posted on Mar, 28 2007 @ 06:13 PM
I'll tell you where I am, I'm sitting in the
local police station, using Constable Penbury's
computer.
About this time of the year, there's a reunion at
my wife's old school. This year, my wife informed
me that it was a fancy-dress party and asked me
if I could 'invent' a costume.
I decided to make a costume from my favourite nursury
rhyme, Bo Peep.
My wife work's evenings and so to make sure she looked good
in the lace and gingham number, I tried the costume on
due to our similar build. I thought I would make sure the
careful stitching wouldn't come away and cause any chance of
my wife being embarrassed. With the lovely satin bonnet about
my head, I leapt about the house, straining in the bodice and
swinging the shepherd's crook, ninja-like.
I'm in my forties and sadly my coordination isn't what it once was,
so you can imagine my annoyance, when I tripped on the hall carpet
and fell through the lobby window, glass shards like diamonds,
following me to the recently-cut lawn.
Sissy, my neighbour's sister was just returning from her
Spiritualists Meeting and the look of horror on her face as I lay
on the turf with my legs in the air and my dress furled across my
chest, would curl your hair.
Sissy hitched her ouija board under her arm and exclaimed "Not you too!"
and stormed off into the house. I sat up and tried to call her back,
but to no avail.
Unknown to me, Sissy called for Constable Penbury, who lives at the bottom
of the street near the railway cutting. He's a likeable chap and looks remarkably
like Bernard Cribbins, an actor from the seventies.
I didn't see our local 'bobby' until, while trying to straighten my dress and
headwear, Constable Penbury felt my collar and grabbed me by the laces
that keep my bodice snug.
Within minutes I was hauled into the Police Station, my high-heels barely
touching the sidewalk.
So I sit here awaiting the 'Peeler' to return from a phone call, but I'm not
alone.
There's a man sat in the Charge room looking oddly at me.
His face is unshaven and he wears a stained vest, desert boots and a dented
back-pack, that's smells of stale urine.
Occasionally, he mutters "B*stard Greys" and rasps his hand on his chin, and
bites down on his cigar.
So I wait... that's what debunkers do.