Englishman in New York

Howdy.

This entry comes to you from the world's biggest Internet cafe in Times Square in New York.

What I'm about to write will probably sound a little geeky, but ever since I wrote my first blog entry, I've wanted to write an entry with the subject title 'Englishman in New York.' And now that I've done it, it actually feels quite good! Another ambition achieved! Two to go!

I arrived in the capital of the world on Tuesday after a two hour flight from South Beach in Miami. Miami is the worst place I have ever visited - it must surely be the place that devils go to when they die. A plastic place full of beautiful, awful, rude, plastic people.

I was forced to endure three days in the sunshine state after flying in from the Bahamas. I must have been on coke when I decided to include Miami in my travels. And it's not over yet - I have to spend one more day there before I fly home. Aaaargh!

But enough about Miami. What I want to write about is New York City. It's funny, but the strangest thing has happened. I've realised something, something that I could never have predicted or expected. What I've realised, simply, is that I love New York.

Yes - me! Mr. Anti-American.

This is my first visit and I never expected it to affect me in such a way. I understand now why New York has been the inspiration for so many films and musicals and why so many artists have been able to harness the almost tangible energy that runs through these dimly lit streets. I've never experienced anything like it before.

Within just a few hours of flying into LaGuardia airport I knew that this city was going to have a profound affect on me. I was like a kid in a candy store, running through the streets, marvelling at everything around me.

My tour of New York City began yesterday with a trip to the Empire State Building in Manhattan. My hotel is nearby and so it seemed like a logical place to start. I took the audio tour and learnt a little bit about the history of New York. It also gave me the chance to see the entire city spread out before me and to marvel at the scale and the scope of this vast metropolis.

I liked the view so much that I returned to the Empire State Building and looked upon the city by night. It was a beautiful sight, a million lights stretching out before me, seeming to go on forever.

After visiting the Empire State Building I made my way down Fifth Avenue. As I did so I listened to the song by Sting that was the inspiration for this entry - another ambition achieved! (One to go).

While on Fifth Avenue I did something that every visitor to New York should do - I bought a hot dog. And it was pretty darn good! I haven't travelled in a yellow taxi cab yet, but the night is still young!

After devouring another 2 hot dogs I made my way to the ice skating rink at the Rockefeller Center. I stood there and watched a few dozen people skating and I wanted, more than anything, to join them. Yet I lacked the confidence to do so.

That sounds strange, I know. I can travel halfway across the world, I can swim with sharks, I can go paragliding, I can eat in restaurants alone and yet I can't bring myself to go ice skating alone?

Even with all these thoughts going through my head I still couldn't bring myself to step onto that ice rink. The head said yes but the feet said no. The truth is I'm a shy person, I lack confidence and there are just some things I find it difficult. I guess that ice skating alone is one of them.

So I left the Rockefeller Center behind and made my way to St Patrick's Cathedral, the oldest cathedral in New York. It was okay, though my eyes were drawn to the gigantic American flag hanging from the ceiling. The stars and stripes inside a church? Ugh.

After leaving the cathedral and the flag behind, I made my way to Central Park where I found another ice rink. This time I was determined to let my feet do the talking and before I could doubt the wisdom of my thinking I paid $13 and made my way on to the ice.

And it was all okay. The world didn't melt, Michael Jackson didn't turn black again. Skyscrapers didn't fall. I didn't even get laughed at. And I didn't fall over once!

True, I went went round slower than almost everybody else and I did knock a few kids over, but I didn't fall over once!

It turned out to be one of the most enjoyable times I've had during the past 16 days and it was quite magical, skating in Central Park at night, surrounded by skyscrapers. Quite magical.

And that was my first night in New York City. After stopping by Grand Central Station and New York Public Library, I returned to my hostel and was soon sleeping soundly in the city that never sleeps.

Earlier today I took a short helicopter flight around Manhattan. It was fun, a little scarier than I imagined, almost like floating.

Afterwards I made my way to the site where the World Trade Center stood. It was a sombre moment, standing in the spot where, two and a half years ago, nearly three thousand people lost their lives.

September 11th was a chance for America to change. Unfortunately, under the leadership of George W. Bush, America was transformed that day into something awful.

Monsters created more of a monster. And now, sadly, because of this Government's appalling foreign policy, what happened on September 11th was just a taster of what is to come.

