It’s a drug. Nothing is more important than the next funny. Even when not working, I’m always trying to think what gags I could use if unexpectedly called upon – at a bus stop, a supermarket checkout, or even at a funeral. I rarely get to do them, of course, but I just can’t seem to help myself from being ready if necessary. The other week I asked in front of a crowded garage waiting room, if they’d got any special offers like ‘Four new tyres for the price of one!’ Got a good laugh from a van driver sitting next to me.
Sitting here in the stinking cold I’m still trying to think of what I should have said from the back of the lorry, to everyone gathered in the street just before I was taken away.
Oh yes, there was that time an AA man was trying to recruit members outside the supermarket – I asked him to take a look at my trolley’s wonky wheel. That didn’t even have an audience – that was just for me! He certainly didn’t laugh.
Always beachcombing, living between two worlds, seeing what the tide brings in and then trying to make something out of it. Dancing as the waves chase me up the sand. They say we all emerged from the ocean after all. That’s probably why old people retire to the seaside.
It’s cold turkey in here though. There’s nothing remotely amusing about this place. It just doesn’t seem very fair that’s all. Sure I’ve done a few things I’m not too proud of, but nothing, nothing really. I’m a good guy. This is all a big misunderstanding. Yes, I’m even getting a little bit cross now. Steady.