Miser chief

My friend is collecting stories to use in the best man speech he has to do at our mate Ian's wedding. Earlier this week he emailed the stag night crew, requesting any good anecdotes, particularly those relating to Ian's legendary tightness.

The response was overwhelming, with stories flying in from a range of different sources. I don't believe Ian reads this blog, so I don’t think I'll be spoiling the speech by unveiling a few of the responses here (subbed so they read nicely, natch).

NB It's important to bear in mind, when reading these anecdotes, that Ian earns over £50,000 a year. But also that he is a lovely guy, who is completely aware of his stinginess and finds it incredibly amusing. Enough, off we go:

"I met up with Ian at the end of last year. Hadn't seen him in ages, probably over a year. We decided to go to this bar and grab some food there. Ian ordered a pint of squash and his pizza at the bar, total cost £9.50. Unfortunately, the minimum spend at the bar to use a credit card was £10. What to do? Ian disappeared for 15 minutes to find a cash machine. Fifty pence in the bank."

***

"Ian once travelled 40 minutes to Angel in North London to get a haircut, as he'd seen them advertised for £5. When he'd queued up and eventually been directed to the barber, he was asked how he would like his hair-cut. The conversation went something along the lines of:

Ian: "Short back and sides – but using scissors only."
Barber: "Certainly sir."
Ian: "That is for a fiver?"
Barber: "It's £6, sir."
Ian: "It says on the window it's for £5."
Barber: "The window says '£5 with clippers', but for scissors it's £6."
Ian (eventually): "I’ve only got a fiver so I’d better go and get some more cash out – I’ll just pop to the bank opposite and be back in a minute."

"He never returned."

***

"...or when, on a road trip round Scotland, he decided he wasn't prepared to pay £3.50 for soup, so left the restaurant, bought a deep-fried pizza for £2, realised it was disgusting and had to throw it away."

***

"…the fact that he held all our deposit money for the stag hotel in a high interest account for three months…"

***

"On his birthday, we went out for a meal. After paying for Ian's curry and drinks, the group descended to an establishment called Brown's, a grotty strip joint where the girls collect their earnings by handing round a pint glass, to which everyone contributes £1 coins. Ian was bought further drinks. Despite having not spent anything all night, he made a frenzied dash to the loo every time a lady came round with a pint glass in order to avoid paying the fee.

"But though he tried to hide, he was witnessed peeping round the toilet door every time a girl came round to see when the coast was clear. Ian only got caught out one time, but sniggered afterwards: 'I only put 20p in there and they didn't know'."

***

"My fave one is when he said he couldn't stay for a pub supper at the Railway pub as he had half a pepper in the fridge that he had to use up."

Bring back Blair

I miss him already.

Toilet humour

My friend James had The Worst Day of His Life yesterday.

He's recounted the terrible (but also hilarious) happenings over on HNBBBIBD today; I found it particularly poignant as the Oldboy-like events occurred in the very house I used to live in. It could have been me. Anyway, read and weep.

Fist pump

The Guardian's GBG (Game By Game) coverage of Tim Henman’s second round Wimbledon match today was excellent, mainly thanks to the discussions on the subject of Henners’ famous celebratory fist pump. Here are the highlights:

"For Facebookers," writes Robert Kerrigan, "There's a group for An Appreciation of the Henman Fist Pump." There are currently 54 members - let's see if we can't hit the big six-zero.

***

"Surely it is more a fist hold than fist pump?" questions Nick Donovan. But that would imply that, while he is clenching his right fist, his left hand is taking the weight of said other hand, no? I do agree that "pump" is an unacceptable description, though. Any other ideas?

***

"It's really not a fist pump at all, is it?" says Rob Nash. Is there an echo in this GBG? "I was pondering 'fist brandish', but I think 'fist flaunt' actually has a nicer ring to it (and it's suitably polite for easily offended Middle-Englanders)."

***

"The Queen of the Fist Pump is surely La Sharapova," says Gary Naylor. "How she got so good at it is an absolute mystery to me."

***

"I would argue that the 'fist' part of 'fist pump' is also misleading," not-quite-argues Jordan Glossop. "I suggest Henman Hand Squeeze." While Martin Piper writes: "It's more like a fist waft." Ok, so it's not a fist pump, it's a "Henman hand-squeeze waft". My colleague James Dart reckons it's pretty similar to Bruce Forsyth's Generation Game pose.

***

"Is it too late for Timothy to come up with a new signature if he makes it to the second week?" asks Stewart Todd. "Could he ditch the fisting, so to speak, and perhaps on Sunday get a roaring tiger tattoo on his back Beckham-style, and reveal it on Centre Court next week to astonished gasps from the strawberry and cream brigade with John Lloyd saying 'too good!'?"

