There I was, musing about the unexpected celebrities who appear in advertising these days - famous anti-establishment icons.

The kind of people I’d never have envisaged endorsing products in exchange for a big fat pay cheque.

I mentioned Ozzy Osbourne, and Ozzy has since appeared in the World of Warcraft TV commercial.

I mentioned Iggy Pop advertising pension plans, and today saw Iggy’s TV ad for car insurance!

Apparently, the Queen conferring a knighthood on John Lydon isn’t as far removed from reality as I imagined!

The UK Honours System* informs us:
This is the first Honours List recommended by Prime Minister Gordon Brown. Its aim is to reflect and pay tribute to outstanding achievement and service across the entire community.

The demise of The Sex Pistols triggered Johnny Rotten’s transmogrification, and John Lydon emerged with a new band, Public Image Ltd.  Rumour of a knighthood for Britain’s greatest punk icon is not as strange as it first appears.

In 2004, John Lydon appeared on British TV in “I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here” and the show became unmissable viewing.  At the same time, it won the former ‘enemy of the establishment’ a legion of new fans.

Generally, I’m not keen on this type of television programme, but it became must-see TV when it featured John Lydon venting his frustrations with, and contempt for, his fellow contestants and the state of the world in general.

But my jaw hit the deck the first time I saw Lydon’s latest appearance on TV — promoting a particular brand of British butter

I was transfixed as I watched scenarios that include Lydon:

• ~ attempting to relax in a stuffy ‘establishment-style’ gentlemen’s club;
• ~ patriotically waving a little Union Jack at a royal cavalcade;
• ~ cavorting with cows and sheep in the great British countryside.

And all the while he’s doing these things, he extols the virtues of eating British Butter — not because he’s patriotic, he says, “nah, it’s cos I like the taste.”

Of course, it’s all very tongue-in-cheek and the advertising is assuring us that John Lydon wouldn’t say something is good if it wasn’t true, because he isn’t a sell-out.  Hmmm.

It makes me wonder what would have happened to other icons of the music industry had they survived the frenetic, drug-fuelled lifestyle.

If Sid Vicious hadn’t self-destructed at the height of his notoriety, would he still generate a ‘blip’ on our celebrity radar?  Might he feature as the front man in a TV commercial for Grecian 2000 or denture cleaner?

To date, John Lydon has advertised butter, but could this be an embryonic new trend?  Will we see Iggy Pop appearing in TV commercials to promote pension plans?  Ozzy Osbourne advocating the life enhancing qualities of a Stannah Stair Lift? Or perhaps Sham 69 reviewing Saga Holidays?

Deceased celebrities who subscribed to the convoluted philosophy, “live fast, die young, and leave a good-looking corpse”, enjoy the luxury of remaining forever youthful and beautiful.  Death has ensured that the legend survives… intact.

So, we return to my original question, “Is the Queen to confer a knighthood on John Lydon in the New Year’s Honours List?”.

Nope.  Regardless of my whimsical Christmas wish, it’s highly doubtful that we’ll ever witness the creation of ‘Sir’ John Lydon, but it isn’t so far removed from the realms of possibility as it was in the 70s, when he ranked as Britain’s best loved and loathed anti-establishment, working class hero.

Life needs legends, magic, love and… laughter.

But I wasn’t simply a hippy, back in the early eighties I became something of a gypsy, a new age traveller, my home was a converted ambulance mini-bus — what’s known as a live-in wagon — in which I’d built a bed, installed a water tank, loo and shower, cooker, sound system and TV.

I never got around to building myself a wood burning stove, but I kept myself warm and snug with a propane gas heater.  It was really comfortable and as I was living alone, I had plenty of space and it never felt cramped.

There was a peoples’ music-arts-fringe event of some kind every week or two.  Around midweek, those of us who lived and worked on the circuit packed up our belongings, stamped out the last glowing fire embers, filled up our live-in vehicles with diesel or petrol, and it was ‘wagons ho’ as we set off on the journey to the next event.

In the UK there existed a hardcore of new age travellers, fragmented into an assortment of raggedy-arsed bands of aging and new age hippies, peace loving bikers, entertainers, organic wholefooders, green politicos, teepee dwellers and bender builders, incense burners and dope heads all trailing around in a variety of vehicles, some quite fantastical and imaginative, and many barely roadworthy.

Many earned a living on the festival circuit by bartering or selling their skills, wares or labour — I sold comics and retro clothing at the more affluent gigs, and fruit and veg at peace camps — I’m nothing if not versatile!

When I got my first live-in wagon and started trucking around the UK – both independently and as a member of a fluid group – it felt like I’d come home, and during this period of my life, I experienced some intensely spiritual moments.

During the winter months, the numbers dwindled and those of us who remained on the road, spent our time effecting mechanical repairs and interior refits while we were parked up at peace camps or private farmland (by invitation or with permission of the owner) or occupying common land.

When live-in vehicles travelled in convoy, their number attracted the attention of local police, who would sometimes escort the convoy to the town or county boundary, and these occasions were mostly friendly, non-confrontational affairs.

However, there was one occasion after Ling Festival in Suffolk, when a bunch of us were on route to a farm where we planned to spend the winter.  I was driving my bus at the rear of a convoy of about 10 or 12 vehicles, progressing down country roads winding through heavily wooded countryside, and we had attracted a police escort.

Up ahead, the convoy had been halted because one of the lead vehicles had run out of diesel, and the order had just reached back to the guy ahead of my vehicle.  Just as I was pulling to a stop, a car passed from the opposite direction and, in its wake, something flew past my side window on my right (it’s the UK).

As I refocused on the road ahead, to my horror, I saw that a policeman had been knocked down and was lying injured and motionless in the middle of the road, and I realised that it was the officer’s police helmet that I witnessed flying past my side window moments earlier.

