From: Penny 'Sunshine' Anderson 12/10/06

I had a similar experience when I had an MRI scan. There was juddering, and whirring - oh, what a to do. But throughout, a disembodied voice kept on telling me: '...you're doing very well'. Perhaps the scanner was possessed by the ghost of Young Mr Grace. What do other readers think?

From: Penny 'Sunshine' Anderson 17/08/06

When I needed advice on how to put things into sockets, and what to do when they didn't fit, who best to turn to? Why, Husband, of course. His help was invaluable. He directed me to an emporium of male and female sockets. While I was there,I also bought some large tools. My social life has improved immensely. Many Thanks!

From: Sherry 17/08/06

Eat something! Please!! I find all this food deprivation intensely upsetting!

From: Rachel 15/06/06

I would like to point out to all the lovely blog readers that Wayne and Husband were lovingly tucked up in a duvet when they stayed chez Rachel and had they managed to stay awake for any length of time could have been safely home in a taxi. Additionally and moreover I cleared all wine receptacles and left them with a little tray with a bottle of sparkling mineral water, their various array of smoking accoutrements and a fresh ash tray for when they unnaturally, but predictably, woke up at the crack of dawn. I rest my case m'lud. Yours self-righteously, Rachel

From: Penny 'Sunshine' Anderson 10/05/06

Marriage? A proper job? Sensible? You'll be getting a shed next, and knitting your own jumpers, and talking about the best route to wherever whilst avoiding the M25, and houseprices, and sushi, and how wallpaper has come back in, and that Jamie Oliver - you've got to hand it to him, haven't you? and British Home Stores is cheaper than M&S but just about matches the quality, and athletes foot, and Reiki. Don't you do it!

From: Helen 19/04/06

You're getting married?! [Insert high-pitched noise of excitement here.] Make sure you wait til I'm back in the country cos I want to be the one to cry conspicuously, and nasally, on the front row. I would enthuse at greater length on the subject of your mooted nuptuals, Wayne, but I'm a tad groggy, having been woken by a fire alarm in the hostel where I'm staying at 2.45am. Mysteriously, everyone else staying here somehow found the time to get fully dressed before evacuating onto the pavement, meaning that I was alone in spending a public and cold half hour standing on a major Antipodean thoroughfare whilst conspicuously garbed in just a t-shirt bearing the legend WE LIKE DONKEYS LA LA LA, a pair of flip-flops and a threadbare pink dressing gown. Still, you live and learn. Congratulations.

From: J 29/03/06

Hello Dear Mr Clews Wayne,

I man (21) from land "Japan". I hearing of you sell books of the boys (lacking knickers). I make request please. Send kindly the one fictional of the name "Uncut and Ready To Burst" and the one of the name encylopaedia "The Bumper Book Of Big Black Cocks". To be knowing me post thankyou to Nishigawa J., Street Maruki, 33174 Tokyo, Japan. My honour esteems you exceeding Mr Wayne.

From; Sarah 22/03/06

Bless your column for taking my mind of the dingy faux wood interior of Tooting's cheapest internet caff whilst I experience life being homeless thanks to my new neighbours double locking the front door that we never double lock. It's the warming sausages I bought from Sainsbury's a good hour ago that are really plagueing me now. Lots of love Sarah x

From: Helen 08/03/2006

RIP Beamer. Your article made me cry in an international airport, Wayne. I'm hoping it looks like chronic jetlag.

From: Pert-bottomed Londoner 14/02/2006

Dear Sir
Have you ever thought of writing a self-help manual, maybe one that comes complete with an insiprational and instructional CD, much in the style of Paul McKenna? I for one, would be very interested in purchasing your words of wisdom and eagerly await your oeuvre, complete with posed author photo of you reclining on a leather sofa in tweed or a cardigan, of course.

From: Buxom Single Blonde 01/02/2006

Ooh Wayne - this is fabulous!  I love it! Finally those of us living beyond your 9th floor apartment vista get to know your weekly exploits and innermost thoughts.  It's a much needed dose of misery every week.  Oh! and it's saving me a fortune on phone calls!

