6 weeks ago I was walking along Brighton Pier, whistling a cheery refrain when a seagull swooped down and pecked me in the unmentionables.
A nearby dog saw this and ambled and sniffed me “downstairs”. As the dog departed a monkey who was eating an ice cream came over and stuck the cone on me privates.
Finally a rather large Jesuit priest offered to spank me so that I could atone for my sins.
At no time did my wheelchair bound partner offer to help me fend of these attacks and ended up discussing nasty habits with Jesuit. The monkey let down her tyres and I walked off in a huff with the ice cream cone still plonked on my crown jewels.
Brighton Council called me this morning to ask when I was going to collect my girlfriend as she was still on the pier, rusting slightly and struggling with barnacle build up.
Do you think I should go and collect her or just Fedex her a tyre pump and tell her to get on with it?
Aunty Bill Replies!
I publish your letter to illustrate to other readers the damage long-term drug abuse can have on the human psyche.
The scenario you describe above has all the hallmarks of a sustained sesh on the pipe and I would strongly advise you to seek help for your addiction (and give me the number of your dealer).
Many years ago I witnessed first hand the damage class A’s can do as a similar situation happened to a dear friend of mine (without the appearance of a monkey and wheelchair I hasten to add).
Oily George (for it was he) accompanied me to the city of Hamburg for a football tournament.After spending the afternoon running away from an ex mate of the Beatles to avoid buying him a drink (another story for another time), he decided it would be a good idea to team up with a group of Mexicans and partake of a glass of Mescal.
This rapidly turned into Mescal fury and led to him to “Peyote Pete” who proceeded to liberally pour Mescal down Oily’s gullet.
I myself was in no great shape and in the ensuing imbroglio we somehow lost each other in the crowds of sozzled Mexicans. Some hours later I received a call from a panicked Oily who said he was on a train travelling through the Black Forest with no idea how he got there.
It later transpired that he was in fact in a shopping mall near the train station covered from head to toe in emulsion paint (Harvest Peach as it turned out, matt from memory).
Let this salutory tale be a warning to you Richard. Just say Nada
However if events really did unfold as you describe I’d get the hell outta Brighton and let the Council deal with it all.
If she can wheel herself to the nearest garage she can use the air line for a nominal fee (Jet garages are free) thus saving you cost and hassle of Fedexing a pump to her.
Trebles all round!