Badge-wearers gallery

Well I asked for photos of you wearing your New Trash Radio badges, and boy did you step up to the plate. These past few days have been a little hectic while sorting through all the photo submissions but finally I can bring you the best received so far. Sorry if yours didn't make the cut, but I think you'll agree that the following people are far more important than you are. Keep 'em coming though!

First up is crazy go-getter Konnie Huq, pictured here at an envelope opening last week. Konnie was the only person to cut round her badge neatly, which probably isn't surprising. 'I asked an adult to help me!' quipped the often sparingly clothed ex-Blue Peter presenter.

The next photo is actually a 'spot' by reader Dorothy Wigg, who noticed Radio 2 star Terry Wogan wearing the badge as she was queuing to get her book signed in the Wakefield branch of Waterstone's. "I finally got to the front after waiting for six minutes and the first thing I did was mention the badge. 'Trash Radio!' I shouted, but I think he misunderstood and snapped: 'Well I doubt you could do any f***ing better.' It was a bit upsetting actually."

Following his party's conference in Brighton the other week, Prime Minister Gordon Brown sent me this snap taken backstage. 'Until my remaining eye packs in, I can assure you that I will remain a faithful reader. I trust, in return, that the Labour Party can count on your vote in next year's general election.' Er, sorry Gordon. Thanks for the pic, though.

Pint sized painted lady, popstrel and paparazzi magnet Cheryl Cole found time in her busy schedule of applying makeup and smiling to send in this photo. 'Me an wor Ashley love New Trash Radio and think it's dead canny like, LOL!' she enthused in her email.

Finally, an unexpected submission from exalted Nobel Peace Prize winner and, to a lesser extent, leader of the free world Barack Obama. 'It would make my day to be featured in your gallery,' he wrote. 'At least I know I'm in the running for that one.' Well Mr President, I'm happy to oblige. Peace out.

The must-have accessory of the autumn

Following barriejohn's request, here is a special badge that you can all print out and pin to your clothing with pride. If you wouldn't mind emailing me a picture of yourself wearing it, I'll put them all in a special gallery assuming that there is room on the server and that Blogger's bandwidth can sustain the heavy demand.

Close encounters of the turd kind

A bloke wandered into my office last week asking for directions to Bentwaters air base. I’m normally rubbish with directions (as I’ve explained before),  cheerfully sending people miles in the wrong direction before realising my mistake, but this time I was pretty confident given that this particular air base is, to use a hackneyed and often inaccurate term, a stone’s throw from where I live. I was sitting at my computer so I helpfully pulled up a Google map for the rather rotund chap who had a northern accent and clearly wasn’t from this carrot crunching part of the world. Then he got a bit weird.

“Can you zoom in on the airstrip?” he asked. I was confused, but humoured him. “I’m looking for the ridges in the tarmac,” he continued, “where the UFO shot out its laser beams.” Oh. He was one of them.

My home village of Rendlesham is the location of Britain’s most ‘credible’ UFO sighting in 1980, and tourists still come to look at the site. It has, of course, been fairly conclusively debunked but the conspiracy theories persist and countless books have been written on the subject. 

“I really don’t think you’ll find anything,” I said.
“Oh, the ridges are definitely there. The UFO created them to stop any other aircraft from taking off and pursuing them. I’ve been researching the Rendlesham UFO for months now and the whole thing has clearly been a massive government cover-up.”
“I take it they forgot to cover up the ridges then.”
“You shouldn’t doubt it,” he continued, with a look in his eyes that seemed to pity my naïveté. He then enthused: “I’ve driven over 200 miles just to see the place.”
“Well, let’s hope you didn’t have a wasted journey,” I offered charitably. He was about to leave but then stopped at the door.
“Did you say you live near where it happened?”
“Mmm.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve ever noticed anything strange, have you? Like feeling dizzy or being unable to account for long periods of time?”

I was going to make a crack about drugs or alcohol but chickened out. He was bigger than me. “No.” He seemed to realise at this point that he was flogging a dead alien.
“Just do yourself a favour and read the books,” he grinned, before stepping outside and being zapped skywards by a blinding shaft of light.

But, you know, that could have been anything.