Every week I write and article for the Euro Weekly News, an English-speaking newspaper covering all the major resorts of Spain and the Balearics. You can pick up a copy on a Thursday ... or read it here every week. |
Thursday 30 November 2006
Well well, what a week that was. 'Joint favorite columnist of the year', plus a letter published in one of the nationals. My 'columnist cup' runneth over, so to speak - and I thought every one hated me! Just shows dunnit? Thanks a bunch all, and many congrats to 'fellow favorite' Bodicea (my favorite as well I may add). It's an odd line, the one that lies between like and dislike. When I hovered in the U.K. charts at the number two spot, in deference to the Beatles who rained supreme, with 'Hey Jude' at number one, the New Musical Express conducted a poll as to the most hated record of that year. This resulted in a headline I never thought would ever see daylight. 'Leapy Lee tops up the Beatles' it screamed. Ha! Leapy had achieved the somewhat dubious distinction of being No.1 in the charts as the most disliked record in the country, the McCartney brigade running a close second. Nice one Leapy. That type of experience does however allow you to accept the slings and arrows more easily and once again thanks all who took the trouble to vote, to tell you the truth I still can't quite believe it. At this point I was going to mention the cricket......... Can't get into this latest offering of 'I'm a Celebrity' etc. It's probably since I discovered I was on the short list and rejected 'cause they thought I was 'too old' Cheek! I'd have done it. Been a nice old age pension injection that, wouldn't it? Ah well, their loss. Finally gave up with my overseas pension claim. For the £2.25 a week I'd probably have finished up with, it simply didn't seem worth the aggro. No, if and when I need any help from good old Ingleterra, (heaven forbid) I shall simply change my nationality to some far-flung country, consult the local immigration advisory service and, suitably advised, simply turn up at Heathrow. Problem solved. Just referring back to that I'm a celebrity thing, there is, in America (where else), a programme called 'Fear Factor' where the stunts and objects eaten make Kangaroos testicles and caterpillars seem almost gourmet by comparison. The two-inch, 6-legged yellow spiders the contestants munched down, alive and most certainly kicking, on the last programme, would I feel, sent even the amazonic Ms Thatcher scurrying to worship at the porcelain altar. After this the contestants had to release themselves from straight jackets, a somewhat appropriate garment in the light of the seriously impaired mental state they were all undoubtedly in! Did I tell you of the time I was placed in a straight jacket? All right, all right! During the time of my unwilling 'guest' experience (Never saw my 'hostess' once, if you get my drift!) I was, one day tapped on the shoulder by two extremely large prison officers. Ordered to 'accompany' them I found myself being led down into the very bowels of the prison, Down and down we went, until I was finally ordered to stop outside of a grimy metal door. 'Put your arms out' was the next gruff instruction. I duly complied and found myself roughly thrust into what turned out to be yer actual straightjacket. When the straps were secure they opened the cell door and shoved me in. The door slammed behind me and as I dazedly looked around it didn't take rocket science to realize I was in fact incarcerated in what turned out to be a padded cell. (I can here the cries of 'hurrah from here!) Contrary to my previous belief that a padded cell would be akin to one of those padded leather armchairs with studs every six inches and so forth, this is not the case at all. A padded cell is simply a room lined from top to toe with sheets of rubber, completely sound proof and of course totally bare of furniture. Anyway as I sat in the corner, having not the faintest idea of why I was actually there. It really didn't seem too bad. I did in fact experience a strange relief. If this was madness, not only was I unable to do a single thing about it, I was also relieved of all my responsibilities, a rare 'adult' occurrence in this day and age. It was a bit like going back to the womb. A womb without a view as it were. Anyway my newfound 'euphoria' was not to last. After about five minutes the door was flung open and two red faced, hooting warders quickly hauled me out. Removing the jacket, between loud guffaws, they informed me it had all been a joke! Some joke. No more space left so I'm off now for another 'seven' (I can here the sighs of relief from here. Hang in there, try not to get banged up, thanks again, and whatever ya do. Always keep the faith. Love Leapy |
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