Seriously though - "Blockbusters Rematch" is a brilliant idea for a show. We get back the contestants who played in the 1980s and make them play again and see who is victorious this time, both in the game and in life, whilst the presenter gives cold commentary about the destructive nature of the passage of time. You'd see a clip of the original contest (or maybe the whole thing) and then we'd recreate the battle with the exact same people, fighting to win the exact same gold run prizes that were up for offer the first time. And the twist is that it's all hosted by someone who secretly used to very slowly masturbate (in time taken as opposed to technique necessarily) to the people who are now asking the questions. I think it would be too much if the host was again attempting to masturbate under the desk as he asked the questions, but maybe that could be a late night version.

I think this is a brilliant idea (if you take all the masturbation stuff out) - it would be existential, primeval and speak of the fragility of youth, but it'd also just be great to see who won the games this time round. I can't be bothered to write it up and pitch it properly, but if anyone works in TV can see how this would obviously be televisual gold, then do get in touch. But I am the host. That's a deal breaker. And I need to be behind a desk. With a semi-circular toilet mat. I mean it, forget the bit about wanking, that's all just unspoken subtext anyway. This is a brilliant idea. As good as my idea to have a repeat of "Deal or No Deal" where mathematicians and experts do a poker style commentary about tactics with statistics to back them up. And I got as far as having a meeting with the people who make Deal or No Deal on that one (they pretty much showed me the door, but in a nice way). Honestly TV is wasted on the people who get to make programmes. Just give me one channel and I will fill it with wall to wall hits. Admittedly most of my best ideas are about adapting existing programmes (Goodnight Sweetheart Redux and Jedward Deadwood, Sherlock and Tim from the Office are more fine examples of my magpie oeuvre) but that's good. It'd make money for some 80s and 90s writers and provide solid entertainment for the post-modern masses. And from 2am-6am it would be live Me1 vs Me 2 snooker, with the chance to gamble on the results of each frame. Seriously TV, wake up and smell my coffee and then drink it down. It's got a bit of an odd after taste, but don't worry, there's nothing funny going on.

And talking of snooker and nothing funny going on, I recorded frame 5 of Me 1 vs Me 2 snooker today (available on iTunes and from The British Comedy Guide) All the Mes had been out for a run beforehand as is their wont, though they had become tired quite quickly and only managed to go about three miles rather than the planned seven. And that weariness seemed to pervade the podcast, with sloppy play and sloppy commentary, as well as an outspoken mutiny from the usually reserved Commentator 2. But it's a frame that smashed several records and one that interrupted by both a text and more amusingly a genuine phone call that Me 1, who was talking at the time, had to answer in character. I commented on the person on iTunes who said this was a sad end to my career, saying it wasn't like this was all I was doing. I am personally divided between thinking this is the greatest work and the most embarrassing disaster of my life. But such internal divisions are what makes the idea resonate I believe. I am delighted with the organic and unplanned way that all the characters are developing. I like Me 1 to begin with, but now suspect him of being false and self-serving. Is his sportsmanship genuine or is he just trying to bring people on side? Me 2's anger, even towards the people who like him, is also intriguing. He is a firebrand, but as insecure as a house of cards. And I cannot be sure, but I am wondering if unbenownst to me he is involved in some kind of match-fixing. His form varies wildly from game to game. You never know which Me2 is going to come to the snooker board at any given time.

I just wish I could have been as eloquent during the podcast as I have been in this entry. It's painful to listen to. Hope you enjoy it. And if you have a question for any of the Mes then do email them in to herring1967@gmail.com.

After the match I had a bath (seemed no point in washing before, even though I'd been for a run, as I knew the snooker exertion would just dirty me up again - you can't wash away the mental stains). It was nice to relax - maybe I've been overdoing it with the exercise and the dieting and the nervous breakdown podcast, plus I've got a lot of things to organise at the moment. My girlfriend was making dinner (I'd made the other two meals today - we have a modern relationship) and called me to say it was ready. I'd been lost in a game of monopoly (on my phone, in the bath, against computer opponents - I live dangerously) and maybe got up a bit too fast from a still pretty hot bath. As I stood on dry land I suddenly felt a bit light-headed, then felt quite wobbly and nauseous. I thought I was about to faint and so got down on the floor on my hands and knees in order to avoid cracking my head against the toilet (what a way to go that would be). I wondered if this was it anyway, perhaps my number was up. And perhaps that iTunes reviewer had been correct. The snooker podcast might literally be the end of my career. Whilst my soul was ready to drift to the light and the peace of the Heaven that it shall surely go to, my ego was holding on to its shimmering, ethereal, formless leg and shouting, "You can't go now. Not on the day of the Blockbusters blog and the worst snooker podcast yet. It's not your time."

And luckily my spirit returned, but only because it realised it was heading downwards and it was getting hot and there was a definite smell of sulphur.

In Fist of Fun (series one available from go faster stripe) Peter Baynham had talked about recreating the effects of marijuana for free by standing up much too quickly in a hot bath. I don't think I had ever experienced the true wonder of that joke until now. It was pretty much exactly the same effects (I imagine, mum). My head was swirling, I felt sick, had to lie down and spent the rest of the evening feeling a bit detached and paranoid. So don't do drugs kids - have baths. It's the same thing and you'll be clean and it'll be a lot more fun if you do it with other people at parties.

Of course I was also aware that as a man of a certain age this discombobulation might be less to do with the bath and more to do with having a funny turn. It was perhaps a reminder that I can't keep pushing myself too hard. The physical exertion of a run followed by the mental exertion of my snooker loopy podcast had proven too much for me.

Ah well there will be plenty of time to rest in the secure ward of the hospital. At the moment I can unravel my mind and then twist it back on to the spool. Let's hope I retain the degree of control required for this dangerous flirtation with the dark side of my psyche. Which is made less dark by the snooker part of equation.

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