Dom Joly

Dom Joly has been a columnist for The Independent on Sunday and The Independent since 2001. Joly shot to fame in 2000 with his anarchic Channel 4 hidden-camera comedy programme Trigger Happy TV. He has since made television series for BBC, Five, and Sky One including, This Is Dom Joly and Dom Joly’s Happy Hour. His current TV show, Fool Britannia, is on ITV1 on Saturday nights. His spoof autobiography, Look At Me, Look At Me was published in 2004, in 2007 he brought out Letters to my Golf Club, featuring his correspondences with golf clubs around the world. In 2009 he wrote his first travel book, The Dark Tourist, in which he holidayed in some of the world’s most unlikely destinations such as Chernobyl and North Korea. His second travel book- Scary Monsters and Super Creeps, published in 2012, saw him cross the globe hunting monsters like the Yeti and Bigfoot. He is currently writing his new travel book.

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President John F. Kennedy giving a speech

JFK and the day I took one quick shot in Dallas ...

I’ve spent the last week overdosing on Kennedy porn. I’ve watched so many documentaries about what happened on that awful day in Dallas 50 years ago that my own head is ready to explode. I feel somehow guilty being so obsessed with the tragic death of a man but, like so many others, I am. 

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At last, an 'out there' Canadian. Shame it's Rob Ford

This man has single-handedly put Canada on the news map

Lone parent for a week – how hard can it be?

Because my wife is off in Austria having her colon cleansed, I have been Mr Mum for the week. To my amazement, I realised that this is the first time I have looked after both my kids without Stacey for more than a day. This was quite shocking to me, but it was my kids who pointed it out. They were clearly concerned about the week ahead and how I would fare as sole carer. How hard could it be, I wondered? Wake up, make breakfast, drop them off at school, mess about all day, pick them up from school, make supper, and send them to bed. If only I'd known.

Go ahead, Woody Woodpecker, make my day

I'm just back from a week in the States with the family. I was trying out the Florida Gulf Coast for the first time and was pleasantly surprised that: a) it had survived BP's full-scale oil spill onslaught; b) the hurricane that normally hits Florida at this time of year decided to holiday in the UK instead.

You can take the cat out of the underworld...

I am now very worried about Captain Kangaroo, the gangster cat we saved from the mean streets of Cheltenham. Some horrible person in what passes for a "hood" in these genteel parts had shot Roo – we eventually adopted him and gave him what we thought was a happy home in the hills above the town.

Abuse me if you must, but I'm not the Big I Am

I suffered another random outbreak of online abuse last week. It was my own fault. I'd already announced in this column that I was going to go offline while my current comedy series was on the telly. Too much time spent in the back of cabs broke my Luddite resolve however. Sometimes, when you're on your own, potential access to the whole world is a tantalising thing.

My boarding school was awful, and it still is

I went back to my old school on Saturday. My boy's school was playing rugby there and I'm an enthusiastic observer of him being trampled upon and kicked by other children – I think my old school called it character-building. I turned down the familiar road and the memories came flooding back.

Farewell Twitter. Hello sanity and crossbows

I think it was Ash Atalla, producer of The Office, who said that there was no quicker way to a nervous breakdown than to have a comedy show on television in the age of Twitter. The first show of the new series of Fool Britannia went out last night and the one thing I didn't do was follow the live commentary online. That way only madness lies.

Never mind the integrity, feel the pay packet...

I am, I must admit, available for Bar Mitzvahs, birthdays and weddings. There is a thriving underworld in which comedians and entertainers make a pact with the devil and perform at corporate events and shindigs to keep the ever-present wolf from their rickety door. I remember when I first did one – for Vodafone. My agents were contacted and asked whether I'd be prepared to introduce the then chief executive of the company on stage at their annual meeting by screaming into my giant mobile. Full of youthful integrity, I laughed down the line at my agents and told them that this was really not the sort of thing that I did. Then they told me how much had been offered and I asked what date the event was on.

From field of dreams to field of sporting misery

It was always going to be a difficult moment, watching my boy play his very first game of contact rugby. Stacey and I drove down to the school in a state of silent tension.

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