Greeting the 500

Day 123 - Greeting Jonathan Edwards

After a short drive across North London this morning, and an act of violence threatened against me by an agitated driver on the number 23 bus that I cut up, the Paddington Hilton is where I met Jonathan.

I do like swanning around in marble-foyered hotels. I've actually managed to stay in the Hilton for free before. It was in Bangkok. I found my room slightly cramped and was puzzled by the bars on my window and the fact that I was expected to wallow in my own filth...

Actually I'd better stop there, before this particular hotel chain decides to sue me. The Bangkok Hilton is of course the nickname given to the notorious Bangkwang Prison in the Thai capital and no, I was never incarcerated there.

I fled the country.

Back to this morning then, and on arrival I tiptoed through the tourists looking for our world class triple jumper, but I'm not very fit and Jonathan is, so I found a chair near the revolving door in the hope that he'd find me.

As that hope was starting to ebb, we eventually caught up with one another by the weeping fig. Jonathan apologised that his prior meeting had overrun and for the fact that he was in a bit of a hurry, but I reassured him that the whole process would take no longer than the duration of an olympic-paced 400 metre race.

A kindly concierge, whose name I didn't catch although he looked like a 'Leonard', took the fine photo you see above, a photo spoiled only by the fact that I'm in it.

Then with a hop and a skip, but no jump, I was away again

Day 124 - Stat Attack

A lull has decended upon proceedings. A hiatus in the deluge of replies that I've been getting from the receipients of my letters.

The average number of people looking at this website has risen to 1,146 per day according to some boffin at Typepad, so what can I say, thanks for the support and your continued interest, I now feel obliged to update the site at least every other day.

So thanks for the guilt trip too.

As nothing has happened for a couple of days, no meetings had nor positive or negative replies received, I have decided today to chew over a couple of stats, something I first did on Day 64 of the challenge.

So let's see where we're up to:

Time Elapsed - 3 months 16 days  - 58% of my time, (not including my 2 weeks of inactivity on the project following the actions of the Sept 7th murderers) Day 64 - 25% of time elapsed

Not altogether surprising that this statistic has increased because fortunately the earth has continued to revolve and night has continued to pass into day in the intervening period.

Letters sent: 297 out of 500 - 59.4%    118 out of 500 23.6%

Again, no great surprise that this has gone up as It proves that I haven't been sitting around twiddling my thumbs.

Replies 52 out of 297 - 17.5%     17 out of 118 - 14.4%

Non replies 245 out of 297 - 83.5%      101 out or 118 - 85.6%

A marginal improvement here, although I would have hoped that the snowball effect and the possibility of publicity might have seen a greater improvement, yet despite my best endeavours, exposure of Greeting the 500 has been minimal and so the snowball is melting.

Surname initial most likely to reply - B (Cherie Blair, Tony Blair, David Baddiel, Iain Banks, Clare Balding, Geoff Boycott) and M (John Motson, John Major, Patrick Moore, Bernard Matthews, Davina McCall, Chris Morris).

I can't really read anything in to this, apart from to say that Q and X were not likely to feature particularly prominently here.

Breakdown of letters sent by gender: Male 223/297 - 75.1%  Female 74/297 - 24.9%   Male 95/118 - 80.5%  Female 23/118 - 19.5%

More men than women on the list, I suppose.

Breakdown of replies by gender: Male 44/223 - 15%   Female 8/74 - 10.8%    Male 17/95 - 17.9%   Female 0/23 - 0%  

A larger anount of females are replying to me, ie more than the previous 'none', but fewer men are doing likewise, so swings and roundabouts.

Meetings had or arranged: 23 out of 297 - 7.7%   7 out of 118 - 6%

The all important statistic. A slight improvement, but way short of the 20% that forms the basis of my bet with Michael. So basically "EXPLETIVE!". I'm going to lose and eat humble pie and be forced to clean the shabby flat of my smug Cypriot friend for much of next year. AT this rate, my final tally will be about 40 meetings, no way near the 100 I need.