After leaving Ground Zero I took a ramble down Wall Street and soon found that Battery Park and the ferry terminal to Liberty Island were nearby. I couldn't resist going to see the Tall Lady so I paid my ten bucks and headed out to see the french visitor.

And she was kinda small...!

After the Statue of Liberty I made my way here to Times Square - and boy what a sight to behold. Piccadilly Circus eat your heart out! I think that the first time you see Times Square you are either amazed or appalled. Or, like me, both.

Times Square is a mesmerising combination of skyscrapers, advertisements, flashing lights, TV screens, crowds of people and yellow taxi cabs. It's hypnotising, impressive - and probably quite evil!

A few hours ago I was standing in Times Square, wearing my Versace coat and taking photographs with my mobile phone, when a photographer doing a photo shoot started taking photos of me! Really!

A child of capitalism in the capital of capitalism.

And that's just about it for New York City.

I leave this great city behind tomorrow afternoon and board a flight that will take me to Detroit. Hopefully I'll be able to squeeze in a quick visit to the American Museum of Natural History before I leave. I also want to visit the Bronx.

But for this entry, and for this night, this is an Englishman in New York signing off and wishing you well. It's after eleven and I'm miles away from home.

I'll write to you again from Michigan.

Until then, take care.

New York, New York.

From the memory box of a Professional Englishman.

Diving into Danger

Hi.

So, it's time for me to say goodbye to the Bahamas.

Time to say goodbye to the people and the palm trees, the colourful buildings and the conch, the seagulls, the starfish...and the sharks.

It was not my fate to die in the Bahamas. I'm leaving here with all my limbs and without a scratch on me. I do have a tan, a few mosquito bites, I'm dehydrated and for the first time in my life I am badly sunburned, but otherwise I am fine.

Last Sunday, two days after arriving in Nassau, I went snorkeling. I didn't enjoy it - the boat ride out to the reef had me feeling sick - but I found out later that I simply chose the wrong tour company.

On Monday I went paragliding. I was attached to a parachute-type-thingy and pulled across the sea by speedboat. Up there, hundreds of feet above the ocean, the same thought replayed itself over and over in my head: "I'm insane. Yup. Totally insane."

I came down with a bump and was "dipped" - I fell into the sea and was pulled across the surface of the water as the man steering the boat shouted: "Here sharky sharky!" It was a lot of fun.

Afterwards I hired a jet-ski and roared across the ocean for twenty minutes. That was great too. On Tuesday I arranged to go scuba-diving. It was my intention to have an introductory lesson and then to go and meet the sharks on Thursday.

Unfortunately, when I arrived at the dive area I discovered that it wasn't possible for me to take part because I suffer from asthma. It was the same with every other dive company on the island. My dream of scuba-diving with sharks ended then and there.

However, I came to the Bahamas to swim with sharks and I was determined it would happen. I had heard of a company that offered snorkelling with sharks. So I contacted them and on Wednesday morning I finally climbed into the sea and came face to face (or face to teeth) with a multitude of black tip reef sharks.

After boarding the boat and heading out to sea, a dive instructor dropped a basket of fish remains into the water. Within minutes the sharks had arrived.

It was fantastic. Incredible. Definitely the highlight of my visit. I floated on the surface of the water as these beautiful, graceful creatures swam just twenty feet below me.

It wasn't really scary - black tips are shy, timid creatures and they are only about five feet long. There was only one mildly frightening moment when one of the sharks broke away from the group and started swimming towards me, but I splashed around a bit and he soon decided that I wasn't on the menu.

Later that I day I boarded a sea-taxi and headed out to Paradise Island. Once there I visited the Atlantis Hotel - it's huge, grand, incredibly expensive and really quite sickening - and paid $25 to see some more sharks in their aquarium, which is supposedly the biggest in the Western world. It was crap!

On Thursday I paid another $25 - the Bahamas is an expensive place - to take a ferry out to the Blue Lagoon. The Blue Lagoon is a private island with a stingray sanctuary, a dolphin park, lots of hammocks, kayaks and countless American tourists.

I did a spot of kayaking which was about as exciting as reading this entry. Later, when I was sure nobody was watching, I slipped under a fence and went to explore some more of the island by myself.

I found a wonderful, little cove with just enough golden sand for me to stretch out and relax. I lay there for an hour or two. It was lovely. There is a lot to be said for just lying on the beach. It's funny, but it was something I had never done until I came to the Bahamas. I lay there with only the ocean, the sand, a couple of conch and a giant starfish to keep me company. It was perfect.