***

"You must realise that Tim lost an arm-wrestling match to a girl called Mary when he was in the second year at school," explains Andy Walker. "Your so-called 'fist pump' is actually his challenge to her to return to the ring for a best of three showdown." If it's a certain Maria of whom you speak, I wouldn't fancy Tiger's chances.

***

"There are now 101 members of the Fist Pump appreciation group," writes Penelope Rance. "You could have some opposition in changing the name."

***

"Perhaps if all the readers pump their fist as one, Tim will feel the force and come back to win," suggests Edward Platt, who also believes that Yuri Geller was to thank/blame for Gary McAllister blasting his penalty over against England in Euro 96.

***

Will that be the last we see of Tim Henman at Wimbledon? He has promised he will be back next year so hopefully we'll have a few more glimpses of the Henman hand-squeeze waft then.

***

Editors choice

Ooh, exciting. I've just had my first ever magazine cover feature, courtesy of that Editors interview I did for total:spec a while back.

You can read a short excerpt of the article here, but if you want to read the full 3,000-word epic in all its glory, you'll have to shell out £3.20 for a copy like everyone else, you cheeky bastard.

Britain's Got Cowell

Despite my current job as a TV Witterer, I missed Simon Cowell's Britain's Got Talent in its entirety. But I've been catching up on YouTube. Thanks, YouTube.

Edmund's got the Paul Potts video over on BTEA (emotionally manipulative but great), so instead try this. (And try not to get irritated by ITV's frequent cutaways.)

Will's grace

Great single safety interception from the other Will Parkhouse here.

The ghost with the most

Ghostsign Sam (him of this fame) is BACK. So look out.

Actually, don't look out. Look at your screen. But first click here and you'll get his new blog. Then look at your screen. And read the words. Also look at the pictures.

NOW GO.

None more metal

"I was in New York the other week," says Angry Tom, dejectedly. "It was all right."

This is dropped in the same out of the blue way as he'd said (a bit earlier), "I was out with Peaches Geldof the other week. We went to an Oxide and Neutrino gig" - and in the same slightly depressed tone. Apparently Angry Tom has taken to shouting at non-existent people in his lounge when he gets home drunk. He only knows this because his housemates have told him they've walked on him yelling into thin air.

"I met this guy called Clint," he continues.

"Are you sure she was a girl?" I say, thinking he said 'girl called Clint'. Luckily he doesn't hear.

"He was a heavy metaller," says Tom, who is also not averse to the likes of Iron Maiden. In fact, he's wearing an Iron Maiden t-shirt. Then, perking up a bit, "He'd lost two of his fingers in an industrial accident. But the thing was, he'd lost these two fingers." Tom signals the middle and ring fingers on his right hand: "His hand made permanent devil horns!"

We crack up. "But that's not all," he continues. "He lost his fingers in a metalwork accident. He'd lost his fingers in the most metal way it's possible to lose your fingers." We laugh some more.

"In America, you can go out drinking on your own - people just come up and talk to you," he goes on.

"Okay," I say, thinking, yes, that sounds quite nice.

"I hate it," says Angry Tom.

"Yes," I reply.

Pepper spray

Everyone's been getting a bit flustered about the 40th anniversary of Sgt Pepper this month, so perhaps it's time to unleash a savagely bitchy piece of writing from Dylanologist Clinton Heylin, in an attempt to restore the natural balance of things.

Heylin's introduction to Bob Dylan: The Recording Sessions (1960 - 1994) begins by laying into the most famous "sessionography" book, Mark Lewisohn's The Complete Beatles Recording Sessions, in which the writer, a celebrated authority on the Fab Four, analyses The Beatles' recording career. But he does so in a way which Heylin sees as highly ignorant...

Lewisohn... was the man who informed all those who purchased the CD version of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band - courtesy of some liner notes already ODing on hyperbole - that the sessions for Sgt. Pepper were "perhaps the most creative 129 days in the history of rock music."

I could have called this book "129 Days of Studio-Time" but it is most certainly not about the fey indulgences of the Fab Four in the winter of 1966-67... To put Lewisohn's (staggeringly ignorant) "most creative 129 days in the history of rock music" in context, Dylan managed to record his entire studio output up to and including 1976's Desire in just 90 days!

Beatles schmeatles, then. Although the introduction is brilliant, the rest of the book is so intensely geeky, I'd hesitate to recommend it to even the most obsessive of Dylan fans. Sorry, Clint.