Mr and Mrs K ran a bed and breakfast in the Lake District. I visited with the intention of staying there to finish my first novel.
I ordered burger and chips for my breakfast. The Ks’ yellow Labrador took a fancy to my food, leapt up to the table, and scoffed the lot.
Robbie Williams explained his secret of song-writing success.
‘If you listen carefully, all my tunes are simply up and down scales with added lyrics’.
As the train came into the station I noticed that all the people leaving my carriage were stars of my favourite TV drama. Dare I tell them how much I love their work?
I was in big trouble for using the disabled toilet – because I was able-bodied, white, and Protestant.
‘Don’t touch it!’ I begged my mother.
The bees responded to the poke and swarmed. I was covered in insects from head to toe.
Until I considered what might happen if I died before TPR, I thought it perfectly acceptable to have secretly married my 35 year old ‘boyfriend’. In practice we hardly ever saw each another, and I wondered if he actually remembered our vows. However, whenever we were together I did enjoy his company.
The poshest restaurant in town did not supply enough waste paper baskets – so everyone threw their rubbish down the lavatories, thus causing a plumbling catastrophe.
FR and I fought for conference cutlery freebies.
Dreamaticus 