Yesterday afternoon I took part in a guided tour of Downtown Nassau. I was keen to learn more about the history of these islands. The tour was interesting enough but now, a day later, I've forgotten almost everything that charming black lady told me.

And that's just about everything that I've done during the past eight days. To be honest, now that my time in the Bahamas is coming to an end, I can't help but feel a little disappointed.

I first came to this country for just a few hours in 1998 - I was on a cruise from Orlando - and I promised myself that one day I would come back here. I've done that now, but I'm not sure if I will ever return to these islands again.

The Bahamas is a really beautiful place, and I've done some interesting things, but I would really rather be in Belarus, sharing a conversation with Emily or Katja or taking in a ballet.

These islands are too commercialised and there are too many tourists. I'm a shy person, I hate being in big groups of people, yet for this past week I've done nothing but try to avoid the crowds. And is there really anything worse than an American tourist?

Some days ago I watched a ragtag of black children playing in the sand as a cruise ship sailed by. During the past eight days I've seen more more yachts, more big houses and more limousines than I've ever seen before. It's grotesque. Okay, these people are rich, but do they have to flaunt it when so many Bahamians live in decaying wooden shacks?

The fear of crime is also something that has been on my mind a lot. I haven't been able to walk the streets of Downtown Nassau at night without being approached by guys offering me "powder".

It really is quite intimidating when a car screeches to a stop beside you and a black man with dreadlocks pops his head out and says, in a deep Caribbean accent: "Hey Mon, you want a taxi?"

Most Bahamians are nice though. They're sweet. I met two lovely girls who work at a nearby hotel and strangers are always saying hi to me and calling me "sir". I think that the Bahamians are acutely aware that tourism is the biggest industry here.

Though having said that, it's been difficult for me to form an accurate opinion of the Bahamian people as most of my conversations in the past week have been nothing more than "Can I have my room key please?" or "How much is the snapper fish?" and "Can you please remove the dead cockroaches from my room?"

I don't think that I will return to these islands. I think that next time I head to the Caribbean I will find another place to explore, somewhere off the beaten track, free of tourists.

And next time I will find somebody to go with me - the Caribbean is not the kind of place to explore alone. Some nights, as I lay on my bed in my hotel room, the corpses of cockroaches littering the floor around me, I listened as the world went by and I couldn't help but feel a little lonely and a little lost.

But anyway. You probably have people to do and things to see so I'll start to bring this entry to an end. Later tonight I head to Miami and then it's on to New York, Michigan, back to Miami, the UK and then on to Poland and Belarus.

But it's time now to say goodbye to the Bahamas and goodbye to the beautiful and misunderstood sharks that inhabit the waters around these islands.

Until my next entry, which should come to you from New York, it's time for this wandering Englishman to say goodbye.

Now it's back to yucky Miami.

Yuck.

From the memory box of a Professional Englishman.

Swimming with Sharks

Hi,

I know that they are out there.

I've been thinking about them almost constantly for the past few weeks. Whether I'm walking the streets of Downtown Nassau, or lying on my bed in my hotel room, they are always in my thoughts. And when I sleep, they even find their way into my dreams, slipping in and out of my consciousness like guilty thoughts.

When I look at the waters that surround these islands, I can almost feel them...out there, just below the surface, waiting for me, my destiny. And now it's time for us to meet...

This coming Thursday I go swimming with sharks.

It's the reason I came here, to the Bahamas, and though I don't feel nervous yet, on Thursday afternoon when I board that boat and sail a few miles out to sea and ease myself into that crystal clear water and the multitude of fins come ever closer, that's when I'll start to feel, well, more than a little nervous.

And if the sharks don't kill me, then American Airlines might.

I hate flying, more than I can say, yet these 3 weeks have included ten flights crossing numerous oceans, cities and time zones, flying with the terrorists' favourite airline.

Actually, it's not so much the flying that frightens me - more the crashing, the burning and the being smashed up into a million little pieces. (Three flights down, seven to go).

Then there's the helicopter ride around New York City to worry about. I arrive in New York on March 23rd after spending 3 days in Miami. I'll be an Englishman walking the streets of the Bronx wearing a Versace jacket which says: "Mug me, I have no fashion sense."