Divine intervention needed....

Day 126 - Greeting Nicky Clarke

The only problem with having a bright idea is that someone else has probably already had it first.

It was my intention to write to Channel 5 with a concept for a game show that I once saw on Australian TV whilst living in Sydney and which I soon became hooked on.

I was going to sell that idea for £2.25 million (despite not having the rights to it) and retire to the Hotel du Cap Eden Roc in the South of France, to live the rest of my life smeared in Hawaiian Tropic, basking in the sun and wolfing down plates of foie de veau and crevettes.

Then I noticed that Channel 4 recently discovered 'Deal or No Deal' for themselves and my plan was scuppered. Whilst it's no Crystal Maze, it's still, if you'll excuse the profanity, damned good viewing.

It even seems as though the concept of asking a glut of celebrities to rally around a total unknown in order to raise money for charity, has been done before.

Only yesterday I was informed about the work of Andy Gotts, a photographer, who spent 8 years taking snapshots of A-listers, each subject being asked to refer Mr Gotts on to another of their A-list friends in a form of '6 degrees of separation'. I on the other hand have just 7 months and am far too shy to ask for referrals.

So anyway none of this news has helped my general mood and melancholy air. My recent mildly depressive mindset has come about through a number of factors:

My failure to yet break through the '30 Meeting' barrier.

My failure to get a solitary response in the last week.

My failure to interiew a potential new flatmate who isn't either a) insane b) Austrian or c) an accountant.

My failure to secure 'extra borrowing' on my mortgage (due to peanuts income).

The fact that my most serious relationship in the last two months has been with Lara Croft.

The fact that my left lung hurts when I inhale.

Today I greeted Nicky Clarke, bless him. In my opinion, the world needs more Nicky Clarkes. Not only is he a gifted craftsman, teasing the hair of his customers into a state of sheer perfection and thus providing a valuable service to improve the lives of countless women, but he is also prepared to offer some of his precious time to aid some daft bloke complete his daft celebrity meeting project.

I left work early to attend Nicky's salon in Mayfair and emerged blinking into the crisp November air at Bond Street tube station at 5.15pm. Fortunately there was no cold November rain about but It was still 45 minutes pre-handshake time.

It was here that the pungent Oxford Street aroma hit me, a smell which is no doubt familiar to so many frantic shoppers. That sickly sweet smell of nuts being swilled around a wokfullof of sugar and being roasted by a man who to be fair, was not altogether hygenic looking. The sign read 'caramel roasted nuts', but judging by the proximity of this cooking apparatus to one of the busiest thoroughfares in one of the busiest cities in the world, a more accurate description would have been 'part peanut, part soot, part caramel, part carbon monoxide, part sulphur dioxide and a trace of polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons'.

The other familiar smell was the cloying stench that was oozing out of every scented-candle shop, which instantly reminded me that there was only 51 shopping days until Christmas, and that I now know what to buy for everyone I hate.

So it was, in this queasy state, that I made my way down South Molton Street, around Grosvenor Square, past fortress US Embassy and onto Mayfair.

Noticing that I was still 35 minutes early, I decided to do a quick circuit of Berkely Square in the hope of finding a discrete watering hole. I stopped briefly outside Annabels to consider whether or not I should pop in and enquire about membership prices but then I realised that I was wearing the wrong shoes, wrong clothes, wrong face.

Eventually I found a crowded little pub, the sort of pub that I like, ie instead of being full of polished wood and chrome, has a migraine inducing patterned carpet and thick curtains and could double up for your average living room in Penge. So I had a wee dram of the rare mountain dew, completed the Sudoku puzzle on the back of a beermat (fantastic idea) and retraced my way back to Nicky's salon.

I didn't have to wait by reception for too long, before I was whisked upstairs, where my generous host was midway through applying curlers to the hair of a very glamerous young lady. Interrupting him made me feel a little guilty, but he really was nice as pie and within 30 seconds of having the photos taken, I was out of everyone's hair for good.

