A woman in Wichita, Kansas collapsed during the religious blockbuster 'The Passion Of Christ' (during the bloody crucifixion scene). She later died in hospital.

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Hello Daves readers. Edward (Jack Russell, 3 years, long haired and a bit smelly) here. Dave has a roaring toothache and has gone back to bed so I thought I would test out this extra large keyboard I picked up at PetsMart last week. Seems to be OK so here goes:
They took me round the park three times this morning. That bloody lurcher cross breed was there again. His mum is Irish and, according to Daddy Darren, she talks bollocks. I can never catch him, he runs very fast and no matter how much I bark at him he won't stop. I'll get to sniff his arse one day. My friend Midas wasn't out this morning. Her Mummy is a lezzie and works for MTV. She looks like a Daddy not a Mummy. Sandy wasn't out either. Her Daddy has an electric cart thing because he can't walk very well. The sun was shining this morning which was nice and the ground was soft. I nearly took a pee on a pile of jumpers but Daddy Dave shouted at me before I could cock my leg. I'd already had a poop in my garden at home but I was able to squeeze another out in that 'special' corner of the park set aside for us poopers. The Yorkshire terrier with the long legs came into the park as we left but her Mummy keeps her on a long leash. She's foxy (but as I've no balls I don't really care). I'll probably be taken back to the park before dark today but I'm going out into the garden now to see if that pesky black cat from next door wants a fight. Her poo smells so much worse than mine.

It's 12 years since Morrissey has performed in Manchester. Darren and I will see his homecoming on 22 May. Can't you hear that roar as he walks out onto the stage at the Manchester Evening News Arena?

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At the dentist yesterday I was told I need root canal work done. Shit. Gotta wait till Monday afternoon for that. Meanwhile I'm zapped out on a lovely combination of paracetamol with codeine and ibuprofen. I floated around Sainsburys this morning while Darren loaded the trolley. I then took another dose when we got home and ended up in bed using the Guardian travel section as a blanket. Slept like a puppy till 5pm. Got up and had a thai curry and 3 more pills (which helped me sit still through the Eurovision song vote thingy). I'm waiting for Darren to finish watching 24 so we can watch Lost In translation on DVD which arrived yesterday from the USA (a real bargain BW, I paid just eight quid cos of the weak dollar).

We went to see Big Fish in Blackpool. It looked real pretty. The man sitting next to me (not Darren) had a box of those Belgian chocolate sea-shell things. And a sandwich from Boots. The film was twee and half an hour too long. Pleasant though. I had a medium salted popcorn and a diet coke. The popcorn made my lips go all crinkly. Bought petrol and two bags of crisps from the garage when we left the cinema. When we got home Darren watched Match Of The Day and I went to bed early. We’ve turned into my Mum and Dad.

My mum always does her ‘big clean’ on a Sunday morning while she makes the Sunday roast. My Dad goes golfing and has a shandy in the clubhouse before arriving home at exactly 2pm for lunch. Then they doze on the couch and wake up in time for Antiques Roadshow (or Ski Sunday in the winter). Sunday tea is tinned fruit and banana sandwiches. Sometimes on a Sunday evening they will go to the Comrades social club to play bingo and watch a band (actually a drummer and an organist/singer). My Mum will sit with the other wives when Dad goes to chat to his pals. Dad will always buy the drinks and bring them to the table on a round metal tray. There is sometimes a raffle after the bingo and the main prize is usually a mixed grill (a tray of raw meat). When they don’t go to the Comrades they go to the cinema. They always get there for 7pm and never plan what to see. They will choose the movie by looking at the posters outside and then the start times. They will have popcorn and coke. On the way home they will buy chips or crisps and have a snack while watching whatever shit is on ITV at 11pm on a Sunday night. I love my Mum and Dad.

It's my trumpet and aint no one else gonna blow it so I'll just give you all a wee tune: I bought a pair of jeans on Saturday. 31w. Last pair I bought were 36w. I also bought a t-shirt. Size small. The t-shirt I wore to go shopping was a large. Hope that doesn't jinx my efforts. Chicken hotpot for lunch.

Ok, Ok, stop e-mailing me already. They're back so use 'em.

We rode our bikes along the prom on Sunday afternoon. All the way from North Shore to South Shore. To the point where the dunes separate Blackpool from it’s well-to-do sister Lytham St Anne’s. The sky was very blue and the sun was shining but it was bloody cold. A lot of money has been spent rehabilitating the wide prom down at South Shore and very impressive it looks now. Lots of public art and interesting touches make this end of town look very stylish (and there’s a word you don’t often associate with Blackpool!).

These concrete balls have tiny lights embedded in them.