Then there's always crime-ridden Miami to worry about and four days I'll be spending in Michigan - perhaps I'll be shot dead by Robocop when I fly into Detroit...

And if this all doesn't kill me, I'm also having a go at paragliding, which involves being attached to a parachute-type-thingy and then pulled across the sea by speedboat.

So lots of opportunities for a grisly and painful death.

For as long as I can remember, I've felt that I have a self-destruct button, and these 3 weeks are about pressing that button...again and again and again. So these could well be the last entries made by this Professional Englishman...lucky you!

This entry comes to you from a little Internet cafe, with three computers, in Downtown Nassau. I'm staying here in Nassau until Saturday when, sharks permitting, I fly to Miami for a few days.

I don't like Miami. I was there for a day and a half last week. As you know, I've written some negative things about America in the past. I had hoped this visit would banish some of those prejudices, but my time in Miami has served only to reinforce them. I will, however, reserve my final judgement until the last days of my visit.

So where was I? Oh yeah: I don't like Miami. I arrived in the sunshine state last Wednesday after a ten hour flight from London via New York. I checked into an awful hotel full of awful college kids.

On Thursday I met a nice Russian boy called Gerasin - as you know people from Eastern Europe are my favourite people - and we drove together to Key West. Key West is nice - it's small and it has a lot of character. Gerasin and I visited a seafood restaurant together and I sampled everything from their buffet.

I made a point, however, of avoiding the shark meat on offer. I didn't want to tempt fate - if I eat sharks then it's only fair they should eat me!

The following day I left Florida and boarded a flight to the Bahamas. The Bahamas is an interesting and exotic country. Palm trees line every street in Nassau and the colourful, colonial buildings are a reminder of the country's imperial past.

The Bahamas was a British colony until 1973 - the year of my birth - and today the islands are a curious mixture of British, American and Caribbean culture.

The people here seem nice, although having said that I did meet an asshole yesterday. I was walking through a nearby shanty town - a hundred black men watched my every move - when a guy called Troy approached me and offered to be my bodyguard.

He took me around the city, introducing me to his friend who tried to sell me some "powder". After a while Troy started to bark orders at me and became quite obnoxious. He followed me for an hour until I eventually told him to get lost.

Today I feel quite angry at myself. I should have been more assertive. Instead I tolerated this guy. He was an asshole. Hopefully today he's gone to play basketball with some bull sharks.

And that's it for this Bahamian entry!

Providing I survive my shark encounter, I will add another entry on Friday before I leave the Bahamas and head to Miami. So long as I don't come across any bull or tiger sharks then I should be okay...maybe. If you don't hear from me on Friday, then worry!

Before I conclude this entry, I would like to give a mention to everybody I left behind in Exeter in England: Ben, Tim, Sylvia, Craig, Jenni, Karl, Reza and Lakshmi - I miss you all and I hope that we will meet again in Exeter one day soon.

And that's it.

From the memory box of a Professional Englishman.

Fields of Gold

Two ounces of sorrow and a hatful of shame
A cupful of tears and a pocketful of pain
I care for you completely and without exception
As I ponder my mistakes and search for redemption

Since I last held you it's been barely a week
Yet time taps my shoulder and dark shadows creep
The night draws near and the sun goes down
My heart grows heavy and my emotions spin around

When the moon is full and the day is old
The ground is hard and the air is cold
We shall share a whisper of tales untold
As we walk through everlasting Fields of Gold

The night air dances through these bones of mine
I search my heart not knowing what I'll find.
Chance to find strength for the coming day
Hoping your memory will keep the ghosts at bay

My head is all a flutter, my soul has gone astray
My tears flow freely as my happiness slips away
A head full of memories and a lingering kiss
A lifetime of mistakes forgotten in a month of bliss

When the moon is full and the day is old
The ground is hard and the air is cold
We shall share a whisper of tales untold
As we walk through everlasting Fields of Gold

You are always in my heart and always on my mind
You are beautiful and clever, sensitive and kind
I care for you deeply and miss you every day
And I remember your face as I close my eyes to pray

When the moon is full and the day is old
The ground is hard and the air is cold
We shall share a whisper of tales untold
As we walk through everlasting Fields of Gold

Searching for Magic in Minsk

Hi,

I am writing to you from Warsaw.

I arrived in Poland some hours ago after travelling by coach from Minsk in Belarus. The journey was one of the worst of my life. Ugh! I travelled on a bus with no heating, no proper lighting and two rude bus drivers.