Because they swept it up.

And so what we have here, not the first time, is a picture showing the smiling face of one of the 500 celebrities on my list, next to my ridiculous gurning and unphotogenic expression. Unbelievably enough, once again I look like a cross between a startled camel and the class idiot in some backwater Mississippi school. Amazing.

Have a good weekend.

Day 128 - Kate Moss...

...has returned to Europe from America and is currently engaged in a number of photo-shoots around the continent, none of which, as of yet, include mine. She understandably has other things on her mind.

Ben Fogle is rowing across the Atlantic with James Cracknell. Jim Davidson is on his way to the Dubai Comedy Festival. Salman Rushdie, I believe, is still incommunicado and I've been told that Michael Barrymore has emigrated to New Zealand.

So why on earth is it, that I'm wondering why I haven't received any replies from the receipients of my letters for a few days. I've clearly gone about this in a stupidly haphazard way. If I'd had even the tiniest scintilla of nous or wits about myself, I'd have found out the contact details for the 500 before the 6 month bet had started.

But I didn't.

I desreve everything that befalls me. All I can do is just plough on, like an Ox in a trance.

I've therefore just compiled another 17 letters that will be received in two days time by the representatives of: Paula Radcliffe, Kirsty Young, Alexander McQueen, Todd Carty, David Dimbleby, David Beckham, Sacha Baron Cohen, Richard Stilgoe, Miranda Richardson, Hugh Laurie, Sting, Sue Townsend, Phil Tufnell, Alan Titchmarsh, Kate Moss, Keith Flint and Jane Torvill.

 

Day 129 - Greeting Chris Tarrant

I'm not one to argue, particularly with songwriters of the ilk of Burt Bacharach, but I have to disagree with his findings when he asked the rhetorical question "what do you get when you fall in love?". Forget all of that nonsense about girls with pins bursting bubbles, the answer, at least to me, is a hefty overdraft.

I only mention it because that was one of the songs that I listened to as I drove up the A1 to Elstree to meet Chris Tarrant this evening and yes, my decrepit car did just about make it.

I'm not saying that I haven't been taking care of my 'motor' but put it this way, if I was to park it in a North Parisian suburb tonight, it would probably look better by tomorrow morning.

Actually, while I'm on the subject of song lyrics, I read the news today oh boy. About a fight somewhere near Leicester Square. And while the news was rather sad etc etc

To be honest I didn't laugh but I was shocked. A friend of mine (relatively loose sense), who was at University with me and who has somehow become something of a moie mogul in the meantime, was spotted trading blows in a gutter with George Clooney, allegedly. Say it aint so Simon...

Not for the first time, I'm soaring away at a tangent to the matter in hand.

Today I was expecting to greet 2 of the 500.

Time -8.45am          Location - Nr. Parlaiment Square         Weather - Glorious sunshine.

I turned up at Anne Widdecombe's office very early doors. After the rigmarol of going through security, where the receptionist worryingly told me that Anne wasn't expected for a while, I waited in the foyer for her delightful assistant Annalinda to appear. I could tell by the reaction of the receptionist whilst he was informing her over the phone of my arrial, that something was awry.

Annalinda arrived shortly afterwards, walking towards me in a Neville Chamberlaine style, ie with a piece of paper in hand. That paper turned out to be a print out of the email that I'd sent her several weeks ago, confirming that I would be arriving at 9.00am on Thursday 10th November. Not just egg on face but full English. My head has been so vacant recently that is someone offered me a penny for my thoughts I'd have to give them change.

This evenings 'meeting' or 'greeting' went much more to plan. I was welcomed at the reception of Elstree by an angel otherwise known as Shona. After a walk and a chat, she ushered me into the WWTBAMillionaire studio where I was taken under the wing of the Floor Manager and was allowed to watch the contestants being put through their paces by Chris.

