Chapter 24

According to the ancient Chinese oracle, the Itching, 'change returns success' (except it's in Chinese).

This phrase was later used by that right weirdo Syd Barratt on Pink Floyd's first album, Piper At The Gates Of Dawn, according to the late John Peel, who I remember mumbling about it once in the Radio One FM in Medium Wave canteen back in '69.

Me and the totally loopy DLT were having a bun fight at the time, which was utterly hilarious, so whether he added anything to this is moot. Perhaps that fountain of knowledge Mike Reid was listening further, but I certainly wasn't. I was too busy getting sticky pink icing out of my beard. And I'm a tad too busy to ask Mike at the mo, what with filming 15 episodes of Deal Or No Deal each and every sodding day.

But if I can just come back to what the Itching says.

Change returns success.

Well, yes. Up to a point. But if the 'change' we're talking about is the 50p or 10p that you end up with at the end of a disastrous run on DOND, then change doesn't return success at all.

In fact, it returns a humiliating failure in front of a televisual audience of millions. Plus the two dozen box monkeys having second thoughts about the veracity of your 'system'.

Regrets? I've had a few...

Sometimes when I look back on my fantastic and fantastically successful life, I feel a small twinge of regret. It's not so significant that a quick look at my bank balance can't cure it, but it is there nonetheless. I am aware that sometimes; well. We all make mistakes.

There are things that, had I known then all that I know now, (such as the Awesome Power of Numbers and the importance of a Really Good Cosmic Ordering)... well, perhaps I would have at least paused. Considered. And then done it anyway.



Like, okay. Maybe Mr Blobby was pretty damn zeitgeisty, what with that single being number one for 15 weeks back in 1988 and him being pretty much the most recognizable and loved spotty pink TV star of the decade (barring Rik 'Rick' Mayall off The Young Ones). Yes, his chaotic mishaps were the undoubted highlight of Noel's House Party (except for all the bits with me running around. And the Gotchas). But perhaps he wasn't loved quite enough to justify a nationwide chain of Blobbyland theme parks stretching from Great Yarmouth to Macclesfield.

If only I had gone with my gut instincts and just called them Noeledmundsland, all set inside huge domes, a bit like CenterParks. Except shaped like my head.

I also feel a small, pretty insignificant really, sense of personal responsibility for the alcoholic haze that was Keith Chegwin's life after Maggie Philbin walked out on him. Perhaps if we had followed up Brown Sauce's 'Hello Hello Hello' with another killer choon, artistic differences wouldn't have queered the pitch twixt the two.

But hey, there we are.

Life is short.

And I am not.




In fact, for the record, I am most definitely within average height.