For some reason the drivers decided to stop the bus in the middle of nowhere for four hours and we sat there, the passengers and myself, in complete darkness, shivering our socks off. It was awful and it will be the LAST time I ever travel by bus from Belarus!

However, as uncomfortable as the journey was, it has not spoiled what was a wonderful time in Minsk.

This was my 8th visit to Belarus. I arrived on the 19th of August, after spending two days in Riga in Latvia, and lived in the Belorussian capital until yesterday. In less than two hours I will board a coach that will take me back to jolly old England.

I sometimes ask myself why I continue to return to Belarus. The country itself is often very backward, though the people are often very wonderful.

I guess you could say that I have been searching for something, something that I once had but lost three and a half years ago. I don't know the name for this "something", so I simply call it magic.

Each time I return to Belarus I search for this magic, this sweet reminder of my youth, and yet each time my search has been in vain.

Until now, that is.

While I still haven't found the true and pure magic I have been looking for, during the past two months I've come pretty darn close...

I realise now that I lead two very different lives; I have my life in England, which is difficult and dominated by work, and then I have my life in Belarus, which involves visiting the ballet, helping kids, throwing parties and meeting pretty girls.

I've spent time with some wonderful Belorussian people, like Katja, Sasha, Lena, and especially my dear Emily, who is simply the kindest and most caring person I have ever met in my life. You could never find somebody like her in the West. Never.

These months have been very good for me and they have restored my faith in Belarus as a place I can go to, where I will find acceptance and kindness, when my life in England turns to crap, as it so often does.

When I first came to Belarus four years ago I had one of the best times of my life. True, there were some difficult days (this is Eastern Europe, after all) but overall they were six wonderful months.

I found compassion and kindness. I also found friendship, with an Italian boy named Michele and a multitude of Belorussians. I even found love, with a beautiful girl called Katja.

The days that I spent with Katja were beautiful and utterly perfect in every way. She never felt the same way but that never mattered. And I really was quite happy.

I've always wanted to be the centre of attention but sadly I was not blessed with the wit or charm to draw others unto me. So instead I became the centre of attention because of my clothes and my nationality, which was enough.

Coming to Belarus and working with children was a good decision I made at a time in my life when I was making bad decisions.

Not that it's all been sweetness and light, of course. Belarus is often a very difficult country to live in, for a variety of reasons.

I remember some time ago when a hole appeared in the pavement close to where I lived. Repair men were were called out and they came and filled the hole with sand until it was almost waist high, thereby creating a danger almost as bad as the hole itself.

But they didn't stop there. They then stuck a piece of wood in the pile of sand. Then some bright spark had the idea to tie a piece of thick wire to the piece of wood and stretch it across the pavement and tie it to a lamppost. Eh???? I cannot understand that mentality.

That's just one example of the way people in this crazy country think. Another example is milk in bags. Milk in bags! What's that all about? They don't stand up. You can't put them back in the fridge after you've opened them. Yay! Milk in bags!

And, finally, zebra crossings on corners! ON CORNERS! So cars zoom around the corner and knock you over as you cross the road. How wonderful. How quaint. How Belorussian.

So, yes, this is indeed a crazy and backwards country. However, one redeeming feature that Belarus has is its people - if you look carefully, and ignore the bureaucracy and the rudeness of some of the people, you can find an openness, an honesty and a kindness here that I've never encountered anywhere else.

It is for this reason that I will continue to return to Belarus for years to come, possibly for the rest of my life, and it is for this reason that I will continue to think of Belarus as my private, beautiful, special place, a place where I can find sanctuary when my life falls apart in England, as it often does.

Until my next entry, it's time for this wandering Englishman to leave Poland and head home.

Stay safe and stay well. Enjoy the winter months if you can and remember to wrap up well.

Goodbye.

Goodbye Belarus. We shall meet again.

Skyler.

PS: I miss you, Emily. xxx.

David Shakespeare Part II

Continued...

In January, David decided to spend some time alone with his ego. As he once said: "It's hard to be humble when you're as great as me."

David returned to the public eye in May when he kidnapped Michael Jackson's son, Prince Jackson Junior, and dangled him from the fifth floor balcony of the Llanfair hotel in Fishguard in Wales.

