My suitcase had barely settled in the marble halls of Chez Kojak before I was whisked away to the big city of Preston. My sainted friend Margs had decided that as an early multiple birthday celebration she would treat myself and 2 others of our circle to front row seats at a Rhythm & Blues concert. The guest star was the singer Sandie Shaw and being a gentleman of a certain age I can remember her debut on black & white television. True to form she appeared without shoes and wearing a 60s very mini mini-dress. Being in the front row we were only a few feet away from the stage and as she advanced towards the front I was able to see, in addition to the cellulite, that she was not in fact barefoot but wearing tights. When she sat astride a stool right in front of pal Ian (he of the patio building) and myself we were also able to see a lot more than we wished to, or was possibly intended...
Recovering our composure we somehow managed to last out until the finale. Jools Holland (for it was he) exhorted the audience to stand up and dance. Now this was all very well but a dozen or two stood up and danced in front of the stage which of course meant that they were in front of us. Now prior to this several people had crept along the stage front to take photos of the performers. Most had the good grace to crouch down so as not to obscure other's view of the stage. One, may she be forever damned, trotted back & forwards clicking away with her camera seemingly oblivious to anyone else around. I long for the day when I see her in a shop queue. If she objects to me trotting in front of her I have the ideal retort! The dancers simply ignored the front row (who had not paid cheaply for that privilege) so for the last 10 minutes of the perfomance all I saw was a line of gyrating backsides none of which were particularly attractive. A classic case of barefaced cheek(s).
All this talk of backsides leads me smoothly to backslides. A cause for concern during my Grecian sojourn was my absence on bin days and whether this would undo all my hard work and constant vigilance. The first bin day was also a recycling one and as usual, thanks to the evil Uberbinfuhrer's thoughtless diktat I had to lever my protesting carcase out of the 4 drawer sprung edge divan in the middle of the night. One result of the progression of the seasons is that the early morning warning headlights are not now in evidence so I had to be extra alert. The first two binherren attacks were intercepted and passed without incident. Thanks to the random tactics now adopted by the enemy the final assault was conducted this time by the green box Panzers, possibly the most evil of the evil. Once again I opened fire first, opening the door with alacrity to intercept the usual under arm throw. To my surprise the sturmbahnbinherren was meekly placing the box under the porch. I almost tripped over him. As he walked away he said "I put it there because I knew you'd be out pretty soon" I was speechless - and that, dear reader, is a rare occurrence. Are hostilities over? At the risk of appearing cynical, somehow I doubt it.
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You may recall that instead of the traditional Easter egg I received a chocolate rabbit. With great forebearance and not a little denial and apart from a slight nibble behind the ears I had refrained from consuming the said lapin. It was therefore largely intact upon my return from sunnier climes.
Not so now, dear reader. Of the once cute bunnikins nothing now remains but a sad torso. Rudyard Kipling wrote "If you can keep your head while all about you are losing theirs" Well, Brer Rabbit has well and truly been decapitated.
