Are you kidding me?

"Are you fucken kidding me? Seriously? You're a writer? Really?

I thought you were maybe a crack dealer or a heroin addict or something like that. I would never have guessed you were a writer."

I'm not joking when I say that people have actually said that to me. Am I really a writer? Are you a writer before you get published? I think so because, well, you write.

For me at least it is all about the act rather than the title. People are so caught up in titles; as far as I've seen they always have been.

So I'm going to jump on the bandwagon.

I was at a club once and at the bar awaiting the barman who was obviously serving anything with breasts first; I considered taking off my shirt because at this wanky club I probably had bigger tits than most of the women there. I spoke to a woman next to me, a mistake I realised about thirty seconds too late; I said "Hey, how you doin?" She said, and I'm not paraphrasing when I say she said, "What car do you drive?" Mentally I went, what the fuck did you just say? Verbally I said "A Mercedes. It's parked outside in the bus garage." Bear in mind that at that time in London, Mercedes made the London buses.

How shallow do you have to be for that to be the first question out of your mouth when you first talk to someone? Do I look stupid? Do I look like a professional football player? Really? Bitch.

That's not to say that all footballers are stupid but there's another label for you.

It's this kind of bullshit labelling that really gets me wound up.

If you know anything about me you know that I've been professionally cooking longer than Gary Glitter has been a fucken pervert. That's a really long time. That's a label that sticks. Oh you're a chef? Apparently that has to mean that you're a deadbeat, alcoholic, drug addict piece of shit. Well I'm not denying any of the above but I dare to dream. So sue me.

Then comes the next question. I can hear it forming in their brain before they even know what's coming next; I've had this conversation a few times, you may have guessed.

"Where do you work?" Another fucken label. Damn it. It's inescapable. Do you work somewhere they know? Or have you worked with someone famous? Shit.

That's the beast that this industry has become, name dropping.

Yeah I fingered Gordon Ramsey in the dry store at blah de blah or I did coke through dry penne pasta with Anthony Bordain at such and such. What a pile of shit.

Can I cook? Yeah, I do ok but any Muppet can cook. I've taught chimps to cook. Complete tools that could literally burn water to be able to serve a busy Saturday night shift in a two hundred seat restaurant; and do it well.

Not everyone can write. Very few can write and even fewer get published.

Which leads me to marketing geniuses like Katie Price or Jordan or whatever the hell she calls herself? I don't mean to single her out but I'm using her as a representative of completely talentless fucken idiots that get publishing deals for no other reason than she is famous. There are seriously talented writers who can't get publishing contracts; I'm not counting myself in this group by the way. I don't even understand how to speak the English language let alone be able to know how to punctuate it. Colon? Semi colon? Isn't that somewhere in my digestive tract?

Don't get me wrong here, it's not that I'm bitter and twisted; I know that publishing is a business and business needs to make money, but really?

I suppose I'll be called a hypocrite at this point. What kind of self-important wanker tweets, Facebook's, and writes a blog, calls proven, selling, published author’s frauds? I do.

I'm in a really fortunate position in that I don't give a shit what people think of me. Never have. Sorry.

Just because you're famous for one thing, in Jordan's case, getting your tits out, doesn't mean you have talent elsewhere.

I don't blame people like her that milk it for every penny that they can get, after all plastic surgery isn't cheap but in the end it comes down to sales I suppose.

Who the hell reads her books? Have they got pictures of her with her top off? If so I'd say guys with a boob fetish would snap all the copies up off the shelves so they have some pages to stick together on those cold, lonely nights stuck at home watching "take me out" hoping that they could just get some girl to look at them naked without laughing or throwing up in their own mouth and swallowing it back down again.

No, it's women who buy those kinds of books. I once watched a TV show starring Katie Price as she went to a book signing and they interviewed people in the majority female queue and asked why they were there. The standard answer was that they saw her as inspirational. Really? People are inspired by a woman who takes her fake breasts out to be photographed, inspirational? Amazing. So. Um. I'm really confused right now.

So let me see if I can get this straight.

Fake boob’s equals good writer?

That settles it I'm getting a boob job.

As I said she's not alone. She has a brilliant marketing mind. She's not stupid.

Look at someone else let's say, Sharon Osborne. Smart lady. I think we can all agree but talent?

She obviously has some; she married a rock star.

Writer? Who knows? Not me. I've never been that desperate for something to read; and I've read tea leaves before.

And another question, do they actually write their books?

Anyone who has written knows that writing can be a long, laborious, thanks less and at times tedious job which begs the question, why would someone with a heap of money in the bank commit themselves to it? Passion? Commitment to their art? I think not.

Then there's the next set of complete assholes, the pop stars and reality TV stars. What a complete fucken joke.