A few sad Welsh people were offended when David dropped the child and Prince plummeted to his death. But with that famous wink and infamous Shakespearian charm, David avoided all criminal charges, and even Michael Jackson saw the funny side in the end.

David came from a large family of writers. His great-great-great Aunt, Doris Bumblecock Shakespeare, once had an letter published in Playboy in 1879 and his great-great-great Uncle, Will, wrote some plays which were quite successful during the Elizabethan period.

David started his literary career aged 12 when he wrote to TV executive Stephen J. Cannell asking him why nobody was ever killed in The A-Team. He never received a reply and two years later, when The A-Team still hadn't killed anybody, David took his posters of Hannibal, B.A. Baracus, Face and Murdoch down from his bedroom wall and replaced them with posters of Keanu Reeves.

The posters stayed off David's wall until ten years later when he relented and Murdoch and his pals finally reappeared on David's wall.

However, David swore never to watch The A-Team again and he was true to his word - from then on he watched only Knight Rider, Airwolf, Street Hawk, Chips, Quantum Leap, Auto Man and The Wonder Years, in which the body counts were significantly higher.

Some years after the Stephen J. Cannel letter, David started writing professionally. He had several books published, the most famous of which were: David's Guide to David; How to Win David's and Influence David; The Joy of David; I Love David Coz He's Me and that popular classic, David's Guide to Satanism in Wales.

David was a big fan of popular culture. He enjoyed listening to the music of R. Kelly and Gary Glitter and he was especially proud of his collection of Pee Wee Herman films.

David had a long list of lovers in the two years he was in England. These included Paul and Caroline Heaton, Mike Bauld and Sylvia, an Italian girl with big eyes.

It seemed that no young man or woman could resist chat-up lines like: "Your dress would look good on my bedroom floor" or "I'm not Fred Flintstone but I can sure make your bed rock."

When David wasn't practising his Matrix moves, talking about Mike Bauld, eating oranges, trying to dig up Princess Diana's remains or attempting to convince people that the Welsh regime harboured weapons of mass destruction, he liked nothing more than to sit in his mahogany chair, a McDonalds takeaway at his side.

He would watch his favourite film - Shakespeare in Love - while listening to Marilyn Manson, at the same time gently stroking his Dr. Evil poster and rubbing peanut butter into his nipples.

You may think after reading this that David lead a blessed life. Well, he did. But even David had his problems. We spoke to one of his oldest friends who recalled the darkest chapter of David's life...

It began one day in Toronto when David returned home after a hard day's work as a bin man to find that his wife of six days, Agatha Christie, had left him and disappeared to Cardiff with her lover, the Secretary of State for Wales, Rhyf Griffiths.

She took their two children, David Junior and David Junior Junior, with her. The kids found it difficult to adjust at first but they soon got used to the weird Welsh people and they adopted the Welsh language as their own. And Agatha found work through Beaver Employment, as Canadian Ambassador to Wales.

Agatha and the kids wrote to David regularly but, sadly, their letters were written only in Welsh and at that time David had very little knowledge of the language or, indeed, the country.

This was a difficult time for David. His neighbour at the time, Ramesh Bead Boy, told us how he would often put a glass to the wall and listen to hear how David was tackling the crisis. He would often hear David watching Sesame Street at full volume. After the programme had finished David would start laughing and then he would start screaming. This went on about for six months.

David is, however, made of tougher stuff than this. He was soon able to put this difficult experience behind him and he soon re-emerged more confident than ever. In fact, just to show that he had no hard feelings, David had the Welsh flag sewn into his chest.

Shortly afterwards, David set off on his travels and came to the UK and the rest, as they say, is history.

We wanted to conclude this entry by speaking to some of the people who knew David well.

We visited the aforesaid hostel to interview Tiny Tim, Michael, Iker, Jenni, Reza, some Swiss people and Sylvia, who have all signed contracts to stay at the hostel for the next seven years, but the owners of the hostel, Paul and Caroline, insisted that we pay a fee.

They said we should pay twelve pounds for the first six interviews and then we could have the seventh one for free. We declined and instead tried to interview Ben Grant but he had gone to masturbate and was going to be about an hour. Fair play.

We also contacted Canadian coke dealer Deejay Dayton. Sadly, Deejay was unavailable - he had just spent half an hour on the toilet and he was busy writing a trip journal about the whole experience.

We remembered that David often spoke about a friend of his named Andrew Smithen. Sadly, we discovered that Andrew died 17 months ago after overdosing on pancakes while staying at York Youth Hotel.

