An occasional worry about the boiler.

I saw today's news headlines - "major offensive targets Helmand" and I thought 'gosh, they're sending Brian Conley out to entertain the troops? They'll be strapping their papier mache bullet vests on and running out into no-man's land in thirty seconds flat.'

I'm sitting in my bedroom as I type. I get the honourous honour of having the boiler in here, whizzing and hissing and burping through the day. Whooshing and gurgling when someone, somewhere turns a hot water tap on. It's quite exciting, knowing you're in an important household hub - without my bedroom no-one would be warm, or enjoy a comfortable experience when washing their hands. We've had a few hiccups and niggles with the boiler lately, though - inexplicable low pressure periods and then occasional disturbing highs. It's like the British weather. I had to clarify with my dad whether the red zone meant I was in danger of getting bits of boiler and fire in the face - I had a Helen Keller book when I was little, I know how these tragic accidents work.

She was, however, an inspirational figure to millions. I would be quite comfortable in that role, I could carve a niche for myself as an inspirational disfigured blind person. In many ways I would prefer to be an inspirational seeing person with all their limbs and that. The Paralympics are great, but pitching against Usain Bolt is the more satisfying benchmark, surely? It is, of course, not a worry at the moment - I am, and remain, someone who sits in his room blogging, occasionally worrying about the boiler.