I was on the toilet.

As I mentioned the other day - I'm obsessed with this phone hacking malarkey. If you're not then don't give up on this blog just yet. It takes quite an interesting turn. Yesterday was a big day for me. I prepared for the committee hearing with the Murdochs like it was a World Cup game. I got up early, excited, and started to watch the build up. As the event drew closer I pondered when I was going to have my shower - I shower daily (!) - I worried that if I timed it wrong I might miss out on a pre-match interview with one of the players.

The actual hearing itself managed to be enormously exciting and terrifically boring at the same time. Jimmy Murdoch provided most of the boring moments. His long, entirely meaningless answers helped drag things on to such a point that I couldn't hold in my much needed shit any longer. I'd unwisely had a pretty significant burger the night before and am not renowned for uncomplicated digestion. Not wishing to miss a single moment I took my laptop into the toilet with me and watched the live feed. After about 5 mins or so (I'd set aside a good 15) I heard a massive commotion coming from my telly in the living room. With my (not quite) live feed having a delay those of us having a shit (me) were in the dark. It really was like the World Cup now. It was like I'd gone to the toilet, heard a cheer from a nearby pub and realised that I had missed a goal. The difference here is I had no idea what I'd missed.

Once the 'pie throwing incident', as it will forever be known, hit my toilet laptop screen I was still none the wiser. Some of you will remember that at that stage it was unclear what had happened. I quickly tried to wrap up my excretion (not like that) and ran into the living room. I frantically rewound my Murdoch provided Sky Plus and tried to work out what had happened to the old charmer. My twitter feed filled up with people asking 'What happened?' interspersed with Jedward thanking their German fans. Then the oddest thing happened. Marcus Brigstocke retweeted Michael Legge asking 'Is that Fergus Craig?'.

Wh-wh-what?! Now, bare in mind, having rewound my telly I'm still watching the past. How have I suddenly been drawn into this hacking scandal? I guess it was bound to happen at some point. Should I resign? I reset my TV to 'the present' and see a man in handcuffs with what I at the time assume to be paint on his face. Two things cross my mind - 1. Oh, so it was just some bellend making a 'point'. 2. Two comedians with over 80,000 followers between them think I look like that bellend. They think I look so like that bellend that they think it's worth pointing out to their followers, the majority of whom, no doubt, don't know who I am.

What I'm still not sure about is did they actually think that was me? Confidence in my own appearance tends to fluctuate - this week I was feeling fairly good. When my twitter feed filled up with other people calling him a 'fat twat' that confidence dropped a little. I'll take it on the chin. The extra weight I'm carrying will soften the blow. I'd like to think that I would have chosen a nicer shirt. Neither Legge or Brigstocke knows me massively well (no one ever will) but I'd like to think they wouldn't expect me to do such a thing. If nothing else, I'm far too lazy.

We found out not much later that he was, indeed, a comedian - a comedian who now has 16 times as many twitter followers than me and is therefore 16 times as funny.

In unrelated news I woke up with this song in my head today...