THE Diary has too long been the ramblings of copy-addled journos, high on a cocktail of coffee and newsprint. What's needed around here is some world truths, some high-minded philosophy and some better coffee.

The regular Diarist, one Mr Titley (a well respected gentleman with impeccable taste in jumpers) has had to take leave for a week to refresh his world views and, more importantly, buy a new pen.

So I now find myself at the helm of this ship of curiosities, and shall endeavour to steer us around such hazards as insight and fact.

By way of introduction my name is Dan (hello to you), and my regular job is to tell jokes to people in dimly-lit, smoky rooms. Ah, the glamour of showbiz. Anyhow, during the next week I hope to offer my ill-informed and wildly nave opinions on things that are occurring, and some things that are not.

So where to begin tackling this beast? Let's start with a cinematic/heritage hot potato (there's always one, isn't there?). This whole business about the Odeon has really got people fired, hasn't it?

For my part, I have no 'fond' memories of going there. Every time I walk past I get a 'Nam-style flashback to when I was watching Toy Story Two sat on a Fanta-soaked threadbare seat with an anonymous child using my head as a bongo. Now that's not worth a campaign. I'd be far more in favour of a campaign to find that child.

It's curious how this campaign has spread, and somewhat endearing to see posters up in people's windows (people who invariably have had more positive experiences than I) to save the Odeon. I walk past the Odeon most days, and have been struck by the lack of support for the campaign in the cinema itself.

It seems at odds with the general fervour that the building contains little or no mention of its impending doom. Like a toothless old fella with no life left in him it just sits there wheezing out - "I used to be an entertainer, you know!"

The inhabitants of York are buzzing around like doctors, faith healers and, um, vets (?) to bring a new lease of life but the aged showman couldn't care less. The art-deco faade is undeniably impressive but the phrase mutton dressed as lamb tumbles all too easily from the lips.

TURNING attention towards the latest bout of flooding, I noticed a degree of outrage that a national paper had printed a picture of drinkers on a pub bench up to their waists in water. Damaging tourism, they say.

Does this not present the perfect opportunity for a city-wide conspiracy? If people want to believe that the citizens of York live underwater let's give them just that!

Next time you see a group of tourists bumbling aimlessly around town, stumble towards them clutching your neck and gasping desperately. Explain that, like everyone else here, you cannot live on dry land for more than two hours at a time and you need urgent help.

Of course you run the risk of being enthusiastically hurled into the Ouse by a group of strangers, but surely that's a risk worth taking to become known as the next City of Atlantis!

UNTIL tomorrow then. I must continue my search for the bongo-playing child (I will not rest until he is dead. Or at least apologises) and spook out some strangers.

I can only hope you will do the same.

Write to: The Diary, Chris Titley, The Evening Press, 76-86 Walmgate, York YO1 9YN

Email diary@ycp.co.uk

Telephone (01904) 653051 ext 337

Updated: 09:12 Monday, February 16, 2004