I'm definately neither racist nor xenophobic, i'm simply proud of my Englishness because that's where i was born and have lived all my life, happy times and sad, cheery and downright miserable, it's all compounded deep inside me to make me that rare creature, an English Bloke.

Wherever we hail from, we should all be proud of our own individual roots and heritage, it's simply a happy statement that we love our England.

The Cross of St.George, cricket, Lord Nelson's flagship HMS Victory, Henry VIII, the FA Cup, Shakespeare's Globe Theatre, York Minster, Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament, London's red buses, a cup of tea, Stonehenge, Jerusalem and the Spitfire.

Dwelling in our green and pleasant land, often enshrouded in gloomy rainclouds or drizzle, it's nice to pause and think of all that is good in our eccentric but historic nationality, we are a unique breed and i certainly wouldn't swap it for all the tea in china.

Only last week i planted dozens of mixed bulbs along the back wall but have already forgotten what they were...i do recall that the picture on the packet looked highly impressive so i continue to live in hope and quiet expectation of a wonderfully dazzling display, later in the summer.

Once upon a time, i bought a packet of sunflower seeds with dreams of sitting to admire their impressive blooms as they towered in the blazing sunshine some fifteen or sixteen feet above the ground, bringing a burst of pride to the heart of the man who had planted them.

Time passed and something did indeed grow from the very places where those seeds had been so lovingly sown, but my sunflowers were only leafy, stumpy, green foliage...seemingly healthy and happy but without the anticpipated beanstalk proportions nor the eye-catching bright yellow blooms.

Eventually, the summer drew to an end and my half-forgotten dreams gradually dissolved...i became resigned to the prospect that either i'd been sold a duff packet of sunflower seeds or had failed in some way to faithfully nurture them as they truly deserved.

Here are the most worthy recipients of my heartfelt commendations; given to the men with a firm shake of the hand and the ladies with a warm smile, a peck on each cheek and a transparent pretence that i'm not merely present to gaze down their cleavage.

Sad To See You Go.....Vera Duckworth.
Glad To See You Go.....Max Branning.
Best Bitch.....Nicola De Souza.
Most Fanciable Female*.....Roxy Mitchell.
Best Newcomers.....Ronnie & Roxy Mitchell.
Gobbiest Cow.....Bianca Jackson.
Loveable Rogue.....Eli Dingle.
Smug Prat.....Jack Branning.
Scariest Woman.....Shirley Carter.
Funniest Character.....Eileen Grimshaw.
Best Nutter.....Sean Slater.
Best Old Bag.....Edna Birch.
Most Endearing Character.....Becky Grainger.
Soapland Wouldn't Be The Same Without.....Stacey Slater.
I Would.....Liz McDonald.

It's wonderful to have them popping-in or coming for dinner but what a rare treat it is to return at the end of a busy day to find a home that's not only clutter-free but also so serene and tranquil; just me and the missus, alone together in peace at long last for the first time since we met a decade ago.

The bathroom floor is no longer adorned with half-a-dozen wet towels or sopping great puddles of water, the toothpaste stays in the tube and not all over the basin, the toilet-roll is ~and here's a novelty~ actually on the toilet-roll holder.

The kitchen no longer resembles a bomb site, the crockery is all neatly stacked away in its rightful place rather than precariously balanced on top of itself as if it were a loving tribute to the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

The food doesn't mysteriously vanish the moment we turn our backs as if our house were infested by ravenous poltergeists...when we want bread, lo and behold, there it is in the cupboard where we left it!

What would you suggest as a suitable and rewarding task for the novice cakemaker?

Think carefully, please, because your suggestions and my execution thereof, may well be the source of the utmost satisfaction and delight on the one hand, the deepest gloom and despondency on the other.

There are so many types of cake that capture my fancy but without the required experience, i don't know which are relatively easy to create and which are deceptively difficult and likely to leave both myself and my kitchen in a complete turmoil...therefore, i eagerly await your suggestions with drooling anticipation so please drop a little note into my suggestion box.

Even my wife has been stirred into action by my recent baking exploits, surprising me with a delicious coffee sponge when i came home from work today.

They often signify something completely different to what you may think, so even if they're sometimes quite worrying, there may be a brighter message to be found.

Death: Relax if you've dreamt of death, it can mean something good, like a wedding or birth in the family.

