Saw a news headline saying: 'Cross-eyed Arsonist Arrested', so I had quick butchers and...lo and behold:
Apparently, he set fire to a lingerie shop during the riots and the police comment was: 'We were able to easily indentify him as a suspect from CCTV - he had a most distinctive look.'
Honestly, I don't know why I bother writing fiction. You've got to wonder whether he actually meant to set fire to the lingerie shop; I get the feeling that the council offices must've been next door. Or the police station. Or the job centre.
I know, I know - I should be shot.
Anyway, was in Morrisons the other day and I was queuing at the fag and lotto counter. It was an extradinarily long queue and I heard someone behind me say: 'Move along, peoples. Move, move, ha ha!' So I turn round and there's this Chinese lady, laughing her head off. I smiled and said: 'Cor, long queue, eh?' And she said: 'Better hurry peoples, be Christmas soon, ha ha!' Then she looked at me all serious and said: 'I hope you not buy cigarettes.' So I told her that, yes I was. And she says (all laughy tho'): 'You bloody idiot, just burn money! Like my husband, he idiot, burn money, burn money. I tell him stop, stop and you can buy me holiday. He say I buy you holiday woman, you go by self on holiday.' I laughed, she laughed, then she said: 'When he bloody dead, holiday ALL day long.' And then she gave herself a coughing fit from laughing.
I so wish I lived next door to her. She reminded me of my old mum (who was half Chinese herself); can't say I really liked my mum, but she wasn't half funny. I reminded myself of the old girl, the other day. I was giving the kitchen floor a bit of a scrub round the old Mordor sections of the bin and the cooker. So there I was, on me hands and knees and Man Friday pops his head in the door and says: 'I'll do that for you. You shouldn't be doing that.' And suddenly, the 'my old mum' section of me brain pops into gear and I told him: 'If you're too crippled to scrub your own floor, then you can't have a bleeding floor, can you.' Man Friday goes: 'That doesn't make any sense.' And I said: 'I know, but that's the sort of thing my old mum used to say.' She wasn't exactly what you'd call a charmer, but she did make you laugh - except when she give you a good whacking. Bless her.
And talking of charmers...
I was watching some dead interesting programme on BBC4 called The Baroness of Jazz (or somesuch) and it was about some fab old girl in the 40s who was a billionairess (and Baroness, I spose) who looked after Thelonius Monk (cos he was schizophrenic, a booze hound and a drug addict - poor bugger, he had the lot: surprised if he didn't have a bunion and all). Anyhow, at the end of the programme I went loo and when I came back, blow me if that bloody Frank Sinatra doesn't appear on me teevers, singing: 'I've got the world on a string.' But most fortuitously, Man Friday says: 'Yeah, but I've got the remote control, mate,' and turns him off. Narrow escape. I don't know what it is about that Frank Sinatra, but I've never trusted him (and nor did my old mum, strange to tell). When you listen to him singing, don't you feel like someone's picking yer pocket? Summint about him, can't put me finger on it - probably wouldn't like to either. Truth be told (and this is an odd one, probably need a psychiatrist to sort this one out) I'm actually quite scared of him.
And talking of teevers...
Am totally crackers for 'Old Jews Telling Jokes', on BBC4 (dunno what night, forgot). I laughed so hard the other night that I had a coughing fit. Hope my lovely Chinese lady never watched it, she'd have gone into a paroxysm.
Oh, and Henry (the dog that looks like an Ottoman) has started losing his fur. Will update later.