They all looked rather nervous in their plain pastel coloured shirts, but I guess by the time I write this, one of them will be considerably better off. Meanwhile, I'm still involved in constant financial wrangles with the bank that doesn't listen.

Chris was extremely amiable, and suggested we have the photo taken by the Millionaire 'Hot Seat' which was actually quite thrilling for me. If only I could be in it for real one day.

My general knowledge is actually quite strong. For example I know that honey is the only food that never spoils, there are more psycho-therapists per capita in Buenos Aires than anywhere else in the world and a bluebottle's average speed is 4.5mph.

I came second last when I appeared on the Weakest Link.

Day 130 - Reply (L.Dallaglio)

I'd hate to ruin the Charles Dickens masterpiece 'A Tale of Two Cities' for anyone who hasn't read it, for example by announcing that the wizard dies and the end of the book, but I can reveal that for those living in 18th Century Europe, it was the best of times and it was the worst of times (or even the 'blirst' of times, as afficianados of The Simpsons will pay testament to).

As paradoxes (or is that paradoxen?) go, that one's a bit of a headscratcher, but here's ome I made earlier:

I hate wasps, I love Wasps.

In my opinion, the stinging insects serve no discernable purpose other than to procreate, to hurt people and to help the earth's flowering plants to survive by transfering pollen.

The rugbly club on the other hand (The London Wasps) shall from this time forth and forever more, be close to my heart. I confess I know little about the sport, but the sporting demi-god Lawrence Dallaglio, who has won just about everything there is to win in the game, and who currently plays as flanker for Wasps, has agreed to meet me later this week.

As far as playing the game goes, I was severely put off it at school, due to my 'twiglet' physique and my balsa wood-like constitution. True I was of average size for a fourteen-year-old, but that was when I was 20.

Anyway, just to say that I'm really grateful to Lawrence, to the team manager Nolan Miller, and indeed to young Claire, who broke the good news to me.

Day 132 - Greeting Anne Widdecombe

I believe that it was the famous philosopher Jean-Jaques Rousseau who stated that "far too many writers are prone to quoting famous philosphers in their work, in order to make out that they're intelligent".

I'm not intelligent.

I initially turned up for my meeting with Anne Widdecombe two days early, having copied down the date of our meeting incorrectly. When I met her today, I was 10 minutes late, although that wasn't down to my stupidity, but rather the stupidity of the bloody Jubilee Line tube train that decided to park itself in a tunnel just south of Green Park station for 5 minutes.

Come to think of it, I'd have probably been late anyway.

At least I had my Ipod to keep me company, listening to 'Hits of the Eighties' on loop. I never realised how good the music of A Flock of Seagulls was, including their seminal hit I Ran So Far Away* although I can't agree with what Rose, an American friend of mine at work, says.

She tried to convince me that the song is basically about the failure of democratised Western nations to foresee the danger thats presently eminating out of a certain Middle Eastern state, because it's on the other side of the world. I noticed the space between the "I" and the "Ran" and also that the song was written in 1985 and concluded that it was about someone who was running a great distance.

So bearing in mind my errant journey earlier in the week, this entire morning was a case of deja-vu. I feel as though I now know the ticket collectors at Westminster, as well as the security guards and receptionists in Anne's building, personally.

Anne herself, and indeed her PA Annalinda, were absolutely brilliant. My tardiness wasn't in the least bit held against me, and I was invited to have the photo taken with the fantastic backdrop of the Houses of Parliament behind my noggin as you can see.

Following a brief chat, where I informed the Right Honourable MP for Maidstone & the Weald as to who the other MP's from my list were, she immediately picked up her phone and dialled the office of Boris Johnson, to see if he was around, which I thought was extremely kind of her.