Finally! To my enduring delight, and after much undignified effort and sordid exploits, I was mentioned in your column! Naturally, I'd like to thank everyone who helped me make it there: Reggie 'The Hacksaw'Braithwaite, Sheila 'The Eelctric ToothBrush' McCoy, Lee Bum Suk, Conchita Maria Concepcion Teresa Juanita Lopez (Great lancashire hotpot!) The Rev Canaan Banana, Everyone at Prestwich special clinic (you know who you are, and thanks to you the rash is gone, along with the chafing!) 'Mr Sparky', and also - Johnny Mathis (thank you for the music!)

Dear Mr Clews,

I'm not sure you'll remember me. We've actually met 67 times but, despite this - and despite the fact we went on a camping holiday to Skelmersdale together in 1999, plus the time we shared that cell in Marrakech - you always look blank and act like you don't know me from Adam (ironic, really, since Adam is the name of both my younger stepson and my guide dog, a brown labradoodle). The last occasion we bumped into one another was in that nice sauna near Bloom Street, on which occasion you asked me to pass the loofah. Do you recall?

Anyway, for many years I was City Life's reader, and since it folded I have been secretly following you around, taking notes. You are my muse. You ignite my poetic flames. I have therefore created three odes to you, to your charms and to your characteristic odour. There is no word to describe the style of these poems (it is of my own invention!) but I have decided to call them "haiku", which is the Japanese for "motorway service station".

Please accept them as a token of what I feel for you, which is mainly contempt but also, to some extent, and with many codicils, love.

Ahem.

VERSE THE FIRST

There once was a writer called Wayne,

Who, through web-blogging, broadcast his pain,

He had a bad back,

But jumped hoops in the sack,

Hence (examine his duvet) that stain.

VERSE THE SECOND

A curmudgeon called Wayne Bernard Clews,

Is obsessed with the regional news,

He loves Gordon Burns,

For Meacock he yearns,

But his cat, who's less starstruck, just poos.

VERSE THE THIRD

You can say what you like about Wang,

But his bed shows he knows how to bang,

The mattress is crusty,

The pillow smells musty,

Confirming the strength of his thang.

Dear Wayne. Okay, I am flummoxed. What must a girl do to appear in your column? Over the years I have known you, I have made every effort to behave in a truly appalling drunken fashion. I have revealed my knickers in a public house of no little disrepute. I have sung karaoke like a banshee. I have been bitter, twisted, and frequently very very drunk indeed. But still no mention. I have subsequently reached the following conclusion: those who do appear must have bribed you. This is illegal 'friend placement' I know, and you may well be censured and banned from the web (as was Rusty Lee for similar behaviour. But here goes: I can offer you sumptuous food and fine wine (ok alright: a frozen casserole and some Romanian Chardonnay.) Such desperation is unattractive I know, but I've tried my best to shame myself, and still you ignore me.

ED: We're just waiting to see what Angry Anderson has to say!

J'accuse......Wayne Clews

Of;

1. Documenting my spiralling decline into dignity bereft alcoholism - culminating in an 'incident' involving a life size mannequin of Humphrey Bogart - for the benefit of his own tawdry journalistic ambitions.

2. Borrowing my sisters champagne coloured satin trouser suit, to attend a 70's party dressed as Farrah Fawcet, and returning it with what can only be described as 'an unfortunate stain' down the inner leg.

3. Inflicting Sally Ann Marsh's unique reworking of 'Windmills of your mind' as the soundtrack to our friendship.

4. Commiting gross acts of taste vandalism in his own circus-themed lounge, complete with period stained window dressings and poppers soaked cord carpet.

5. An over familiar reliance on Victoria Wood's back catalogue to bolster his unashamed plagiaristic wordsmithery.

.....You should be ashamed of yourself!

Etienne

P.S. Tell Elliot he has left his ribbed lycra briefs and Kelly Lorenna CD in my glove department!

Is that Lynne single? She looks well fit. Not like that Sarah-friend. Rough as a dog. More Lynne! We want more Lynne!

ED: Nice try Lynne!

As Beamish's agent, I was disheartened to read the mini-biography of him that you've chosen to include in your cast list. I consider it offensive and libellous to my client and suggest that you replace it with the following copy, which better highlights his manifold accomplishments:

'Beamish Montgomery Edelweiss was born in Gzdyzhzhzy, Poland, on May 23, 1923. He emigrated to the New World in 1938, and became a United States citizen on June 19, 1943. He received the BA Degree Summa Cum Laude at Harvard College in 1950 and MA and PhD Degrees at Harvard University in 1952 and 1954 respectively.

