A very full day, starting at 06.00.

Took the new iPie. Bus – Keighley – Skipton, where I was photographed for the Craven Herald & Pioneer, Met lots of lovely people, but Sarah from the Town Council is the only one I have a name for, cause she gave me her card. I cannot remember the name of the girl at the newspaper who remembered me from seeing me once at a party a dozen years ago, at Ponden Mill, Stanbuty, and remembered the name of the l;lass I was stalking at the time. I used to get asked why I wasn’t married, but I think the women who asked, soon realised just how numb I was.

I also got chased out of the Yorkshire Bad Book Clearance shop. My poster had been taken down. I went in and waited for the old man to finish on his mobile, like he owned the place and was doing it a favour, and asked why my poster had been taken down. He said We don’t put posters up. Alright!?. Seeing I had to wait for him to finish on his phone I said No. You’re a miserable git, and I will not be recommending your shop. Having said all I needed to, I left, and the tosser ran after me, and was shouting at me to come and face him instead of running away. I had the new pie out, and a bus to catch so did not take the chance and trade insults. After I missed me bus and packed the pie I went for beer at the Woolly Sheep, where I told the story on Mr Miserable Bookshop Man. Much more enjoyable than helping a angry twat towards a heart attack.

All personal injury lawyers are parasitic scum. The ones in the house Kipling’s granny lied at could not be bothered to answer my personal request for just £60 to pay for an advert, and told me they were not interested, but only when I went in today, so they are obviously tight as well.

The photographer called me a professional after he had taken photos! I must be getting good at looking more of a twat than I do normally with a foot wide pie in my hands. He took me into the street to get audience reaction, and the first person I got to react was a good looking woman who knew him. I hope he uses that picture. P.J.O”Rourke once wrote: Nothing will change unless there are babes involved. I have had a far few good looking women buy my books, and pay to see me, but being photographed with one is a big career plus.

I discovered stuff about Rudyard Kipling’s grandparent’s gravestone that I sure the Kipling Society do not know, and had a conversation at the Town Council with Sarah and a man with a sense of humour. I will be helping them get the graveyard opened. It is Terry Pratchett’s Johnny and the Dead. Graveyards have votes because they contain the reason we are here (having helped bury realives in Finland I know this is obvious to other countries) but saving one is only ever easy in Britain if someone famous is planted there.

Not sold a ticket yet, but I am enjoying this so much I am not sure I care.

Bus Skipton – Cross Hills, Chat with lad at bus stop about his mate getting a kicking in Colne, and how his mate’s many family and friends now know the lad who did the kicking, from watching the cctv fotage.

Bus Colne. Walked down to the Admiral Lord Rodney in the fiercest sun I have met this year. It was shut! Walked slowly back up the 1 in 1 hill (you walk it with 2 hour old beer boots and then call me a liar!). Went to the Shepherds Arms and had a good chat with the barman, and saw one of the pub dogs run through the bar after managing to jump off the roof garden for the first time.

B=Went back to the Rodney. The barman was called Matt, he was ill, and said I had given him his first laugh of the day when I showed him my pie. It is still a brilliant boozer, but it was better when Richard was there.

Back up the hill with fresh beer boats. The police had closed the high street, probably just cause they could, but one of the Burnley bus driivers gout out of his cab and asked the WPC why. I was tempted to do the same, but as I said to the irish lady also waiting for a Keighley bus I have the smell of beer on me and that will be enough for an arrest. I’m no villain, but I am no lover of the police when they forget who pays them.

Bus Keighley. Went round Roger’s and got fed. There was some comment around the table about my tales being something you could not make up; which is fair enough, but I then heard stories about librarians that made me laugh so loud my nose hurt, and I have intimate experience of librarians remember.

Bus Bradford. Did not talk to anyone, well not much, really. Did not get of at Fanny’s as planned because I realised I do not like it and nobody there will ever come to any show I do.

Still no dole money or payment from the magazine or the elections. I am weirdly unworried.