David once shared a friendship with an Exeter man named Homeless Phil. Phil and David were inseparable, though they did briefly fall out when David discovered Phil had never worked for Adecco.

Phil was once a guest at the previously mentioned hostel, where he was an unhappy and lonely man. However, luck shined down upon him because one day he was kicked out and from then on he lived a blissfully happy life as a vagrant on the streets of Exeter.

We found Homeless Phil lying in the gutter outside Tesco.

After trying to sell us some rice, he agreed to talk about David. However, Phil insisted we buy him a bottle of cider. We declined and so the interview was called off. We shook Phil's hand and wished him well, then returned half an hour later and ran him over.

To conclude this entry we decided to speak to somebody who David had never met. We had hoped to find somebody intelligent and eloquent, but in the end we settled for Craig Hindmarsh.

Craig, who is the only black member of the Klu Klux Klan, said this:

CRAIG: "Well, I never did meet David. But I'm sure if I had I would have liked him. He sounded really great with hair that came down to his knees and those sun glasses. And I always did like the Addams family. I think David would really have fitted in around these parts. I'm sure he looked great in white."

On that note, we will begin to bring this entry to an end.

You don't need to read this entry again to know that David Shakespeare was, indeed, a rather unique human being who will be missed by everyone who knew him. We urge you now to join us in forwarding this entry to everybody you know. Come on! You can do it! Let's spread a little David around!

David touched people all across the Globe, from Torquay to Torbay, Exeter to Exmouth. And everyone who knew him will miss him and keep him in their hearts and minds forever.

Especially the Welsh.

As David himself would have said: "I agree."

DISCLAIMER: This entry is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance to people living or dead is entirely on purpose. David Shakespeare is not dead. He is, however, returning to Canada, which is almost as bad. Probably worse. David Shakespeare does not hate the Welsh. I, however, do. And Americans. To all my American readers: Please don't sue. I have a newt and three frogs to support - and I work for Adecco.

From the memory box of a Professional Englishman.

David Shakespeare Part I

Hello,

It is with great regret that I write to you today to inform you that David Shakespeare has passed away.

David's death has hit us all very hard and we are trying to come to terms with the loss of this great, heroic and noble man.

David was on his way to work at his local abattoir in Torquay yesterday when he was hit by a British Airways jet. He might have lived, had he not been hit by another plane 17 minutes later.

Witnesses reported seeing two men behind the controls and one onlooker said they looked like they spoke with Welsh accents.

Devon and Cornwall police, who arrived at the scene seven hours later, were confronted by a scene of absolute carnage. Nothing remained of David, save for a few tufts of hair, a strip of skin and the SIM card from a strange Romanian mobular phone.

David, who was well known for his ankle-length red-pink hair and his catchphrases "That's great" and "I agree", will be sorely missed by all of us who knew and loved him. Despite his obvious disfigurement, David was able to get through the day with just a wink, a smile, three bags of heroin, a joint and four Ecstasy tablets.

News of David's death has hit British employment agencies particularly hard. As you may have read in The David Times and David Monthly, David was voted Agency Employee of the Year for a total of seven months over six consecutive weeks last September.

There is speculation that Adecco, the UK's largest agency, might now file for bankruptcy. As a sign of respect, Adecco has given it's temporary workers the day off, on the condition that they work for seventy-three hours over the weekend and paint red and pink swastikas all over their bottoms.

We thrust a microphone into the face of Arna McNulty, of Beaver Employment in York, and she said this:-

ARNA: "David's death has hit us hard. To say that David was one in a million would mean that there are sixty David's in this country. In fact, David wasn't one in a million, or even one in a trillion or a quadrillion - David was one in a dozen. Which means there are 4,305,201 David's in the UK. Which makes him special."

As a mark of respect, Ryan Air have offered to fly David's remains in a matchbox back to his home town of Toronto.

The flight has cost his family just 35p - plus £450 in taxes.

During the course of this blog we spoke to the people who knew David to try to find out the kind of Canadian he really was. We knew in our hearts that there were was more to him than just a mass of red-pink hair, an out of control cocaine habit and a strange limp.

We spoke to Reza, who David met in local hostel which asked not to be named. Reza said this:

REZA: "For a time I harboured sexual desires for David, but it became difficult to get close to him. He surrounded himself by men dressed as sailors, construction workers and People from the local Village. But, man, my sexual yearning will always remain."

