Last night BBC2 showed the most fascinating documentary. It followed Mr Robert Newman as he worked on his third novel over a period of four years, from 1999 till the present day.

UK readers of a certain age will recall how he was once the kind-eyed, flowing-haired, early 90s student lust object and inoffensive comedian “Rob” Newman, one half of Newman and Baddiel, the hip ones on “The Mary Whitehouse Experience” who did routines about indie bands, and who then had their own series, “Newman and Baddiel In Pieces”.

The documentary showed footage of the last Baddiel & Newman gig, a show at Wembley Arena in December 1993. It was the first time comedians had played (and sold out) a 12,000 capacity arena venue, an event which, for once, gave credence to the tired catchphrase of many a magazine at the time, “comedy is the new rock and roll.”

Arguably their most popular skit was <a href=”http://www.micaelita.com/historytoday/main.shtml”>the two “History Today” professors</a>, whose supposedly academic discussions were entirely composed of primary school playground insults:

Newman: See that Eddie the Eagle Edwards? That’s you, that is. That’s your mum.

Baddiel: You see Thora Hird?

Newman: I am aware of her work.

Baddiel: You fancy her.

Newman: You ARE her. </i>

Then Newman & Baddiel split up.

Mr Baddiel, as UK readers will be profoundly aware, continued appearing on television, hooking up with Frank Skinner on “Fantasy Football League” and “Baddiel & Skinner Unplanned”, and was partly responsible for that “Three Lions / Football’s Coming Home” song. This was a ditty that became so ubiquitous it even overtook “Auld Lang Syne” as the Trafalgar Square revellers’ song of choice on New Years Eve 1996. He wrote and starred in his own sitcom. He went on the panels for both the Booker Prize and the Whitbread Prize. He also had two novels published.

Mr Newman… had two novels published.

All he had ever really wanted to do with his life, he said, was Be A Novelist. And now publishers were refusing to let him do so. His first two books hadn’t sold enough to warrant an advance for any more, and things were getting so bad he was on the point of selling his house. He was even “on tick” with the local cornershop, to the tune of <i>thousands</i>. Occasionally my own local shop lets me pay some other day if I’m really penniless (and they know where I live), but <i>thousands?</i> The shopkeeper must really be a fan.

The documentary opened by cutting from footage of the 1993 Wembey gig, with the slim, young, popular, black-clad, rock star-like Newman making his entrance on a motorised skateboard to the adoring applause of thousands, to Newman the shockingly overweight, struggling novelist in 1999. His fatness was particularly distressing. It was the kind that makes one think “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Prosthetics”. The viewer was treated to watching him mooch idly around his home in a series of stained old t-shirts, smoking, napping, looking sad, lonely, bloated, unwashed, unshaven, and doing very little indeed.

One upsetting sequence showed him performing in a tiny pub venue, trying out new material. Not for a new comedy show, but for his then-embryonic new <i>novel</i>. He utterly died a death. It was difficult to infer if the unresponsiveness of the audience was down to the folly of such an ill-advised idea for a gig by a famous comedian, or because Mr Newman’s corpulent appearance made it impossible to concentrate on what he was saying, or both. But it was so uncomfortable to watch, I nearly turned the TV off right there.

At one point in the series of video diary extracts, he recounted an instance where, while sitting at his desk trying to write, a passer-by in the street outside realised the light was on, and said loudly to their friend, “That’s Rob Newman’s house. He used to be funny, but he’s not anymore.” Heckled at his own desk from the street outside. He’d become his own “History Today” insult. “See that Robert Newman in 1999? That’s you, that is.”

While it indeed was a relief to see him looking thin, well-groomed and healthy in the later stages of the programme (he now looks like the handsome male lead in Six Feet Under), the more we heard about the contents of his new book, a heavily-researched tale of anti-globalisation protestors around the world, the more awful and pretentious it sounded. <a href=”http://www.chortle.co.uk/news/feb03/rob.html”>As publisher after publisher rejected his manuscript</a>, it was difficult to feel that they and the reading public were missing out on a literary classic. He still has many loyal fans, but would any of them say he’s much better placed in the world as a novelist than as a comedian?

“This above all: to thine own self be true” – Shakespeare (Hamlet).

But, on the other hand…

“It’s no good running a pig farm badly for thirty years while saying, “Really I was meant to be a ballet dancer.” By that time, pigs are your style.” – Quentin Crisp.

And what if you’re actually a very <i>good</i> pig farmer…?

It was fascinating to watch Mr Newman struggle with his writing while being forced to return to the odd bout of stand-up comedy (properly, this time) in order to pay the bills. However, I think the documentary was intended to have the viewer rooting for Mr Newman’s novelist career to take an upward turn. After all, it was part of a series about the mechanics of the writing process. The only lessons learned here was how to completely lack self-awareness, refusing to accept that your life might be better spent <i>not</i> writing novels, if it’s been proven that people are more willing to pay for your efforts as a comedian.

