Crail is risen from the dead!

Well, there I was, mid-day and still in the Wincyette pyjamas and the [slightly soiled] Terylene housecoat, just settling down in readiness for 'Loose Women' with a pink Sobranie and a schooner* of sweet sherry [*well, all right, I use the commode pot], when Matron announced I had a visitor.

In came Passion & the Fury, somewhat red-faced from the exertion of cycling to Mablethorpe, demanding, if you please, something from the mini-bar. Quickly hid the 'schooner' under the chair, and pointed out that only tea was allowed for visitors. She grudgingly accepted the remaining hard-centres from the previous visitor's Milk Tray box, and then whipped out various items from her wheely-shopper. Some rather lovely blue balloons, some M&S choccies [soft centres, thank the lord], a puzzling plastic thing that said 'More than words', and a statue of a nude man, no less! 'What am I supposed to do with THAT?' I demanded, getting tetchy since by now she was keeping me from lunch, and I'd selected Sausage Surprise and Spotted Dick too. Next thing I know, out comes the camera, lots of flashes, and some unflattering images will no doubt soon be circulating the internet. I deny it all. The Max Factor Compact and Trowelette were still in my shopping bag too.

'You've won a prize', she told me. 'The VD Award, aka Most Effusive Verbal Diarrhoea'. Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather, had I not been semi-recumbent already, having consulted the 'schooner' every time her back was turned whilst rummaging in her shopper [fuchsia leopard-print - I ask you].

Anyway, many, many thanks to all you kind people who for some reason [I'm not dead, and I'm not rich] voted for mon blog. Totally undeserved as I just blurted out a load of crap, whereas some wrote carefully-crafted and immaculately-presented near-opuses [?opi?]. Didn't even think I'd passed the course, let alone got a risque ornament for the mantelpiece. Didn't attend the partaaay as the bus pass only works for local buses [and as you can imagine, the locality of Mablethorpe has little to recommend it]. Plus, of course, because I had offended so many people with thoughtless comments that it seemed unwise to attend. Have only apologised personally to a couple of people, but again I apologise unreservedly to anyone to whom I caused offense.

Here's a phote of a contrite moi post-trowelette [Passion & Fury had of course swanned off to the Bricklayer's Arms by then with her Instamatic]. Sincere thanks to everyone, and please know I am genuinely touched [in both senses of the word] and grateful to you all. Thanks too to Passion & the Fury, for coming all that way, after having been on her knees scrubbing dubious stains from the carpet until 1 am after the paartaaay, and having a terrible time trying to persuade reluctant cab-drivers to take tired & emotional attendees home, when they couldn't even remember where home was ['I don't care if they are librarians, love, I'm telling you I wouldn't take Her Majesty herself to Buckingham Palace in that state'].

And now I've GOT to go. Strip Bingo, with a possible prize of a bottle of Malibu, and then the Gay Gordons at Darby and Joan. Six Joans to every Darby, so there's always a bit of an unseemly scrum.