I confess to feeling slightly embarassed that Boris might actually answer the call and be asked whether he was available to shake the hand of a random stranger, so I think I said something like, "Anne, don't worry this really isn't a 3 line whip. I don't want to trouble him," to which she replied that Boris would be happy to do something like this, it's just getting hold of him that's difficult as he's sometimes a little disorganised. I said that I'd noticed. He wasn't about anyway.

As I left, I was given a generous gift for the RNIB auction, a signed copy of Anne's book The Clematis Tree.

Here's a thing. I once had a number of clematis plant's growing on my balcony. That was before my flat was occupied by a couple of Swedes (Scandinavians not root vegtables. I hope that I actually didn't need to clarify that to you). These Swede's clearly had brown fingers, not in a rude sense, but it's just that when they vacated my flat and I moved back in, I noticed that all of my plantlife was dead including said clematii. I was heart broken.

* Possibly only known by individuals born between the years 1960 and 1978, or owners of GTA San Andreas on the Playstation.

Day 131 - Replies (N.Ross, F.Bruce)

Apparently this is post 101 on my website. Perhaps I should take a moment to make a list of all the things in this world that I'd like to see disappearing into a mysterious room, but frankly you might as well just look at my 'Dislikes' on the About section (top left) and in post 'Day 109'.

I've spent part of today trying to get more exposure for the project but short of wandering around Piccadily Circus in a hula skirt whilst impersonating George Formby, this is proving futile, like urinating into a hurricane.

For example, I wrote to Typepad (as in typepad.com) who host this site. They apparently promote a handful of websites every few weeks and I though they might show just a glimmer of interest in mine.

I must say, I am a tad insulted that this week they've instead decided to bang a drum for such mundane weblogs as:

Forest Project - Forest scapes from an aspiring forest photographer.

Ben Roethlisberger - Big Ben's personal entries and photos.

and one called Healthwise Agewise, that seems so tedious that I'm actually dropping off whilst thinking about how to describe it.

The only other thing of note that happened to me today, and this is entirely true, is that I was almost killed by a crazed maniac wielding an MP5 smg. So if anyone has any hints about getting past level 3 of Medal of Honour: European Assault' on the Playstation2, give me a hint would you.

I had some extremely positive news this afternoon, as I was informed that two fine, great, lovely, fantastic members of the 500 had agreed to a meeting, both in the same place and at the same time, so not only does my tally go up by two more, but it will be a very simple procedure. I'm getting to know the reception area of the BBC like the back of my hand.

Crimewatch's Nick Ross and Fiona Bruce are now the apple's of my eye. I'm not entirely sure about the meaning of that expression, I think that it's a term of endearment and hope that I haven't just made an embarassing faux pas. 

Anyway huge gratitude to those two good sports.

Right, I'm off to find out what Big Ben Roethlisberger's been up to recently. Chewing a large hamburger no doubt.

Day 136 - Reply (A.Titchmarsh)

Well there you go, a couple of days after talking about my dead Clematis, not to mention the Yucca and the Weeping Fig, I get an email from the PA of Alan Titchmarsh.

Not to tell me to move it nearer the window, or to give it less water, nor even to informer me that this renowned gardener will arrive in person to resurrect my balcony on a shoestring budget, but just to let me know that Alan will be availabIe for the photograph next month. Much obliged.

I woke early today, fretting that it was taking me too long to send out the 500 letters. I also woke early because of another peculiar nightmare that I suffered. I don't want to bore you with the details of it.

But I will. My history teacher of 16 years ago, Mr Winterbottom (real name), had set us an exam on the Humphry Bogart film Casablanca. He started shouting at me because I'd written about an exploding sheep ,"in all the bars in all the world ewe had to walk into mine". I got 17% and was expelled.

So once again I'm tired, having arisen early although I did take the opportunity to reel off another 70 letters in just twenty five minutes

For my next trick I will sit for 92 days in a hollowed out block of ice suspended over the Statue of Liberty, eating only tinned corned beef and aquafresh.

