!N the five minutes that have elapsed since I created this file three people have tried to open it on their own screens and another five have wandered aimlessly past my desk in the hope of catching a sneak preview of this week's Wright On!

And as you are here again reading it too, I can only presume you're also dying to hear the latest juicy instalment in the on-going soap opera my life seems to have become.

I'm not sure if I like all this attention at all.

To be honest, it's all getting a bit much and I'm starting to buckle under the pressure of keeping you amused each week. It's becoming a real strain. In fact, it has got so bad I can't think of a single thing to write today and that's just not like me.

Never mind an East Lancashire Coronation Street, I feel like the scriptwriter of Eldorado on a bad day.

I think the main problem is that I feel unable to top the revelations of the last couple of weeks or the amount of interest created by those tales of drunken debauchery and it's given me a giant inferiority complex that has led to a similarly sizeable mental block.

You could say I've become a victim of my own success and found myself in a classic catch 22 situation in that I started writing this so people would read it but now I know they do I don't know what on earth to write. And I know people read it because many start asking me what I'm writing about on Monday, but as their anticipation grows to fever pitch through the course of the week so does my mental block I'm afraid. I was always really bad at exams too.

I keep thinking I'm giving too much away too as the content of this column comes back to haunt me on Friday nights when various people have taken to heckling me in the pub or street, while others simply give me a wide berth for fear of being the next subject on my hit list.

One has even taking to following me around instructing everyone I talk to not to because they'll be "in the Evening Telegraph next week". They seem to think I'm some obsessed reporter constantly on duty and out for any snippet of scandal. I can't think what gave him that idea, can you?

And anyway, doesn't he realise that if I was after a bit of scandal in Haslingden on a Friday night I wouldn't have to look that far, never mind talk to anybody thank you very much.

Then there's my pal who emigrated to Australia recently and reads Wright On! every Saturday via the internet.

He reckons I've a real following down under and has been e-mailing regular messages of encouragement about the shouting incident two weeks ago, in which, I might add, he and his friends side with me. His sunshine tales and dodgy jokes have fair cheered me up as well until I received attachment photographs of the breathtaking view from his balcony in Balmain and another of the Sydney Harbour Bridge he happens to pass every day on the way to work.

Does he really think I need to see things like that when I'm two floors up looking at a view of Blackburn's semi-dismantled railway station through smog and a teary - not to mention green - eye?

I am, however jealous, planning to send him some shots in return.

I thought the one of the 12 tonne juggernaut I follow over Grane Road three times a week, a picture of the Kentucky Fried Chicken I pass each day on my way to work and the view from my bedroom might be nice - though I'll have to clean my windows first or he may not be able to make out Musbury Tor through the grime.

He's not the only electronic fan I've acquired in the 12 months since I began Wright On! either. Two lads I have never met have also taken to e-mailing me everyday - which is nice.

Thing is my mum and dad think it is all very worrying but it keeps me amused.

The newsdesk here is also showing a distinct interest too and have suggested I get them both to send photographs in so we can have a Man O Man-style competition next week and let you vote for the best one.

At least that will give me something to write about, eh?

Converted for the new archive on 14 July 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.