Some people may dread that women will come on and talk about periods. I don't. I dread that the next 20 something white middle class male will come on and do some inadvisable and ill-conceived material on rape or pedophilia or something being LITERALLY the funniest thing that ever happened, when it LITERALLY is not.
And yes. It has emerged. The nice weather that occurred over the May Day bank holiday was actually a PR stunt, orchestrated by 'James Chef' - a new branch of holiday makers. I went to their head offices in Southend to find some answers.
People keep giving me pity eyes. "You're very brave," they say, rubbing my shoulder, as if I'm ill. But I'm not ill. What I am, though, is terrified. Because this week I'll be making my stand-up comedy debut in front of about 300 people. Am a comedian? No. I'm a sub editor
Finally! A politician who speaks my language! Who understands my needs! Finally, if all goes to plan, next summer I can marry my mum! Thank you, Lord Tebbit. People said - 'you're gay? I presume you'll be wed to your mother then?' To which I replied, 'you betcha! After all, lesbianism is just another word for tax-avoiding incest, isn't it?!'
They are back! They are baaaaack! They are ... the three best friends that anybody could have, the three best friends that anybody could have, and they'll never ever, ever ever leave each other.
The former MP for Chingford did not always feel this way. When Latifah signed with Tommy Boy Records in 1989, he was initially impressed. During a late lunch at Chequers, he was overheard to remark of Latifah's debut album All Hail the Queen: "That bitch is legit. Her flows are off the hook. Word is bond."
Such is the tedium served up these days, making stark the realisation that the bile and satire of 30 years ago has vanished. Watching such inchoate comedy (I'm not sure it's even stand-up) is like having your leg humped by a glove puppet: it's attention grabbing but without the necessary aggression which is key to the best comedy.
After about ten years of waking up every morning - thats 3,650 times - wishing I could go to Prague and wander through narrow cobbled streets, staring up at dolls houses the size of mansions, and pay 50p for a pint of vodka.. I actually went last week. I can now tick that off my bucket list.
Enjoy yourselves, people. There's nothing to be gained from living like this. It's not so much the booze I miss. It's the cigarettes. I'm absolutely dying for a fag. I'm cranky. I'm miserable. All I do is eat.
When I was small, smaller than I am now, I learned a wise lesson from my Godmother, who, despite being very learned and cultured, loved nothing more than watching Blind Date on a Saturday night. At first I wondered why; eventually I realised she was interested in people for people's sake.
I am so proud of The Ricky Gervais Show. Not just because of how well it turned out or how successful it was, or the awards, or even how much fun I had producing it. I'm proudest of the fact that it was just another experiment that got out of hand - The Ricky Gervais Show Series Three was released on DVD this week. To celebrate this final chapter I thought I'd tell the lovely readers of The Huffington Post the story of how we got here...
Everyone keeps asking what I am going to do now that The Office is ending. I liberated myself on live radio by simply saying, "I'm gonna kill myself."
As May is International Zombie Awareness Month, I offer my bloodied hand to guide you through the five things you need to know to survive a zombie apocalypse... armed only with some of Oxford University Press's finest online products and a ferocious temper. Are you ready? Let's go!
So what do we do when this ends? Who do we turn to next? What's our mirror? Do we just get sad that we might not have a show like this anymore?
I mean, really, you can barely see white people anymore unless you turn on cable news, walk into a boardroom of a Fortune 500 company or watch C-SPAN.
Before I arrived, people kept telling me that there's this feeling you get where you're sure you've seen everything before on film at some point, because in all likelihood you have. And they weren't wrong. It's all just as big and tall, the taxis just as yellow and the bagels just as bagel-ly as in the movies.
People often ask what happens in a typical day as head chef at my restaurant Hartnett Holder & Co, at Lime Wood, deep in the heart of the New Forst? It's impossible to answer. Take last week for example. You'll never believe what we all had to do... a music video! I'm not talking Backstreet Boys here, it wasn't quite that painful, but it was beyond hysterical.
Where to start. Why am I writing this? Good question. Is it because I am in the midst of organising a comedy night on the 18th May at the Union Chapel called Bring it Home, with some of the best talent on the circuit today and this is a cynical attempt at PR? Lord no!
Who were my thighs kidding? I haven't been inside my gym's hallowed walls in... 18... no, maybe 30 months... Some gyms just do not want you to leave, as soon as you try to cancel they look you up and down with judgement in their eyes and tell you all the reasons you should stay.