I can't be arsed with the food diary.

What made me think that anyone would be interested in what I eat?

The delusions of the late night radio presenter.

But there's more to it than that. There must be. Bethan Elfyn doesn't do that kind of thing. I shall ask her for some lessons in decorum.

This week has been characterised by AUTUMN SUNSHINE [my favourite brand], 80's school slang, some ace music [which I can't enthuse about, yet, due to constrictions of the official sonic secrets act] and scrabbling around Anglesey trying to remember how to use a camera.

Oh, and having *my* picture taken.

Which of these fascinating episodes shall we begin with?

Oh.

None of them wasn't an option.

Okay, Anglesey.

I love Anglesey.

It's a long way to drive and it's been photographed within an inch of trans-mutating the landscape itself into a pixellated form. My favourite Anglesey photos come courtesy of Glyn Davies [ http://www.glyndavies.com/ ]. His landscapes are so good they make me want to burn my own eyes out. A bit extreme. And a lie. They're very good. Very very good.

Before the spat of shite weather I had got comfortable with my camera. It had become a spiritual experience, going out and taking pictures: communing with the world and the elements.

But the gap has meant that the knobs and buttons and tripods and filters and such like have become a challenge again. So my visit to Newborough [expensive car park] was characterised by struggle and sweat as my indolent body tried to remember how to walk with a rucksack full of photog equipment [ photog -- that's what photo twits call themselves. ]

I never see other photogs. i hate that word. I'll stop using it, now. Sorry.

I was struggling at the edge of the water on Cemaes Bay. The water was going over the top of my Merrils. My jeans were soaked. I had all of the grace of a drunk turd trying to negotiate the Krypton Factor assault course [ Crapton Factor. Ho ho. ] A man had ghosted up on me. He had a camera in his hand and wasn't covered in sand, water and seaweed shit. I felt found out and was vehemently anti-social as a result.

I think I managed to grunt in his direction.

I didn't get any great shots. But I enjoyed reacquainting myself with it all. Newborough is beautiful. Truly.

I do like the picture above. Photographers, typically, avoid lens flare... but I really like the diffracted light in this shot. It was a complete accident, of course.

Mind you.

So was I.

And I like those skinny trees.

I'm jealous of 'em.

But I can still appreciate their spindliness.

Odd and ferrously ironic that I should go from a day taking pictures to a morning of being the subject of some official promo pics for the BBC.

I can't tell you how much I hate having my picture taken.

This has been an enduring phobia.

I never look like what I think I look like in photographs. All cameras have been wired to make me look like a head-heavy, featureless gloop of a man. But even radio requires glossy promo shots, these days. So I had no choice. Despite seriously considering a 'sicky' to get me out of the ordeal.

[ and I do not do days off. ]

What to wear?

I'm bollocks at fashion.

There are more fashion faux pas in my back catalogue of photos than I could list here.

I'm a jeans & t-shirt man, for the most part. I love -- LOVE -- the idea of a simple tailored suit, but because I have a strange body shape [bull chest, snake's back, ironing board arse, hot air balloon head] it would have to be tailored. Off the rack stuff just emphasises my wrongness [ or the fact that my mum smoked when she was pregnant with me].

So, after due consideration I plumped for a suit jacket [very Burtons] over the top of a white Fred Perry. I don't know why this combo appealed. I haven't seen the pictures, yet -- but I know I'm going to look like a tw@. I pray for insouciant, effortless cool. It's not going to happen in this life, though.

I'm okay with this.

I quite like me.

We can't all be super fuckable. It's people like me who make the beautiful people special. We should be on commission. Or given an island for ourselves where all personal vanity is eschewed for doing and making things that benefit human kind as a whole.

Like low fat, high taste doughnuts.

The 'diet' is going well.

But I can't stop thinking about food.

It's pathetic.

Have you got any chocolate lard king prawn fried burgers I could borrow, please?

Hmmmnhmhmmmmmmmnnnmm.

I'll wipe the dribble up later.

On an entirely different tip, I have been writing. Not this shit. Other shit.

I was in Waterstones a couple of months ago and I picked up a copy of 'Twilight' by Stephenie Meyer. It is a horrible, horrible book. I have never read anything that made me so angry. It's Goth Mills and Boon for pre-teens. It's vampiric fantasy that contains no truth, as far as I can see, about real teenage relationships. It's difficult to believe that a contemporary novel for teenagers, written by a woman, could centre around such a pathetic heroine.

There is more truth and integrity in soft porn.

But it got me wondering about whether it is possible to write an honest story about teenage infatuation, and those first glorious fumblings. How would you write such a story truthfully without it turning into soft porn, for example?

Sex -- well, pre-sex -- is only incidental to the story I want to tell but it is an important undertow.

The story is set in 1985 in the village that I grew up in.

I have been trying to remember how we talked in school back then.

I started a thread on Facebook [ http://www.new.facebook.com/profile.php?id=563282672/note.php?note_id=36250688237 ] The response has been very good. It was a whole other language peculiar to Mold. No doubt you all had your own, too. It's a shame that life homogenises all of that diversity out of us.

Bloody life.

Something I have to get back to, immediately, or there will be no show tonight.

What is on tonight's show?

Good question.

This Is Radio Freedom [ former members of Vibration White Finger, who you might remember http://myspace.com/thisisradiofreedom ] are in session.

We have a short mix of some excellent Welsh dance music courtesy of Cardiff's Grooveland Records [ http://www.myspace.com/groovelandrecords ]

Huw Williams is round and about to talk about something old, Welsh and ace.

Bethan Elfyn will pop in to tease us with bits of Peth and Sweet Baboo.

Peppermint Patti [ http://myspace.com/pepermintpatticouk ] enthuse about their favourite female-flavoured music of the last month.

Soundhog [ http://soundhog.co.uk ] rifles his unfeasibly inspirational record collection for our benefit.

*AND* we have lots of ace new Welsh music including a new Demo of the Week.

themysterytour@gmail.com is the place to send your music / gig info / observations etc.

you can also txt the show [between 10pm and 1am tonight] on 81012.

See you later! Back to the top of the page...