Dearest friends

I don't wish to whine in the presence of ineffectual vermin such as you, but my week has been an arduous one.

The current crop of contestants seems hell bent on gambling to the very end of the game; leaving their exit fee in the lap of the Gods. And I want it in my lap; along with Sophia Loren.

They call it courage. And perhaps it is. The brave/reckless divide is positioned only by one's particular perspective. So big balls? Or screwballs? You decide. I'm too busy and important.

I'm reliably informed that the games themselves are considered some of the most exciting and popular ever. But I don't care one jot for focus groups and audience shares. And why should I? The fools are forcing my offers to go up and up and up. And still they go on. It's costing me big time. And. I. Don't. Like. That.

To cheer myself up, let's disappoint 150 people. The first blue box opener on an upcoming show will be………

Kestral!

Only fair given the time he has devoted in worship of the show, and therefore, me.

Actually on that basis I'll invite Brig Bother along too.

The rest of you are naturally still in the running and could well be chosen soon. Keep your comments coming to catch my eye. 

By the way, a bit more sucking up wouldn't go amiss, you know. I'm great, yes, but would it kill you to say it once in a while? This is a two way street, people. I'm not a machine... Not primarily.

Stay indoors, you dirty little urchins, and preach caution.

Dearest friends

I thought, for my own, admittedly somewhat perverse, amusement I would provide you with a little brainfood.

As you will see, this note is entitled....

'I am the heroic, slimiest atrocity.'

And indeed I am. However, that apt description is also an anagram of four words that may lead you to a place where a man is discussed who might well be ancestor of mine...

But who and where, me hearties?

To save you time the four words are not...

'Mimic atheist creosote hilarity'.

Nor indeed 'Imitate slithery, erotic chamois'.

Finally they most certainly are not...

'Scheme: charity tortoise militia '.

Perhaps the first correct respondent might find him or herself opening blue boxes on an upcoming show...

I'll bet those brainboxes at Bother's Bar crack it in an instant...

Goodbye and good luck, you dirty lttle urchins

Dearest friends

Never let it be said that I am not a man of my word. Did I not promise my Howard excellent offers in his game as he had had the decency to stand up a declare his admiration for me? And did I not deliver? And did he not win £1?

Ah, good times...

But I digress. The point is I promised behind the scenes photos from here at Deal or No Deal and so I have posted two. Just two, mind. You may no longer have to buy 35mm film to produce photography but charging these digital affairs costs electricity money. Two is your lot. If you don't like it; cold, hard cheddar my ungrateful chum.

They may seem murky but, as you might imagine, I am not one for venturing out in the glare of publicity. Late at night, I enter the studio and these particular photographs were taken on one of these trips. Besides, who are you to criticise my photographic skills? I am artful in many diverse ways you Philistines.

That said; it was in fact Pennyworth, not I, that took them and he couldn't hold a brick wall still after a night on the sauce.

As you will see, the opened boxes from the final game of the day are stacked on the desks ready to be whisked away the following morning.

I like to sniff them.

I can get clues as to who in the wings is the most nervous or indeed the least hygenic.

Vital information. Vital, disgusting information.

I must go now as I have poetry to write

Goodbye, you dirty little urchins

These images are copyright of The Banker/Endemol 2007 

No reproduction without permission

Dearest friends

Technology is curious. Seems strange to think this will be readable by many as I lie here writing. Well, dictating actually. Pennyworth is actually typing. I can hear his bony fingers jabbing away behind me; clickety, clickety. He'd better moisturise his fingertips before my footrub.

I have decided to begin this new fangled My Space as living proof that I have still got 'it'. I can still 'hang' with the 'homies'. Although I'd rather sit down and have a nap most days, but we can hang for a while until my arms get tired.

I shall find some modern photographs in the weeks ahead to brighten the mood of the rather dour page. Perhaps I shall keep you abreast of the ongoings here at Deal or No Deal. 'Dond' I believe they call it popularly... Just laziness...Typical youths... Four words too many for you? How do you do? Couldn't I just say 'Hdyo', I'm exhausted from pulling my hood up...

That said, young people are generally not bad in my experience. Bit thick ,of course, but full of vinegar and pith which makes them quite distinct from the old, dried up scroats I have the regular displeasure of acquainting.

I look forward to our being formally introduced. You dirty little urchins.