Losing Teeth: The thing with teeth is, they symbolise words, not actual teeth...to dream of losing your teeth can mean that you've uttered harsh or false words to somebody that you'd rather have kept to yourself...safe in your mouth, like your teeth.

Flying: These dreams are very good for you, foretelling happiness, peace of mind and a lack of worry or stress so learn to unfold your wings before going to bed.

Falling: Common with people who suffer depression, apparently, a message telling you that something about your life is rapidly going in the wrong direction.

Pursuit: You are avoiding something in your waking life that needs to be addressed, there is an issue that you must face-up to and stop trying to ignore!

Sex: And where would we be without the odd dream about sex? Dreaming of having sex with a platonic friend merely indicates how much you love that person, it's not lustful at all. However, sex with somebody you dislike tells you that it's time to let go of your negative feelings for them.

And finally, pay attention to fairies in your dreams because they bring you messages to overcome any problems in your life...and don't eat cheese at bedtime, everyone knows that!

1) At the age of 44, i suddenly found the joy of baking.
2) I once worked at Kentucky Fried Chicken.
3) I have 9 tattoos.
4) I have a scar on my head, having had 8 stitches at 14 when i fell off a telephone box.
5) I can roll my tongue into a tube shape, apparently not everyone can do this.
6) I'm left-handed, the world is the wrong-way round for me.
7) I once infuriated the kids and neighbours by singing along to the entire Grease album in the early hours with my wife whilst we were both exceedingly drunk and tuneless.

And before i go, i would like to mention one of my lifelong favourite dreamgirls, who's been a glamour model, pop singer and Bollywood star in her time, besides playing havoc with my heart-strings and blood-pressure down the years.

So today, i decided upon a Tarot Reading, kindly given by Sharon's good friend Lynne, for which i warmly thank her. I find it both intriguing and thought provoking too discover how someone gifted in such matters interprets the journey of life through the enigmatic cards.

In your past, you set things in motion for future, you had a goal to head for and did this your way, there were some obstacles that you had to overcome but in time you could see that and they made you stronger and more determined to succed.

However, the bright sunshine of sunday afternoon saw me toiling in vain with the mischievous afforementioned ingredients, all of which devoutly refused to act as my ancient cookbook faithfully promised, leaving me in a state of despair and disappointment.

Had you been present to witness my beloved creation being tenderly lifted from the oven, you would have asked yourself whether my intention had been to create a particularly large biscuit or a jam-filled frisbee.

I didn't follow King Alfred's example and burn the cake but it was nevertheless still crunchy in parts, exceedingly sweet and somewhat flatter in appearance than any sponge-cake that i'd ever yet beheld...a typically English heroic failure.

Notwithstanding this sad showing, the cake was perfectly edible although, to be fair, i could only give it an Mmm rating when i'd anticipated at least an Mmmmmmmm! I devoured half of it for sunday tea and took the remainder to work for monday's lunch, still not quite certain exactly where it'd all gone so horribly wrong.

I have been cruelly brought down a peg or two by this hamfisted experience and wince whenever i pass the bakers but hereby vow that my next creation will show a distinct improvement, just you mark my words.

Be afraid, Mr Kipling, be very afraid.

I decided to confess this inner desire to my wife while we were filling up our trolley at Tesco, taking a deep breath and looking her as squarely in the eye as possible, i mumbled,

You know what i'd really like to do?
What?
I'd like to bake a cake!
A cake?
Yes, i want to bake a cake.
Okay...

And so, we made sure that we bought the required ingredients for a fairly easy cake, a Victoria Sponge, and also a set of new cake tins. The ancient recipe book was dusted off and i marvelled at the vast array of different cakes that i could attempt as and when i became more proficient.

The simple pleasure in all that mixing, whisking and baking can only be matched by the joy of eating the resulting culinary work of art, washed down with a hot cup of tea. So the theory goes anyway but now it's time for me to face up to the practical side of it.

Wish me luck as i engulf myself and the kitchen in a delightful floury mess, chuckle to yourself as i make a complete botch of whisking the eggs and all those other mysterious processes that must be endured in order to create a simple cake.

So, if you know any tasty cakey tips or recipes, please send them to me and i'll not only receive them all most gratefully but will endeavour, in the fullness of time, to do them justice as i slave away in the sunday kitchen dreaming of the day that i may lay claim to the title of The Cakemaker General.

I'll report on the success or failure of my latest endeavour at a later date...but for now, here goes!

