Vanwished

Yesterday they told me I could have a caravan.

Today they changed their minds.

Yesterday I disliked caravans

Today I want one almost more than life itself.

Far From Jolly Roger

Have you ever wondered what happens to Blue Peter badge winners when they grow up?

They move to South Korea and design cars.

An empty Flora margarine tub, 4 cotton bobbins and they call it a Chevrolet Matiz.

All Dressed Up For Nowhere

I was on my way to the opening night of a new comedy club in Hull last night. I sat for over 2 hours waiting for my regular taxi company, or Willingham's Recovery as most people know them.


This morning there was a distinct autumnal chill in the air as I stood at the bus stop. The seasons may change but my car trouble remains reassuringly constant.


I shall have to start thinking about replacing my winter coat and digging out a scarf. I've been trying to avoid thinking about the car in any way as it only leads to bad thoughts and ugly moods.

If Carling Black Label did Part-Time Jobs...

Jack's got a job. I am delighted.

It's glass-collecting at weekends in a new bar in town. Perfect.

Jack's very keen to get started. I am impressed by his enthusiasm.

I learn the venue is to be a table-dancing joint.

Now I wonder how I'm going to make a few extra bob in future.

Ascendancy Tendency

I could tell you tales of what I got up to at the weekend but no-one would ever believe I fitted 4 men into 2 short days and 3 long nights. It was controversial enough to get a mention on local radio but not so much as to attract paparazzi, which is fortunate as I didn't close my hotel curtains.

There was alcohol involved but that had nothing to do with spending all Sunday afternoon in Keighley A&E waiting for the Head Glue Nurse.

It seems Saturn has returned with a bit of a bang. I think I'm going to have to pace myself over the next 30 months.

1...2...3...4..., ...10

Being the naturally warm, generous-hearted type that I am, and being only too aware of employee discrimination legislation, I smiled sweetly and congratulated My Right Arm when she announced she was expecting her first child.

4 months later, just a fortnight before MRA's due date, I found a replacement, my Prosthetic Limb.

PL was a deluxe version, almost bionic when compared to my original Right Arm. She could spin plates almost as well as me, she could answer phones and placate clients nearly as quickly and she was never twiddling her prosthetic thumb. She even had neater fingernails. Perfect.

I didn't worry when MRA dropped the baby 2 weeks early. PL would be here before I knew it.

I didn't worry when PL took a fortnight's holiday, just a month after starting. I'd known about it at interview and had agreed to honour it, after all, it was only 2 weeks.

I did feel a pang of irritation when PL failed to return immediately after her holiday claiming a chest infection. The pang started to turn to panic when this stretched into its second week.

5 weeks on and PL isn't coming back. Nor is my sanity.

I'm back to waving on my own. Or am I?

PS. Apologies to anyone of a musical disposition. Utilisation of Celine Dion is an unforgiveable crime that even my own indulgence finds offensive but nevertheless necessary at this precise moment.