Half of them are in their 20's and get a book deal to write an autobiography. What? What have they got to say? They haven't even lived yet. I could even give you a synopsis without ever having read one. Shall I? Ok.

I was born to a couple of complete retard parents who mistakenly had sex in a nightclub toilet stall and my mother got banged up. They were so busy with their own lives that us kids, all ten of us had to fend for ourselves in our caravan parked next to a rubbish dump. It made me determined to be someone special, so I went and got locked in a house with a bunch of completely talentless fucken idiots and you morons watched that shit and made me famous. I got PAID! And a book deal. I'm twenty now. What does the future hold?

Who the hell would read that shit?

Boo hoo so you had a tough time when you were a kid. Join the club and get over it. What does the future hold? Probably a massive drug habit that will rob you of whatever looks you have and all your ill-gotten gains. Hello Kerry Katona.

The blame rests with us. You and me. We are the buying public. It's our money that decides who gets a book deal. Don't settle for the shit that these people try and peddle.

As far as I'm concerned those kinds of people should just be locked in a house, no cameras, just locked in. Done and done.

So if you have to pigeonhole me which pigeonhole do I fit into?

Well I'd have to say an angry young man. One who cooks and writes and generally likes to have a good time.

But who am I to say? Or should I say who will know?  I don't have a book contract.

What are you looking at?

What are you looking at? Is probably the most pointless fucken question posed by someone when it's quite obvious you're looking at them.

This is the question that gets asked to  me, most often by women, who having taken what appears to be some considerable time in choosing the outfit that they are wearing to show as much of their body off as to be considered inappropriate in any situation bar perhaps a centrefold shoot for playboy; black label edition.

I mean really? If you've got your boobs basically hanging out, what the hell do you expect me to do? Not look? Please, I'm a man, that's what I’m programmed to look at. If that upsets you then don't put it in my face, or put some clothes on.

Now I'm aware that I have a face like a bashed crab which probably has something to do with it. If I was a pretty boy that spent every waking moment in the gym, spent an hour adjusting my hair before I left home; had teeth whitening treatment each week and generally focused all my attention on myself, I probably wouldn't notice anyway but that's the kind of guy that THAT girl wants to notice her. Work that out because I can't.

I once had an occasion I was walking along a high street in London in the early afternoon in summer. I noticed, as I always do, a woman walking along in what can only be described as a belt. She would have said it was a skirt but it was actually a belt. So anyway there she is walking one of those yappy, annoying little fucken dogs that you just want to kick up the ass really hard and wear it like a slipper. As I'm walking behind her taking in the view but at the same time trying not to look, she bends down to pick up the hairy little creature and there it is, staring me in the face, winking at me. It's beaver time. A bit odd I thought to myself, walking a dog on the high street with a tiny, barely there skirt and no panties bending down, I mean fuck. What the hell am I supposed to look at? She sees me and what does she say "What are you looking at?" Before I can fire off a quick retort like "Well I can see what you've had for lunch and gutted rabbit was on the menu." Or "Hey, nice beaver" she then continues and say's "Fucken pervert." Before walking away with her little mongrel under her arm.

Now I'm not massive on social etiquette but how am I the pervert in this situation? I had trousers and underpants on. Surely she wanted someone to see but it wasn't me.

This incident sparked an idea that I wanted to try. I was tired of being on the receiving end of THAT question.

I had a pair of trousers that had quite a large split at the crutch and even when I wore underwear you could actually see my balls. I think we can all agree that was never going to be a good look.

I'm in a shop getting some things and a woman actually comes up to me and says, out loud " Excuse me "Your trousers’ are split and I can see your ball bag." This was just the opportunity I'd been waiting for.

I looked her in the eye and said “Why are you looking down there anyway? Were you trying to see my junk? Filthy bitch."

The look on her face was priceless.

She looked just like the kind of princess that would use that line on guys like me. She stood there, mouth open with a total look of shock and no clue how to respond. I'm not even sure I could come up with something witty to say back to that.

Is there a lesson here? I'm not entirely sure and I've thought about it often.

Should we men be looking at women? Should we make it look like we're not looking? Does some of the blame for us looking lie with those that wear revealing clothing?

Now I'm sure there is going to be some asshole reading this that says yeah and next you're going to say that because a woman wears a short skirt she deserves to be raped but you can just fuck off right now. Let me say this loud and clear, NO woman deserves to be raped EVER!

The thing is that whether you believe in God or evolution it's irrelevant, we were given eyes for a reason, to look at things. As a man I feel compelled to look at the fairer sex and like it or not that is you ladies.

I'll apologise in advance if that offends you but please try to take it easy on me, after all, if I'm looking it means I think you are beautiful and that can't be all bad, right?