My bike in front of a great big piece of rusty art.

A huge silver lolly on a stick.

These figures look excellent under the first drop.

Darren on his bike.

That silver ball is stunning.

I was strolling along North pier in Blackpool yesterday when I spotted a familiar face. Twas Barry from Hi De Hi, the sour faced ballroom dancer. He still looks like he is sucking on a lemon but that could have been the biting cold wind from the Irish Sea. No sign of Yvonne though.

My boss and his boss have gone to the pub and their boss is having a leaving 'do' in the 'soft area' at 4pm (a 'soft area' is a place for pretending to relax on uncomfortable chairs. This pleases Ministers and lets them think we have our 'work-life-balance' thing sorted). I told my boss and his boss that it would be two faced of them to attend the 4pm 'do' as they hate their boss. They told me to shut up and reminded me that free alcohol cancels out any two-facedness. I said "in that case order me a bottle of becks at the pub and I'll join you soon".

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Freaky Friday.
While seated lift your right foot off the floor and make clockwise circles.
Now, while doing this, draw the number "6" in the air with your right hand.

Your foot will change direction and there's nothing you can do about it.

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Todays earphones pleasure: Chicks On Speed - 99 cents. There's a track on the album called 'Coventry' which I'm loving.
"Russel lives in Cov. It's such a brutal place. It's in the middle of England. It's right up in your face."
A crafty wink and nod towards 'Scandal' by the Pets Shop Boys. Lovely. I shall wave to Coventry tonight as we whizz past on the M6.

Todays earphones pleasure: Buzzcocks - Singles Going Steady. I saw the Buzzcocks in 1979 at Newcastle City Hall. An unknown band called Joy Division were supporting them. I wasn't in the bar (I was 15) when Joy Division played but I wasn't in my seat either. I was probably checking out the merchandise or watching my mates smoke outside the venue. A year later and Joy Division are the biggest thing in the world. Everyone who didn't watch them that night (including me) lied and said that they were glued to their seats watching Ian Curtis dance ("dance dance dance to the radio") like an epileptic. That was my Sex Pistols/Screen On The Green story.

Don't you hate it when a Minister follows you into the lavvy and you're carrying a newspaper? Alex Cox writes about Derek Jarman in the Guardian today. He says he only met him once. Me too. I was at the London Apprentice (notorious slum/sex pub in now trendy Shoreditch) on a Thursday evening and found myself downstairs (like watching a scene from Ken Russells The Devils) standing next to Mr Jarman. I normally wouldn't have said a thing to him but the previous evening I'd watched a gardening programme on TV (gardening shows were rare in 1990). That programme had included an article on Mr Jarmans garden at his shed in Dungeness. I said "I like your garden". He said "Thanks". The end.

My boyfriend got a new job. A job he really wanted so I was proud. We'll get a new car but I probably won't drive it much because Darren will be driving up and down the country in it (with a clean shirt hanging on the hook in the back).
We're off to Blackpool this weekend in our trusty Mazda (Darren is going to be very upset when that car is sold in a couple of months). I just checked to see how much it would cost to fly to Blackpool from London with Ryanair - £1 each way!!! But with airport taxes the return fare comes out at £26. The cost of travel to the airports at either end of the journey would add on an extra £30 making a total of £56. Which is exactly the same price as taking the train from London Euston. The train journey seems like a lot less hassle though. But we're going in the car so all of this is academic anyway.

I may have a head cold coming on as one of my front teeth is hurting today. It's the tooth I had root canal work on a few years ago but which somehow remains connected to my upper nasal passages. Whenever I get a cold I get an infection in the tooths old nerves and canals but it usually clears itself up after a couple of days. Fingers crossed (can't afford the dentist at the moment).

If I was elected Mayor of London I would force London buses to stay in their bus lanes. I would erect concrete barriers between the bus lane and the rest of the road to stop cars using the lanes and to keep the buses in check. Nothing fucks me off more that an impatient bus driver pulling out of the bus lane (and nearly knocking me off my motorbike) to get ahead of another bus which has stopped to let passengers on/off. Buses are brilliant and essential in London but some bus drivers really need further lessons on using indicators BEFORE pulling out. A sticker on the back of a motorcycle couriers bag the other day made me smile (please note DG, I don't agree with its sentiments):

Q - Why Are Buses Like Nappies?
A - Because They Are Always Up Your Arse And Full Of Shit

