounter any sort of prejudice at all. I could tell you tales that you wouldn't believe, but you'd just think I was lying.

Suffice to say, I'm glad to be out of TV.

My fridge has broken down. Apparently, according to the fat man who came to fix it, the pipes at the back were clogged up with blood. Then he threw all my meat and bones out into the garden. I almost burst into tears.

Then he told me it was going to cost 150 pouns to buy a new fridge, and upwards of a thousand to replace all my meat. I'm just glad I'd dug out the pond last week, so I can bury it all underneath there.

Coupled with the Inheritance Tax bombshell my accountant left me - costing me over 400,000 pouns- this has been an expensive week. Next week I'll probably discover that all the jewelry my wife left is actually made out of something less expensive than the gold and diamonds I thought it all was. And the dog will probably eat my signed copy of Mein Kampf.

This internet thing is a laugh, isn't it?

The other day I got an email from a man called Wayne Marsh. 'Why you so rubbish' he asked, missing out a question mark and even a full stop. At least he used a capital letter, I suppose.

I emailed him back saying 'Why is your question and grammar so rubbish?', but he never replied.

It really makes me fear for the future of this country. Its the product of this damned socialist government. No one has any respect any more.

Imagine if Simon Le Bon and Bono got married! Bono Le Bon would be a pretty silly name.

I was in the garden again yesterday, digging out the pond. It was really bloody hot. Stupid global warming.

While I was digging, my next door neighbour peeked over the fence, and wondered why I was covered in blood. I was frightened for a bit - I feared I might have put the shovel through my foot - but when I looked down my shirt was just covered in red clay. It did look a bit like blood, I suppose.

Anyway, I told my neighbour to fuck off.

Somedays I get up and I think that its important you know exactly what I think. So here is a list of things I'm furious about

1) Inheritance Tax: Last week I asked my accountant to find out how much my estate was worth, and it turned out my house is worth just under 1 million pouns. You'd think I would be pleased, but, as my accountant explained, when I die 40% of that will go straight to the bloody taxman. 40%! It is disgusting. So instead of having a house worth 1 million pouns, really its only worth 600 grand. I thought we were supposed to be living in a free country, not bloody Russia.

2) Cats: I hate cats.

3) Gypsys Sorry, I mean Travelling Britains. I bet they don't pay any Inheritance Tax when they die. Thieving scum.

And that is the last I will say on the matter.

Essex is a beautiful country. Not that you'd know that if you watch television. You'd think it was just London but worse. Well it isn't. Its the best bloody place in the world, and no amount of sneering queers will ever be able to change this fact.

NAG NAG NAG NAG NAG.

I've a good mind to throttle the bloody woman.