The true soap bitch stirs the blood and conquers the heart like no other...a dominating character that we love to hate but can't stop watching, a fantasy figure who brings an illicit tingle of desire whenever we lay eyes on them.

Down the years i have quietly admired many a bad girl of soapland, so i feel i can speak with at least a little amateurish authority on this important matter or in other words, i'm a complete sucker for them.

My all-time favourite was surely Kim Tate from Emmerdale, the vixen of the Dales, flashing a mischievous smile as she trampled her admirers mercilessly underfoot...always dressed to thrill and never missing a chance to play her seductive, devilish games.

Wonderfully played by the stunning Claire King, she was the kind of woman that fuelled a million male fantasies, a steely strumpet with a frosty heart...my fondest wish is to see her return one day to create yet more havoc...just once, please.

Closely following would be Kate Ford from Coronation Street, who was deliciously evil as Tracy Barlow; cold, selfish, cruel, despicable and conniving...and those were just her good points; a proper little madam, the kind of girl that could drive a man crazy with desire...and then just plain crazy.

A young woman is kicked to death one night whilst trying to protect her boyfriend from a gang of drunken teenagers; the man, Robert Maltby, is himself kicked into a coma and eventually recovers but is left to live with the cruel loss of the girl he loved...wishing that she had just run away and left him to die rather than stay and defend him.

And why were the couple attacked so viciously to begin with?

The once great Britain has become a sick country in a sick world, living in fear of the brain-dead elements of society who place no value whatsoever in human life and can only smirk at the pain, suffering and anguish they cause to others.

The brutally murdered girl was called Sophie Lancaster and her bereaved family and friends have launched a campaign in her name:

Stamp Out Prejudice Hatred + Intolerance Everywhere.
 
Their aim is to petition the government to finally take some sort of action that we may hope for a more tolerant, less violent society.

Please take a moment to visit the Sophie's memorial page, find out more about their campaign, watch her tributes on youtube, add your name to the petition and give them your love and support.

My break seemed to consist mainly of painting and eating chocolate, the latter being a forgiveable tradition. After all, if that nice Mr Cadbury has gone to all the trouble of making so many chocolate eggs then i should should show my appreciation and eat them.

As for the painting, you may now have an image of me perched before my easel, looking very artistic and bohemian whilst dashing off a masterpiece in oils, an epic canvas fit to grace the finest European Art Galleries.

But sadly, my self-expression stretched no further than re-painting the house under the ever watchful, and critical eye of my wife, vigilant against the slightest signs of my slacking; horsewhip in one hand and cattle-prod in the other.

But though i do say so myself, if you'd given the great Michaelangelo himself a tray, roller, a fistful of B&Q brushes and a huge pot of emulsion, then i'm perfectly sure that he'd be unable to better my handywork in the back bedroom.

As i meekly offered to sneak off for yet another bit of chocolate and a glimpse of telly (under the ruse of making a cup of tea), my cunning plan was met with a sharp crack of the whip, a zap from the cattle-prod and the barked retort:

Not until you've finished this room, you scurvy dog...and then you can get started on the bathroom!

Having some welcome peace over Easter to dwell on life in general, i wiled away a moment or two in perusing some famous quotations regarding the subject of matrimony...some of which made me smile to myself and others which made me agree wholeheartedly with their simple wisdom.

For instance, It is not a lack of love, but a lack of friendship that makes unhappy marriages (Friedrich Nietzsche) on one one hand, while on the other...

Only two things are necessary to keep one's wife happy. One is to let her think she is having her own way, the the other, to let her have it (Lyndon B Johnson).

I tend to agree with the sentiments of Mark Twain when he said: After all these years, I see that I was mistaken about Eve in the beginning; it is better to live outside the Garden with her than inside it without her.

We tend to portray our domestic, wedded bliss either as a heavenly consumation of all our deepest, most heartfelt wishes with our beloved partner and soulmate or as an ongoing series of minor skirmishes between cat and dog.

I very rarely exchange a cross word with my wife, not only because i love making her happy but also because:
a) i'm not a confrontational person and dislike arguments
b) i prefer an easy life
c) she's always right anyway

As Simone Signoret rightly says, Chains do not hold a marriage together. It is threads, hundreds of tiny threads which sew people together through the years. That is what makes a marriage last.

But the final word on the subject should go to American poet Ogden Nash, whose marital advice is not only straight to the point but also very true.

To keep your marriage brimming,
With love in the loving cup,
Whenever you're wrong admit it;
Whenever you're right shut up.