Firstly, although at first glance it appears that I'm wearing a toupee, I assure you I'm not, I just have difficult hair. Come to think of it, sadly I have a difficult face as well. Thank heavens I was blessed with the gift of laughter.
Secondly note my new appareil, which I personally believe is just the ticket. Although it has a hood, I have vowed never to hide under it, like so many angst-ridden youth. I'm sure you'll agree that the colour offsets my palid complexion. I got sick of the old white "greeting the 500" T-shirt, and more to the point, winter's on it's way and brown hides gravy stains.
Saturday night in my corner of London has become a very depressing affair. Woe betide anyone who walks past the Queen's Crescent Estate in Kentish Town once the stars come out, since sadly opium has become the religion of the masses there. As I walked up towards Hampstead, a young urchin in a Burberry cap, who looked as though he should have been at home eating rusks and watching the Tweenies, aggressively asked to look at my mobile phone, like some sort of foetus with an attitude. I'm not ashamed to say that I ran. I knew that his little legs wouldn't keep up with mine.
And what of Hampstead itself when I arrived? Surely never have so many 16-year-old girls, with so much make-up on and so few warm clothes, congregated in one place. I would never let my daughter out like that. Not that I have one as I'm not married and haven't even been in a relationship for four months (not-including the one I have with an animated bounty hunter who runs around raiding tombs).
Before I outline the FIFTY FOUR letters that I have compiled this weekend, to be sent out tomorrow, I would just like to personally answer the email that I received from a man called Graham. No, I am not using this website as a showcase for my latent writing skills and cunning linguistics, it is meant to be no more than an entertaining diversion for friends and family to see how I am getting on in my challenge to Greet the 500. In any case, I doubt very much whether the Managing Director of Bloomsbury Publishing is logging on to this obscure little website (although bizzarely, I've been informed that it's been rather well-received in the Czech Republic ??)
So as I mentioned, I burst through the 200 letters sent barrier today. Letters will tomorrow be winging their way to Ant McPartlin, Declan Donnelly, Cheryl Baker, Danny Baker, Ralph Little, Sheridan Smith, Zoe Ball, Jeremy Beadle, Trevor McDonald, Tony Blackburn, Michael Buerke, Cat Deeley, Noel Edmonds, Kate Lawler, Johnathon Edwards, Denise Lewis, Lawrence Llewelyn-Bowen, Judy Finnegan, Richard Madeley, Trisha Goddard, Bruce Forsyth, Davina McCall, Melinda Messenger, Sam Fox, Des O'Connor, Melanie Sykes, Ian McCaskill, Lisa Rogers, Anne Robinson, Gail Porter, Steve Rider, Bill Oddie, Tony Robinson, Chris Tarrant, Abi Titmuss, Carol Smillie and Dale Winton.
In addition I have decided that I should finally tackle the music industry. I know very little about music. I used to think that MC Hammer was a Scottish carpenter and that Billy Idol was a name for a lazy goat, but I do know that musicians are notoriously hard to get hold of since they are often out of the country and have thousands writing to them, all of whose letters have to be sifted through by their respective record companies.
I have therefore also written to Damon Albarn, Liam Gallagher, Noel Gallagher, Billy Bragg, Annie Lennox, Charlotte Church, Victoria Beckham, Cliff Richard, Mick Jagger, Elton John, Geri Halliwell, Paul McCartney, Liz McClarnon, Robbie Williams, Joss Stone, Sheena Easton and George Michael.
Unfortunately it appears that Michael, who drew up the list of 500, did not stick to the rules that were stipulated in the terms of our bet. I have discovered that the last two names mentioned above reside in America, and will therefore be nigh on impossible to meet. I might bring this up at a later date.