We also spoke to local alcoholic Ernest from the aforementioned hostel and Ernest had this to say:

ERNEST: "He wassh fucking intellishcent. Fucking intellishcent. But he wasnht from here. Fucker. Should get backsh to hish own fucksching country."

We also spoke to Andrew Hall:

ANDREW: "Well, I knew David for a total of two years and I shall miss him dearly. In many ways he reminded me of Kimberley. Kimberley was a girl I knew who captured my heart and still clings on to it. Kimberley was the dearest, sweetest, prettiest - "

At this point Andrew burst into tears like a big sissy girl and ran off to write a mass email.

David was nothing if not generous. He truly had a heart of gold. We all remember the day that we were sitting in David's underpants-infested bedsit, watching a BBC programme about the starving children in Sudan. David burst into tears, and the very next day he boarded a Ryan Air flight bound for Sudan.

Once there he visited the starving children and collected the meagre portions of rice that had been given to them by the Red Cross and Michael Jackson.

David returned to Exeter the following day and distributed these rice portions amongst the homeless of Exeter.

The vagrants and tramps that pollute this fine city were then able to sell this rice and use the money to purchase drugs, which David sold to them for less than half the normal price.

David was also quite an animal lover. In fact, he had sex with quite a few animals, from a Welsh mountain goat to an Amazonian ant-eater. David often shared these animals with Neil Johnson, whom he met in the aforementioned aforementioned hostel.

We had hoped to interview two sheep with whom David had sexual relations but they told us they were animals and they couldn't talk.

David and Neil were good friends up until the night that they went for a walk together and Neil almost pushed David into a canal. Their friendship deteriorated further when David had Neil killed.

Local police found a book by J.K. Rowling and a collection of records at the murder scene. Two local in-bred farm boys, Stephen Egan and Carl Buckle, were arrested but no charges were ever brought.

Controversy hit David's life back in 1979 when he was accused of introducing the AIDS virus to the world after having a long-term relationship with a Welsh monkey. David was sued for £1.5bn by seven African countries and Wales, but the case never came to court.

Spring Personnel and Adecco settled the case on David's behalf. Shortly afterwards, Melissa Smithen, Director of Spring, rounded up the company's temporary workers and had them whipped.

David took a keen interest in politics. He was a great supporter of the war in Iraq and George W. Bush was a close personal friend. He regularly wrote to President Bush urging him to press ahead with his plans to invade Kuwait, Canada, the Falkland Islands and Wales.

David was also deeply concerned about the future of the planet's children. He campaigned tirelessly to give African and Welsh children the right to work up to seventy hours per week.

Along with Adecco, David pioneered the groundbreaking scheme, Let's Get Children Out of Wales and into Work.

Children were given harsh lessons in the realities of life and were paid for their work in raw sprouts and special child-friendly money, which they could use to buy exclusive London properties like Park Lane and Mayfair, Bond Street and even get Free Parking.

David campaigned for a better, greener environment.

He often recycled his jokes, used second-hand toilet roll and, to save water, he bathed only once a month. In fact, David was so concerned about wasting the Earth's precious resources that friends would often sit in his bedsit for hours without being offered a drink.

David was a master debater and a cunning linguist. He spoke several languages, including English, Welsh, Canadian, Australian, American and New Zealandan.

David often took part in various voluntary projects. He worked unpaid in Cardiff as a tax inspector, a TV licence enforcer and a traffic warden.

David was a man with high morals. He once refused to pull off a bank-job with Carl Buckle and Stephen Egan because he thought it might be tantamount to stealing.

And he loved all black people, with the exception of Lawrence, a homicidal Christian whom David met in the aforementioned aforementioned aforementioned hostel.

We all remember the day that we were travelling on a bus through Torquay when an elderly black chap boarded the bus and sat in the wrong seat. David gently took the man by the crotch and led him to the back of the bus where he was able to sit in peace without offending any respectable, native Torquians.

David also helped a number of young black men aged 18-35 to find employment through another scheme he introduced with the help of Brook Street Employment, called: Let's Bring Back Slavery.

There were only two things in life that David disliked: One was the xenophobia that exists within Great Britain - the numerous, silly prejudices people hold towards other cultures and countries.

And the other was the Welsh.

To Be Continued...

From the memory box of a Professional Englishman.