You probably don't know me, but that's beside the point. I'm Yuck Skidmark, and I live in Stella Street, Dorking, which although you've probably never heard of it, is where international superstars (who aren't in rehab) come to chill out and take five.
It's an interesting street, with lots of exciting stuff going on in it, and near it, come to think of it. So I thought I'd write down on paper some of the stuff that happens in the street, for posterity, like.
I mean, it's not every day you meet Bono out of U2 down the chippy, having a row with David Attenborough over who has the purchasing rights to the last large battered haddock.
Now is it?
(Bono won. Sir Dicky had to make do with a large battered cod.)
It's not every day either, that you see Jockinese comedians, Billy Connelly and Frankie Boyle huddled over a table in Pere Alberto's Dutch Vegetarian Pizza Shack huddled over a table, munching on vegetable curry fajitas, whilst exchanging Panini football stickers from the 1980s.
Or see the incredible rows about parking spaces, between Noddy Holder out of Slade, and Woody, formerly of the Bay City Rollers.
They get out of hand sometimes, necessitating intervention from the local constabulary.
And, the interesting thing about it, is that it isn't restricted to boring old celebrity dinosaurs. Some of the younger ones make their mark as well.
Just a couple of days ago, we had Ollie Murs out of the X-Factor in a right proper fist fight with Ian Somerhalder out of the Vampire Diaries, over who was going to treat chubby songstress, Adele, to a King Prawn Mushroom from Mr Wonky Woo's Chinese takeaway, kebab bar, fish and chip shop, and pizza grill.
But...hang on...it isn't all about conflict.
There's good stuff too. Human interest stuff.
Like when Robert Pattinson escorted and comforted an extremely nervous Kristen Stewart on a visit to Dr Drill the Dentist's surgery for a tooth extraction. (Spoofers take note - that one could be worth tens of thousands.)*
*But you're welcome to it. It's on the house.
And when JLS called a taxi for George Michael because they thought he was in no fit state to drive.
And there's sports stuff too.
Like Harry Redknapp, George Graham and Steve Claridge arguing in the bookies shop over what's going to win the 3:15 at Uttoxeter.
It's all here.
We get them all. Even the old uns. Alf Starling, 104 year old Worthing Viagra addict, and his Belle De Jour, Dora Cattermole (Although Dora did fade away a bit last summer when she suffered an ectopic pregnancy) Martin Shuttlecock, the Portsmouth pork pie hat wearing internet buffoon, Colonel Juan, the Thespian, who insists he never harboured doubts over his sexuality, Ellis Ian Fields, who suffers from OCD of the brain, Rebel, who suffers terribly with a Cockney accent, Churchmouse, who forgot what it was that he started in the first place, and Lynton, who promises to blow his garden shed up sometime soon.
But they're just extras.
When you've seen Queen Mudder hurling rock cakes at Camilla Parker-Bowles-Windsor's head over the garden fence in a dispute over whether or not Barack Obama's birth certificate is genuine or not, you just know you've got something worth reporting.
And when there's a very public bust-up between former Sex Pistol, John Lydon, and the Rolling Stones' Mick Jagger in the local reference library about dinosaurs and shit haircuts, you're onto something good.
A bit like Herman's Hermits.
But not really.
So I just thought I'd document some of these things. Sort of see if anyone's interested in such fascinating stories as Rihanna giving Lewis Hamilton a stiffy when they embraced at last year's Canadian Grand Prix, or Russell Brand going out on an unwitting gay date with Mick Hucknell out of Simply Red.
Without doubt, there will be detractors. There will be those who say that I am merely cashing in on the coat tails of international bestselling paperback opus: The Dorking Review. Not to mention those who'll say that this idea was nicked from a shit comedy sketch show, called Stellar Street, and which was about as funny as having a leg amputated without anaesthetic. With shit impressionists talking absolute bollocks.
Oh no - this is the real deal. The low down on Dorking.
To those detractors, I say, stuff, nonsense and bollocks!
There's more if you want it.