Mr Newman complained to the camera that he constantly had to break away from writing his novel just when he was getting on a roll, in order to play a comedy gig somewhere in the UK. As if it was stacking shelves in Kwik-Save. It’s still a form of creative art, connecting and communicating with the world. People will pay you to listen to what’s in your head. And yet he told the video diary that if his novel wasn’t published soon, he would have to quit stand-up comedy for good and get a nice regular job in a local bookshop. Or was that another joke?

From his wry exchanges with the video diary and clips of his reluctant but perfectly successful stand-up gigs, it was clear that he’s definitely still a talented and charismatic left-wing comedian. So why can’t he be one proper, and leave novels to the likes of Mr Tolstoy? Writing books is fine, but why fiction? Why can’t he use his humourous talents and detailed knowledge of the political world to write a Michael Moore-style work of US-bashing non-fiction? That really <i>would</i> sell copies. It’s certainly the kind of book that currently dominates London bookshop window displays. I may be a non-committal navel-gazing fence-sitting fop, but I just don’t think a <i>novel</i> is what the anti-globalisation movement really needs.

He was shunning what people really wanted from him (comedy, however political) in order to write a novel about how the Tony Blairs of this world don’t listen to people power. The irony seemed to be lost on him.

Still, the film had a happy ending, if a compromised one. <a href=”http://www.micaelita.net/robnewman/”>His third novel is finally going to be published by an independent publisher later this year</a>, so people at least will be able to read it and judge for themselves.

I am currently sitting for <a href="http://www.ellaguru.org.uk/">Ms Ella Guru</a> for a portrait, which in the spirit of Ms Kahlo will include some animals in the background.

To wit, one pelican and two foxes. I am portrayed at one with flora and fauna, just like my namesake in The Secret Garden.

Here is the photo montage she is referring to for composition, using a picture she took of me in Highgate Wood a few months ago:

<img src="http://www.fosca.com/pelican-blond-photo.jpg"></img>

That line on my cheek is the shadow of a branch. I know it looks like I've got a duelling scar. But then, I suppose I've always had a metaphorical duelling scar of sorts. En garde, entire world!

I have no idea what the band Torture Shoe sound like (apparently they're a bit like Squarepusher, so I suppose that means bleeps and clicking noises all round), but I'm rather fond of their titles.

Their album is called "That Last Stage Of Syphilis Really Caught Me By Suprise", and its tracklisting is as follows:

1. I Don't Smell Of Urine Anymore
2. A Scoliotic Spine In My Stomach
3. Aspirating Meconium
4. Donating Expired Food To Flood Victims
5. Perfectly Good Ova
6. Taste The Arm
7. Skip This Track
8. This Song Is Weak And Should Not Have Been Included
9. Jackie's Finger Hurts: Does That Mean Cancer?
10. Slicing Ankles
11. I Have Never Before Used The Word Stratagem During Conversation

In Dog News today, Crufts was won by Danny The Pekinese

Danny's kennel name is “Dangerous Liason”. His owners are a Mr Albert Easdon, 49, and a Mr Philip Martin, 50, who run a hotel together.

With this diary entry, my readers automatically fall into two groups. Those who have seen the film “Best In Show” and whose minds are now recalling certain characters and scenes, and everyone else.

Adam Faith died today.

A true London pop star. Oh, just look at him:

<img src="http://newsimg.bbc.co.uk/media/images/38930000/jpg/_38930001_faith60s_bbc203.jpg"></img>

I usually have a ban in my own diary on the sort of polls and quizzes that everyone else has on theirs, but vanity and curiosity about who reads these entries (and why) have meant I just can't resist this one. Please forgive me.

This will be my one and only "poll" ever, I promise. I'll list it as a <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/memories.bml?user=dickon_edwards">LJ Memory</a> and will check it sporadically in the future for any new or revised comments.

Fill in the blanks. Post anonymously if you like. I'm not checking IP addresses or anything like that.

I ____ Dickon.
Dickon is ____.
If I were alone in a room with Dickon, I would _______.
I think Dickon should _____.
Dickon needs ______.
I want to _________ Dickon.

Do your worst.

To the Haymarket Odeon to see the film DareDevil. Unlike Spider-Man (cert 12A), the movie is a 15 certificate. Yet there's no nudity or what Mr Simon Bates once called "sexual swearwords" in those warnings you used to get at the beginning of rented videos. Also, the violence isn't any more extreme than the carnage in "The Two Towers" (another 12A).

So I have to assume the reason for the certification must be Mr Affleck's costume. Which has to be obscene to be believed.

DareDevil – the man without fear of broadcasting what side he dresses.

