No. Please. Go over there. I'm bored by you even approaching me...

Here’s some simple, plain truths…

…as they are in Istvan’s world.

I understand that these are not universal truths (for they don’t exist, do they?), and I know they’re not undisputed truths. I know they’re my own, but that don’t make them any less true.

Here’s number one:

Any bloke who walks into a room where some celebrity come dancing is on the telly, and doesn’t immediately exit stage left mumbling something along the lines of “not wasting my time watching this s**t”, and start trying to get the Harlequins game on the Sky Go internet thingy…

…well…

…he hasn’t so much got in touch with his feminine side, as been taken over by it.

If he refers to the mind-rotting garbage as ‘Strictly’ and talks about it to others as if they know what he’s on about, just book him in for the transgender scalpel-work now.

Ditto: The Apprentice (what sort of weirdo has Alan Sugar on their screens of their own free will? Do they have posters of Anne Widdecombe on their bedroom walls?); The Dragons’ Den; Anything with Ant and Dec in it (if you don’t want to see them enter the rough end of one of those industrial strength log chipping machines and emerge through the business end as a spray of gore – what’s the matter with you, man?); That Bake-Off thing (blokes = curry and beer – cakes = Women’s Institute stand at the old folks fete); Grand Designs (busman’s holiday); That Gardening Thing with the chubby ginger (would you, ever in a month of Sundays, for some absurd reason consider sitting down with a cup of tea to watch your neighbours weed their flower beds, mow their lawn and prune the petunias (or whatever it is you do to petunias)? No. So why are you watching Tichmarsh, the ginger, and the fat bloke who I get mistaken for occasionally just because some moron at telly central thinks it makes good viewing?); Top Gear – just wait. One of that lot is going to be sharing a cell with Stuart Hall, Rolf and the ghost of Jimmy Savile any minute now.

There’s a lot of them about. Sort of near-blokes. Some try desperately to join the gang, be one of the lads. At least they’ve enough sense and balls to realise they’ve got something to be embarrassed about. Others don’t even seem to realise. I got a big round Christmas present one year. I was longing for a leather football. If you understand the depth of my dismay when I unwrapped a globe, you’re probably with me catching the one day international highlights or checking out football first. If it even crossed your mind that a globe wasn’t such a bad present after all, enjoy your soap opera and the cake decorating evening classes.

That thing about Ant, Dec and the log chipper…

…only joking…

…way too good for them, something slower and more painful’d do the trick.