I leaped out of my bus and ran to the assistance of the policeman on the ground, there were police nearby and I called to them for help, but was dismayed by the slow response.  Then I shouted out that it was one of their men that was hurt, and immediately there were police officers running towards us from every direction!

As the police had the situation in hand, I ran back to my vehicle to get blankets for the stricken man, but was aghast when I saw that two young police officers were sitting on the bonnet of their police car with their arms and legs outstretched in front of them as they struggled to prevent my wagon rolling back into their police car!  When I’d jumped out of the cab, I neglected to put on the hand brake!

Fortunately, they were very good-natured about it, after all, I’d only done what I’d done in an effort to help their colleague.

Then things got a bit heavy, not for me, but for my friend who was driving his wagon ahead of mine.  The police jumped to the conclusion that it was my friend’s vehicle that had knocked down their colleague, and they weren’t happy.

Before it all got ugly, fortunately, events were pieced together and it transpired that it had been the car that shot past in the other direction that had struck down the injured copper.  He had a broken leg and concussion, but other than that was going to be OK.

The entire experience was a bit surreal really, the light was diminishing as dusk fell, and we were in the depths of the English countryside with moon-dappled woodland surrounding this alien montage of frenzied activity populated by hippies and police!

Ah, happy, carefree times!

So, no big surprise, I’ve found myself thinking about Christmases past, and one of my favourite Christmas stories comes from my eldest niece, when she was head of a single parent family.

Her little boy was enjoying his first Christmas as a school student, and he’d started hearing what other children think about Santa Claus and the origins of the Christmas gift stocking.

One day, on the trip home from school, the little boy informed his Mum that a friend in his class at school had told him, “Don’t you know? Santa is your Mum!”

My niece replied, “Oh, he’s just being silly.”

“Yes”, continued the boy, “I know he’s silly, cos you don’t have time to deliver gift stockings to everyone, do you?”

OK, Mum, what’s your answer to that?!

So, no podium today, but who cares? He’s the Formula One World Champion - the youngest World Champion in the history of Formula One racing! What a finish to the 2008 season - excitement and tension to the final bend.

I’m all danced out, after leaping up and down like an excited kid, and even crying! It’s amazing how the rheumatism and creaky joints disappear when the brain’s stimulation spikes on something thrilling, the aches and pains are forgotten in the moment!

Frankly, if you’d seen the closing laps of the race, you’d totally understand, because half way through the final lap, Lewis Hamilton was in 6th place, which meant no Championship.  It looked as though the race winner, Felipe Massa (Ferrari) had also taken the top spot for 2008. Then, in the last few moments, at the final bend, Lewis pulled it out of the bag by overtaking Timo Glock (Toyota), recapturing 5th place and, with it, the Championship.

Great BBC iPlayer programme about the formative years of Lewis Hamilton titled, “The Billion Dollar Man” can be watched or downloaded at BBC website.

Congratulations to Lewis Hamilton and McLaren, you’ve thrilled us all Summer, and now you’ve clinched it - a worthy 2008 Formula One World Champion.

Comiserations to Felipe Massa whose heart must have broken just seconds after passing the chequered flag, because although he won the Grand Prix, he didn’t just not win the World Championship, he thought he had won - as did the Ferrari team and everyone else at the track!  But then came the dagger through his heart, as Lewis Hamilton willed his car past Timo Glock and the crown was his.

Some consolation for Ferrari is that they won the Formula One Constructors’ World Championship.

Formula One Racing and the F1 World Championship is over for another year, so it’s unlikely I’ll be posting about it until the new season starts in March 2009.

It’s time to ogle some well-turned male legs and muscular torsos elsewhere — Premier League Football here I come!

Although, the delicate position he occupies dictates that he express his feelings in ‘diplomatic speak’, with this in mind, his words were surprisingly blunt, “China says one thing, then does something else”.

The BBC has produced a very special programme titled, “The Lost World of Tibet“, which traces the life of the Dalai Lama from his initial introduction to the monastery when he was 5 years old.  Most interestingly, we see rare archive footage of the Dalai Lama’s family, his mother and father, older brother, Lobsang, and baby brother.

The programme has exclusive interview time with the Dalai Lama, and it’s fascinating to observe his reactions as he watches film of his family and himself as a small boy, new to monastic life.

One snippet of the film features a perfect little replica motor car that was presented to the 5 year old Dalai Lama, but it was his brother, Lobsang, who was allowed to get in it and play, because His Holiness might hurt himself!

You can watch or download ‘The Lost World of Tibet’ at the BBC website, and you can also download the BBC iPlayer software to enjoy further BBC TV programmes.

The photos displayed here are taken from screenshots of the film, and I apologise for the quality.  I implore you to watch ‘The Lost World of Tibet’ and to hear what the Dalai Lama has to say.

It’s exceptional television.

I thought I wanted to have a mammogram, and had mentioned it to my GP some months ago, but I’d forgotten all about it in the intervening period.

When I opened today’s letter from the NHS, I was immediately struck by the reality of how a woman’s life can be turned upside down by something that starts out as ‘routine’.

My sister is a breast cancer survivor, and it was just seven weeks after losing her husband to an industrial form of lung cancer, that she received her own letter about having a mammogram through the NHS breast screening program, and subsequently underwent a mammogram.

She’d barely had a chance to grieve the loss of her husband of thirty years, when she received the news that the hospital wanted her to return for further tests, and these revealed a tumour.  Devastating, but…..

How much more devastating could it have been, had she elected not to attend that first ‘routine’ mammogram?

Breast cancer is our enemy, so if you’re a woman over 50, and live in a country that has a breast screening program offering free mammograms, you high tail it down to that hospital and get your mammaries grammed!