I left school at sixteen with five 'O' levels in my pocket. I went to work down the pit with my Dad. I stayed there for three years working with men who fix water pumps. The pumps were needed to suck water out of the mine. The water was from the North Sea and the pit was six miles out and one mile deep. Hot showers and black snot greeted us the end of every day. The canteen sold great chips and mushy peas. One of the canteen night-shift ladies would (allegedly) suck you off for a packet of ciggies. The guys who scrubbed the black snot from the shower walls were camp and obviously gay. No one batted an eye when they minced about with towels and soap during the shower rush-hour. One Burt Reynolds looky-likey on my shift was fond of teasing them by walking to their towel room naked and dripping and asking for a fresh towel and a bit of help drying himself. He'd have run a mile if they'd said ok. For three years I went underground five days a week for eight hours. When they closed that mine in 1990 the pit ponies were released into a green field on a neighbouring farm. Some of them had been down the pit for twenty years without ever seeing daylight (they lived in stables underground). Within six months they were all dead. Some say they died from an excess of happiness following an utterly grim life.

As it's nearly valentines day and today is Friday 13th I thought the following were appropriate:
(anyone desperate for a career change should look at these at work)

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He continues to be the funniest blogger I read. His 12 Feb post had me in stitches this morning. Thanks Ernie.

Torn between travel plans for later in the year. We want to go to Japan. That would be for one week in the autumn. We also want to go to Florida and stay in a swish hotel for two weeks in December. We can’t do both as we have no money tree in our garden. We must choose.
We do have a holiday home in Englands premier seaside resort though, so we will be having two weeks on the shores of the Irish Sea in late April (look at these stunning photos by Frantisek Staud).

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Documentary artists draw live action as it takes place just as war artists or documentary film crews do. Julia Midgely has practised as a documentary artist for many years and was the artist-in-residence at Blackpool Pleasure Beach in 2002. Here's some of the lovely stuff she did during that year.

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I’ve bought a new bicycle and had a haircut. Actually, it’s not new and I won it in an auction on e-bay. It’s a single speed beach cruiser with a backpedal brake. Looks like this. I changed the inner tubes as it came with ‘woods’ type valves and I prefer schraeder. My haircut was done by George at the Roseberry Avenue barbers. A three and a one for £7. V sharp. George is a great barber. He’s 60 and Greek and came to London in the 50’s. He sings along to Magic FM while he cuts. He was once featured in a newsprint ad for Gameboy when they first came out in 1989. They shot the ad at the Roseberry Avenue barbers and George is seen cutting an actors hair while he plays with a gameboy (the actor not George). The photo is framed and displayed on the wall behind Georges cutting chair.

If you haven’t got your Valentines cards yet then here’s a couple of nice e-cards to send.

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I found this snap of me and my parents on holiday somewhere in Wales in 1978. I was 13 years old and worshipped the Ramones (look, I even had a Ramones stylee bowl-cut). When I looked closely at the picture I saw that I was wearing a Velvet Underground t-shirt. The one with the high heels and whips adapted from the original paperback novel. I'm quite shocked by this now so god knows what my mother thought back then. To her credit I don't remember her actually mentioning it. I also had one of those rip-off Westwood t-shirts with the tits screen printed onto the front but I never wore that where my mum could see it.

Put some shelves up today then changed the furniture round in the bedroom. Sheesh, how punk rock am I now!

All pics by me. Breakfast in Copenhagen. Lunch at the airport. Dinner in London. Easyjet arrived on time both ways. Miracle. This is the Danish national flag and it's everywhere. The red brick architecture was great, the excellent 'funkis-movement' Hotel Astoria was on our doorstep (on the right of the picture) and the Tivoli Gardens were shut. The cinemas were beautiful and the movies were good (Anything Else and Mystic River). Don't cross my BF unless you wanna look like the cash machine that swallowed his card. The Danes are rude and don't look after their bikes. The little mermaid is little but the anchors are big. This museum has a great shop, cool toilets and loads of Arne Jacobson stuff. On Saturday night we had pizza and beer in our room watching Logans Run and Village Of The Damned on TCM. Classy eh. We bought two of these because we got caught up in the whole 'Danish design' thing. They're made in Taiwan. The poof bars are shit but that won't stop us returning. I'll take a scarf next time.

Sunday morning. Copenhagen. Free internet access at our hotel. Breakfast next. Did you know a danish is called a Vienna bun here? Great secondhand shops and bad weather. Luckily I brought a woolly hat with Sonic Youth written on it. Yesterday we saw the new Woody Allen film which was nice. Two years ago we had to go to Barcelona to see 'Curse Of The Jade Scorpion'. Last year we had to go to Paris to see 'Hollywood Ending'. So it was nice to see his latest in another lovely Euro city. They just don't get released in the UK. We're off to Nyhavn after breakfast then maybe to the Erotic Musuem to see loads of cocks and cnuts. Tak.