Someone on eBAY is selling a single by my old band Orlando:

http://cgi.ebay.co.uk/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=2512582626&category=14732

The category it's under is:

<i> "Music:CDs, Records and Tapes:CDs:Rock: Progressive"</i>

So now it can be told.

I've just bought the <a href="http://www.musicismyboyfriend.com">Hidden Cameras</a> single, released on Rough Trade Records this week, on a recommendation that they were "pure Dickon".

They appear to describe themselves as "a fifteen piece Toronto gay church folk band", fronted by their singer and songwriter Joel Gibb. And no, I don't think he's related to the Bee Gees in an Alexis Arquette, queer runt of the litter style.

To these ears the Hidden Cameras are a bit Aislers Set mixed with early Magnetic Fields. Echoey, non-rocking wall-of-sound indiepop. But with more church organs. And they are very gay in every sense of the word.

<img src="http://www.rbebout.com/getfree/pix/bantrio.jpg"></img>

The single is called "Ban Marriage" and takes place at the altar during the protagonist's own ceremony. He is there to marry his boyfriend, but his female best friend rails against coupling of any kind. He has to decide at the altar whether to listen to her or not:

<i>"I was forced to take a stand on one side. It was him or my fag hag, oh well, I guess she was never that good of a friend."</i>

But then the character changes his mind. He ends up raging with new vows of his own against all varieties of marriage, and specifically that:

<i>"There is splendour in the harshness of bum".</i>

Oh yes!

So naturally, my friend Ms Goodchild heard the single and thought of me.

It's a nice follow-up to Belle and Sebastian's "The State I'm In", another God-and-gayness song that was used in the film "Storytelling" to accompany a sex scene between two schoolboys.

By way of contrast to the brash queercore-pop A-side of "Ban Marriage", one of the b-sides, "We Oh We", is a stark, sensitive and beautiful torch song. It gives the singer a chance to show off his nigh-on Jeff Buckley-esque vocal talent, and it's actually quite difficult not to be moved to tears by the performance.

There's a fascinating interview with The Hidden Cameras at <a href="http://www.rbebout.com/getfree/cameras.htm">this webpage</a>.

The band are rumoured to be coming to London soon, but it might well be for a press-only showcase gig. If they ARE playing, and I fail to see them, I shall be even more annoyed than the time last week when I couldn't get into the Momus gig at Wimbledon Library. This was entirely due to my spending too much time on my make-up and arriving late.

I shall be playing "Ban Marriage" in my DJ set tonight (see my previous diary entry).

I am Dj-ing once again this Friday February 28th, although this is my first time solo at a proper night club.

The club in question is <a href="http://www.funcitynights.com/">Fun City</a>, at The Verge, 247 Kentish Town Road, London NW1 8PB. Printable flyers are available from their website <a href="http://www.funcitynights.com/">here.</a>

I am "on" midnight to 1am.

I shall try my utmost not to play every song on the TATU album. Their delicious pop songs would be enough, but the inner CD tray of this album (the UK version, anyway) has a close-up photo of their white socks. This alone meant I had to buy it, frankly. More pop groups should wear white socks.

White Socks Are Top Of The Pops. I always knew it was possible.

The many discussions on "TATU – Right Or Wrong" are rendered somewhat academic in my eyes by the simple fact they and their string-pullers are Extremely Russian. All bets are off. Rumours of terrible exploitation behind the scenes have never affected my enjoyment of girl groups before: I'm a Supremes fan. Plus anything that gets scatty accidental-shoplifter Richard Madeley in a self-righteous moralistic strop has a special place in my heart <i>de facto</i>.

Arguably the most shocking thing about TATU is the standard of the English translation on their <a href="http://www.tatu.ru/eng/news.shtml">official Russian website</a>. You'd have thought with all that international success and number one hits in every parallel universe, they could afford to hire a translator whose grasp of English wasn't a step below those of a "funny foreigner" character from a TV sitcom of a time outworn.

Then again, I'm not sure what a better translated version of this recent statement from their producer (taken from the above link) could possibly <i>be</i>:

<i>"Being a psychiatrist, I have serious suspicions that the British Channel 4 presenter Richard Madeley tends to have pedophilia… It is possible that Richard Madeley could be cured."</i>

How could you not love any band that says such things?

It's the <i>"tends</i> to have" that gets me.

Meanwhile, the UK Top Of The Pops apparently censored the girls kissing… by cutting to a <i>straight</i> couple in the <i>studio audience</i> kissing. Presumably BBC1 were trying to outdo the group with some incredulity-soliciting of their own make. You'd have thought they did more than enough of that already, being a channel that happily commissions "This Week" with Andrew Neil.

The one defining comment on TATU has to be the one Ms Lena Katina (the red-haired one) recently made, on hearing another such kiss had been cut out of their performance on the US Jay Leno show:

<i>"It is Fuck!"</i>

Foreign countries are foreign countries. They do things differently there. To each other, mainly.