The friend who got me invited to the book launch/spray painted model fest is a relatively new acquaintance. I’ve only known him a few months, but in that one action he’s leapt way up in my estimation. In fact, one or two other, more established friends should start watching their backs, because I’ve looked at the Opta Index stats, and quite frankly you’re falling behind in the category of inviting me to see women wearing only spray paint.

It’s like a new boy has moved in down the street and you suddenly find out that he’s got a Scalextric and a train set and Subbuteo and loads of Action Man stuff. And perhaps an older sister who’ll show you her bits for some sherbert.

As potential new best friend and I approached the prestigious West End venue, I noticed a strange sight in the street outside. A huge crowd of paparazzi were frantically snapping away at a naked woman lying in the street covered in tyre tracks. I was just wondering whether this was some kind of avant-garde Diana memorial when my friend coolly introduced me to Colin, the author of “A Bus Could Run You Over”. The naked woman was page 3 lovely Anna Taverner (it took me long enough to visit the 7280 sites devoted to her, let alone link to them, so you’ll just have to type her name into Google yourselves) and the tyre tracks were, you guessed it, sprayed on.

That would be a great job – thinking of ways to link the launch of any product with a naked woman.

And just for Jezebel – I looked specially and her, erm, front garden was covered in a tiny thong. OK, so maybe this means that technically she wasn’t quite naked, but I’m not going to split hairs (though the thong looked like it was). It’s just the equivalent of finding out that the Scalextric is rally cars, not Formula 1. It’s still a Scalextric. I was still happy as the only previous launches I’d been to of anything had been for children’s television, so instead of naked women you get a bloke in a bear suit on Equity minimum. (I do hope that the agency never gets these bookings muddled up.)

And the celebrities in the club? Well, to be honest, I’m not great at recognising them. David Blunkett would have spotted more. Apparently there were some more page 3 lovelies there, but I seem to have been wasting my life reading The Guardian. Though perhaps all the famous people left after witnessing my special “Hey Ya” dance – once described as “a helicopter in distress”.

It was good to be there with my friend, but, frankly, it was just like being in a normal club. Perhaps I should have tipped the toilet attendant to give me some cocaine. Or perhaps they needed an over-sized cartoon character to liven up proceedings. Who knows?

It’s certainly been a strange week. I was all set to write about going to buy some staples (there was a hilarious and long-winded “wrong size” issue), when suddenly I’m thrust into an alien world of women dressed only in spray paint. The question is, do I ditch my old friends and lifestyle in favour of glamour models and showbiz parties? Do I buy the Guardian or the Sun this morning? Perhaps the first thing I see when I open my curtains will make the decision for me.

A squirrel. I see a squirrel out of my window and my heart fills with joy. No one can see a squirrel and not be cheered. I know then that my life revolves around the mundane. The excitement of a pithily-worded letter of complaint to the council. The joy of taking your stapler with you to the stationer’s to get the correct sized staples. The deep satisfaction of doing the Guardian crossword surely beats any short-lived thrill of seeing breasts on page 3.

Though if anyone sees a picture of Anna and the tyre tracks I’d appreciate a look.

(That’s all folks – I’m handing back to JonnyB now. Thanks for all your comments.)

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