21st October:

Never trust a man who can't name the 8 different sizes of Champagne bottle.

8th October:

I read an irritating article yesterday about the impact of fatherhood. It was in one of those glossy women's magazines that the fairer sex seem to insist on torturing themselves with every month. You know, headlines like “think yourself thin in ten minutes” and that kind of guff. Needless to say, of course, the men they chose to interview all had more than enough money to say "fuck it" and get a nanny in when the going got tough. "It's so fulfilling" gushed Alex, ex-celebrity Britpop darling. "I never knew I would enjoy it so much". Yes, well I'm sure us mere mortals would find it just as fulfilling if we could hand the little angels over to the help and bugger off back to our sun loungers by the pool whenever they kicked off.

Mind you, I shouldn't sound surprised. This same magazine tells its readers "if you only buy one item of clothing this month, make it this...", presenting a £700 tunic dress as the answer to life's problems. I'm sorry, but do me a favour. I'm fortunate enough to have a well-paid job but by the time I've dealt with the rent and the bills, then put enough money aside to cover my required monthly contribution to Tesco's profitability and have a semblance of a social life, there is no chance that I’ll be shelling out £700 on a tunic dress or the metrosexual male equivalent. I'm all for a bit of aspiration, but the fashion press really do take the piss. I used to buy GQ for a while, and quickly got into the habit of flicking straight past the clothing pages towards the back, as they only ever seemed to contain pictures of skinny, pasty-faced wastrels wearing suits and coats that cost more than my rent. And I live in a 4-bedroom detached with double garage!

You can call it clever marketing or edgy anti-marketing, but Dove’s ‘Campaign for Real Beauty’ seems to have hit a chord with people, with its positive messages, celebration of diversity and a renunciation of an ideal standard. Even some of the tosh on the telly like “10 years younger” and “How to look good naked” does make the point that nice clothes are all well and good, but beauty and confidence start with positive self-image.

So there you have it folks. If you only do two things this month, splash out on a nanny and cancel the subscription to Cosmo.

You can spend all that new-found extra time looking in the mirror and reminding yourself how great you look.

7th October:

Today felt like the first day of Autumn. The weather was actually quite mild, but there was definitely something in the air - an occasional chill in the breeze accompanied by the smell of a wood-burning stove somewhere that seemed to trigger the reflex of putting your hand to your collar and pulling it closed. There was also a palpable sense of melancholy, as if the sight of children kicking through small piles of auburn and brown leaves served as the absolute proof everyone needed that Summer really is over.

I watched squirrels bouncing around in the back garden over a hot coffee early this morning, and marvelled at the fact that the leaves on the tree (whatever it is) seemed to have turned bright red almost overnight. Perhaps that is why Autumn is such a visually rich season - it's nature's way of compensating you for the long dark nights that lie ahead.

6th October:

There are some things that the world needs. Really needs. Like a sustainable and limitless source of green energy, for example. And then there are things that we probably don't really need, but could really do with having. I'm thinking here of some kind of gizmo that stops you getting what I can only refer to as 'morning hair'.

Regardless of length, cut, style or colour, one thing remains consistent with my hair - I get up in the morning and it looks like it has been set-upon during the night and ritually violated by a team of over-sexed hedgehogs. Which is a real nuisance when you don't want to immediately jump in the shower, the postman rings the doorbell, the wheely bins need taken out, and so on...

The options are therefore twofold: either I choose my preferred styling and have it permanently set in concrete or some bright spark applies himself and comes up with the Instant Barnet Generator (although clearly the name will require a bit more work) to save me from my predicament. I'm sure I'm not a lone sufferer, neither. I'm guessing the problem is a common one, with millions of people terrifying the postmen of this world on a daily basis with their frightwigs. In fact, I'm betting that the only people who don't suffer from this condition are TV and film actors, because they always wake up in the morning looking perfectly coiffed. And they don't answer their own doorbells anyway.

So, come on science! The gauntlet has been thrown down. Find a way of banishing morning hair and revel in the adulation of a generation.

It's got to be easier than stopping global warming.