I had been a guest at Rousse’s. While she was out, I decided to pay my way by performing domestic tasks. The obvious first step was to grill all the bacon on the eye-level grill. I then cleaned up after the vomiting cat and wandered off to have a nap. On returning to the kitchen, I bumped into the cleaner, who wasn’t too pleased that I was dressed in her pinnie. The bacon was still under the grill, half cooked. I wrapped it in foil and put it in the fridge.
Rousse was NOT impressed with my labour saving pre-cooked bacon. Frightened by her temper, I decided to leave the house, and ended up on the deck of an enomous grey destroyer, wearing a wet suit and being encouraged to participate in dangerous sports. This was not my cup of tea, so I wandered off to see Princess Diana. To get there I walked through a quaint, medieval estate that seemed to have been taken over by the English Defence League or some such. I put my head down and refused to take a leaflet from them. Eventually, I reached the corner of the street where a delighted Princess Diana was walking in a procession, celebrating her second wedding. She was wearing a bright pink sari and had dyed her hair to match. The crowd was thrilled and we all cheered. The whole event was so joyful, I walked round the block and travelled back in time so I could see it all over again.
