The air is awash with implausibility.

£100m after the Leveson Inquiry opened its first page, a jury decrees the Titian goddess innocent while her boss-cum-lover is convicted. Hair to the rescue.

Across the ocean and equator, Senor Suarez swears he fell on Chiellini with his teeth. Yes, he has a fair set of gnashers. No, they don’t quite exceed the length of his arms. So, hardly a way to break a fall, unless you’re on set with Johnny Knoxville.

This led me to offer up some advice to FIFA in alternative ways to punish/educate/rehabilitate Suarez.

  1. Place him under general anaesthetic, remove his incisors and force him to play in styrofoam dentures.
  2. Community Service on a dam construction and irrigation site in Sudan, dressed as a beaver.
  3. Hired out by mums.net as a mass teething ring for childrens’ 1st birthday parties.
  4. Force him to sit for Gunther Von Hagen to be plastinated, teeth first, before the next World Cup.
  5. Commercialize him as ‘Captain Batshit Crazy’ in time for Halloween with all the proceeds going to Oxfam.
  6. A stint at the coalface of Crossrail’s tunnel burrowing team when ‘Sophia’ needs her cutter head sharpening.
  7. Rehouse him in a kennel outside Anfield.

Please send further suggestions to:



Meet Mark Newton, a giant of a man behind the wheel of a Beamer Tramper Class 3 – probably the best mobility scooter in the world.  He’s currently on day 444 of his epic tour de Britain at a top speed of 4mph with his two cats, Smudge and Missy. His blog-log-book is a topographer’s wet dream, with elevation data, bearings and his route taken right down to the last sixpence he turned on.

We drove past him last Saturday on the way to taking the kids swimming. It was deep-fry-sunshine, so we pulled over and flagged him down. The kids got out and shook his hand, assuming that we were old pals. We promised we’d fly his flag with a post. You can bump into him here: www.aroundbritain.org.uk.

So Mark, we thank you for giving us a stratospheric lift at the weekend. We applaud every yard of your journey, the money you’ve gathered en route and your reasons for hitting the road in first place. We’re friends with Louise at Heligan, and Sam & Rob at Tregarton – they all send their love. To the rest of Britain, we ask you to salute Mark as he passes through your town – or better still, wave him over, have a chat and bung him a few quid. He’s one hell of a role model although he’d probably play that down.


Dear People of Cornwall & Beyond

We have long lived among mavericks in a land where homogeneity sits uneasy. But of late, we’ve fallen foul of the lazy option, be it food, fashion or even entertainment. Yes, our odd little cinemas are slowly conforming and even our theatre ain’t what it used to be. But there is hope. Ludicrous intergalactic hope. Hope that was born the same day as Cornwall itself.

The story of Gogmagog is as old as the seismic phenomenon that made the hills. And it has been deliriously reincarnated and criss-cross-pollinated into a space, place and time travel tribrid by Golden Tree Productions. We witnessed the preview last night in a way that all theatre should be witnessed, held captive in the middle, surrounded by the performers, without any sense of them and us. We were abducted by purple smocked stewards and led dramaturgically astray. Oh, and there’s a giant like you’ve truly never ever imagined in your wildest beanstalk dreams.

The cast and crew could cure the darkest of diseases with such a show. So, if life is getting you down, or you are in any way ill and have lost faith in traditional medicine, I do suggest you try and get yourself abducted some time this summer. Each of the 11 performances will be gatecrashing some kind of festival, feast week, carnival or pagan shindig in Cornwall in 2014 between June 14 and August 30.