Between 1954 and 1971, Beamish was a member of the Faculty of Harvard University, working both in the Department of Government and at the Centre for International Affairs. He was Associate Director of the Centre from 1957 to 1960. He served as Study Director (Nuclear Weapons and Foreign Policy) for the Council of Foreign Relations from 1955 to 1956; Director of the Special Studies Project for the Rockefeller Brothers Fund from 1956 to 1958, and International Director of It's A Knockout from 1958 to 1988.

Beamish has written many books and articles on United States foreign policy, international affairs, and cooking on a shoestring. Among the awards he has received are the Guggenheim Fellowship (1965-66), the Woodrow Wilson Prize for the best book in the field of politics (1978) and a Blankety Blank chequebook and pen (1986).

Beamish served as coach to the Romanian Girls' volleyball team throughout their fatal involvement in the 1991 Trans-European Cup. He was a regular panellist on television comedy Whose Line Is It Anyway? during the heyday of Tony Slattery, and remains - along with Oliver Reed and George Best - one of only three people to appear drunk on the British chatshow Parkinson.

Between 1943 and 1946 Beamish served in the U.S. Army Counter Intelligence Corps and from 1946 to 1949 was a Mossad operative.

He married Tina Turner in 1949 and divorced Roman Polanski in 1964. He has two children, Svetlana and Tiddles. Two years ago Beamish left his secluded eyrie to move to a tower block in Salford, UK, where he lodges with a young married couple. Beamish is currently writing his memoirs and regularly contributes to BBC Radio 4's You and Yours broadcast on the subject of consumer credit. His bowel movements are nobody's business but his own. He likes fish. Fish is well yummy.'

ED: Beamish mewed vaguely but was far too busy with discussions with Boutros Boutros-Galli over the future of Chechnya. Apparently the cat litter's not up to much in Grozny.

Hey there matey,
Sad to see that the mag has folded, I'll miss all that shameless cross-promotion. Only joking, I really enjoyed your (and T.Wilsons) column. So much so that I considered buying it when I moved house (it was posted through the door, and I'm a tight ****). Ah well, least I've discovered this site, every cloud has a silver jumper eh?

First print, then the world-wide interweb; I guess a critically acclaimed TV series followed by the inevitable big-budget Hollywood remake is but a short hop, skip and jump away?
But until then, well done Mr C - from Manchester to Tinseltown and beyond!

ED: Mike Leigh and Quentin Tarantino are currently in a bidding war to make the definitive film of Wayne's life. Una Stubbs has been pencilled in as his mother. Husband, meanwhile, will be played by Marlon from Emmerdale.

Why isn't Beamish on the ca(s)t list? He's a central player in the drama of Wayne's life and deserves a billing. We want Beamish! We want Beamish! We want Beamish! Repeat to fade.

ED: Beamish is a reluctant star with the temperament of a diva, Wayne is currently trying to entice him away from another poo drama to feature on these pages. He looks rather reluctant though.

When will people discover your ugly little secret. That you are in fact a healthy, happy, well adjusted teetotaller, who works for a Christian charity. People know you are actually straight, and like nothing more than weight training and chasing 'birds' in Brannigan's of a Fri. You should be ashamed of your deceit on the public, but it's your your husband I feel sorry for.

ED: Wayne sniggers into his Cava and falls from his chair.

This "web-sight" is a scandal against human decency. Shame on you, Wayne. When I knew you, you were a nice boy. People used to say we were "Manchester's premier showbiz couple". Then those parvenus the Beckhams arrived to usurp us and you've never been the same since. My mottled legs won't stand for this kind of nonsense. Anyway, I am drunk in Leicester. Must dash. Love to your gazebo. Mwa!

This site rocks. It's more hi-tech than City Life ever could be. And Penny 'Angry' Anderson agrees with me. And she's in space.

The show must go on! Life wouldn't be the same without a weekly slice of the Wayne Clews experience

Message: Your site is brilliant! I was gutted City Life folded but it's great now I'll get to read you every week. Is Eliott single?

This message board has temporarily been suspended due to the amount of spam being directed at it.

It will be restored shortly.

Oh and by the way, we do not want to buy cheap viagra or cialis!