Each week our web boffin tells me how many people looked at my page
on the net.

Last week's column set a new personal best. But before I could get carried away with my new-found popularity, The ET's very own Inspector Gadget pronounced that this was purely down to the word "cleavage" appearing in my column.

So, never knowingly missing the chance to go for the lowest common
denominator, here's a picture of Holbeach's very own Kelly Bell and, yes you've guessed it, her cleavage.

Kelly, featured in yesterday's ET, telling of her life as a glamour
model. There is no truth in the rumour that when asked by the ET's reporter if her boobs were real, she replied: "Real? No. Really
expensive? Yes!"

Losing out on a day at the zoo
WE journalists are second only to the luvvies of Tinseltown when it comes to slapping ourselves on the back and dishing out awards.

Last Thursday, a group of us set off from Telegraph Towers, with our acceptance speeches nestling in our pockets, for the annual East Of England Media Awards, which are sponsored by thosenice people from EDF Energy (it's not their fault prices have rocketed).

I was shortlisted for the Columnist of the Year award for the second year running.

Last year I was pipped at the post by a comedian from Norwich. I'm not joking. Working, as we do, for a large PLC no expense was spared. I'll rephrase that. Put it this way – we had the best paid minibus
driver in Peterborough.

Yes our esteemed editor donned his chauffeur's cap, with me, his trusty lieutenant, as navigator.

We got lost.

It wasn't my fault. He'd printed off some directions from the internet, which were fine, until you got to step four, and then we discovered the printer had suffered a senior moment and left us dangling with.. at the roundabout take the....

And there the instructions ended.

But the editor hasn't got where he is today without being able to get his way out of a tight spot, and, with plenty of time to spare we made it to our destination – Whipsnade Zoo.

I know what you're thinking – what better place for the jackals of the press, and, no, they weren't any signs saying "don't
feed the ET staff ".

Anticipation swiftly gave way to disappointment and, despite five of us being shortlisted, not one of us walked off with the top prize.

I was certain I was going to win if only because I'm only 5ft 8 ins tall. Presenting the prizes was Olympic swimmer Mark Foster, who stands about six foot fifteen inches tall and the judges seemed to select
only vertically-challenged hacks as winners in a bid to make the obligatory presentation photo as funny as possible.

The winner of my category was described by the judges, who had obviously
been hit by falling masonry, as like Bridget Jones' menopausal aunt.

I'm so miffed, I don't know if I shall enter next year, as with my track record, I'll probably get beaten by Sammy the typing spaniel and his hilarious Wagging Tales column in the Grunty Fen Bugle.

Still, I didn't go home emptyhanded I got a nice piece of cardboard
with the words Highly Commended on it.

Don't you think it's outrageous how energy prices have shot up?

Forget Beckham, it's Jimmy Bullard for England
THERE was a predictable hoo-hah when David Beckham was left out of the England squad, stranding him one short of a century of appearances for his country.

I don't know what all the fuss is about. Becks has already got 99 caps, and he's only got one head.

What about Jimmy Bullard?

He hasn't even got one – cap that is.

Jimmy, who for a time graced London Road, where he was a firm favourite with Posh fans, is the stuff of legends.

Anyone who watches Sky's Soccer AM knows Jimmy is football's
equivalent to Charlie Chaplin, with his unique visual humour. He's a real character – which, of course, is shorthand for as mad as a box of ferrets.

Jimmy has just returned to action after a serious injury and celebrated by smashing in a vital winner in a crunch game. In true, Jimmy fashion, many of the post-match interviews focussed not only on his goal but also his bruised nose. His conk was clouted by a teammate who presumably didn't find one of his jokes as funny as the rest of us.

So come on Fabio, pick Jimmy for England.

After all, Phil Neville's got 59 caps, so I'm sure Jimmy's worth at least one.

It's one of the saddest stories I've ever read in the ET.
Nineteen-year-old Charlotte Woodcock had been out of a young offenders' institute for just three days when she punched a friend and stole her mobile phone.

She told a court she felt happier and safer behind bars. If she committed the robbery to get back to jail, then her wish has been granted.

I only hope that somebody, somewhere, can give Charlotte the help she so desperately needs.

Experts 0 Non-experts 1
If there was any way of measuring the most commonly uttered sentence with the word "experts'' in it, it would also almost certainly contain the phrase "got it wrong".

The loss-making Westcombe Engineering, which provides work for disabled workers, was set to close after experts had decreed it was an outdated "employment model".

The workers, and their friends and family, didn't agree with this expert analysis. Now, the future of the company seems set to be secured.
Another victory for the non-experts.

Talking of experts – boffins at a university in Italy have revealed that wearing stilettos can improve your sex life. I'm tempted, but I think I'll stick with my brogues.

Bored by search for Bush successor
The TV coverage of the battle for the US presidency is way over the top. We Brits can't vote – and let's face it, anybody will be an improvement on George W Bush. And, despite all this blanket coverage, I'm none the wiser as to what policies any of the candidates have. The race for the White House is as dull as the Superbowl, but less intellectually demanding.