The next receipients of my requests coincidentally include three former sets of sweethearts, a mother and daughter, the female cast of The Good Life, the male cast of Men Behaving Badly, three-fifths of the cast of The Young Ones and almost the entire cast of Jonathan Creek.

In alphabetical order they are:

Donna Air, Nicole Appleton, Tom Baker, Helen Baxendale, Sean Bean, Kate Beckinsale, Ian Botham, Kathy Burke, John Cleese, Martin Clunes, Steve Coogan, Hugh Cornwell, Alan Davies, Bobby Davro, Darren Day, Angus Deayton, David Dickinson, Adrian Edmondson, Ben Elton, Colin Firth, Dexter Fletcher, Andrew Flintoff, Emma Forbes, Martin Freeman, Emma Freud, David Frost, Richard E Grant, Lesley Grantham, Ainsley Harriot, Amanda Holden, Bob Holness, David Jason, Natasha Kaplinsky, Peter Kay, Penelope Keith, Ross Kemp, Felicity Kendal, Jude Law, Robert Lindsay, Maureen Lipman, Nicholas Lyndhurst, Rick Mayall, Neil Morrissey, Tara Palmer-Tomkinson, Nicholas Parsons, Billie Piper, Eve Pollard, Su Pollard, Caroline Quentin, Esther Rantzen, Alan Rickman, William Roache, Linda Robson, Patricia Routledge, Julia Sawalha, Alexei Sayall, Suzanne Shaw, Michaela Strachan, David Suchet, Liza Tarbuck, Emma Thompson, John Thomson, Johnny Vegas, Dennis Waterman, Rachel Weisz, Paul Whitehouse, June Whitfield, Richard Wilson, Claudia Winkleman and Ray Winstone.

I'm off to spend a fortune on stamps.

Day 134 - Replies (J.Queally, N.Kinnock)

When I arrived at work at 9.00am this morning (Saturday I'd like to point out), I wondered why I hadn't yet heard the news that Britain had been invaded during the night.

Apart from the special forces operative standing outside my office building holding his Hechler & Koch, there was literally billions of police swarming all over the City of London, no exaggeration, a Challenger CR2 Tank blocked my way on Aldersgate Road, and then the Band of Her Majesty's Royal Marine Commando Training Centre strolled down Long Lane where I work, piping out "Who Do You Think You Are Kidding Mr Hitler".

I then rememberd that today is the Lord Mayor's Show.

It could be argued then, that this morning wasn't the best day for me to turn up here to try and find contact details for the Senior Vice President of Walmart Stores Inc to put into our company database, as my concentration has been slightly broken by the forty five or so brass bands that have thundered past the window.

The impressive sights and sounds even started to wear a little thin, thanks to the nature of my hangover. That was until I sojourned to the roof for a sneaky ciggarette where at the same time I watched and listened to a band made up of young RAF cadets, as they went past.

Smiling away in the sunshine were young men and women of every race, creed and colour marching in unison, as friends and as comrades.

I've got to say, that really did give my usually bitter and twisted heart a massive dose of cheer. God bless this great nation of ours.

Anyway, enough of this chuntering.

Being in work, with no-one around, gives me this ideal opportunity to update my website and to inform you that two more individuals have agreed to meet me.

Jason Queally is the only cyclist on my list of 500. Having won an Olympic gold medal for GB and having laid claim to being the fastest man on the face of the earth, I think Michael did very well to include him on the list. I hope to make his acquaintance outside the Oval Cricket Ground in the not to distant future.

Meanwhile, the Right Honourable Neil Kinnock or to use his correct title, Baron Kinnock, former leader of the Labour Party and former VP of the EC has also kindly agreet to accept my request. He will be the first of the Welsh celebrities to agree to meet me, although I could find just three others on Michael's list, Charlotte Church, Colin Jackson and Anne Robinson.

9 fighter jets have just roared overhead. I'm not sure what they were, but if I was to hazard a guess, I'd say aeroplanes. I'm back off to the roof now, hopefully just in time to see Therese the camel trot by.