It's the morning after the night before following my mate Dogger's surprise birthday party. After much planning and careful instructions on arrival times and where we should park cars (3 miles away to avoid detection), the party got off to a great start with birthday girl arrived with an appropriate look of surprise across her mush. It was only later that she disclosed that she knew something was going on, there was just too many things that didn't add up. Honestly, nothing gets past Miss bloody Marple.
It was great to catch up with some old workmates and to marvel in the gorgeous food and more alcohol on display than Bargain Booze. It didn't take long before the cheeky vimto's were flowing. To anyone who hasn't sampled one, it's a blue WKD and port. Once combined, some view it as tasting of vimto. To me, it tasted of Benylin with the threat of imminent stomach pumping. I'm a rubbish drinker so one slurp was enough for me.
One of the party goers works in the IT industry by day and is a magician by night. Fabulous! Out come the elastic band tricks, card tricks and coin tricks ably assisted by his glamorous assistant dressed in spangly leotard / party outfit and winning smile ie. moi. I can see why Phil chose me for this role. Call it the humour, the pleading and the more than passing resemblance to Debbie McGee. Anyway, once I was sawn in half, it was on to the important stuff like hitting the buffet which was superb.
The party trundles on and the spliffs are handed round to a huddled, giggling mass loitering outside in the doorway. I was just there in my leotard purely for research purposes and to let doves out of a top hat to amuse my mates whilst they were all smoking.
Anyway, time to go in the early hours and I'm driving home through country lanes with one of my oldest mates chatting away. Ahead in the headlights is a hedgehog crossing the road and as I swerve to avoid it, it must have legged it in fright and I hit it with my back wheels. After a hideously sounding bump, I felt sick, not to mention a murderer. We drove on in silent sobs until we got to our local town, when whilst waiting at traffic lights, a police van behind me started flashing its blue lights. With panic rising in my voice, I thought the police could see blood splattered on my the back of my car, or that it had become illegal to drive a car under the influence of a sparkly leotard and smelling of sausage rolls. I pulled over and with my usual guilt started my compulsion to confess every murder in Lancashire since 1978, all car thefts and for watching every episode of Big Brother since it started. I needn't have bothered, the police van sped past, no doubt on its way to some important crime on the Fylde coast with a proper criminals.
Morning has arrived and I'm building up the courage to go outside to inspect my car for a dead, flattened hedgehog stuck to my back radials. It's with shaking hands I head towards my shed for my Karcher jet washer....