Big Sis is back in the country!


I insisted we both crouch as a visual tribute to her tour of America. It's also the best way to avoid bears. She looks like she's about to give me a backhanded slap across the face, but I'm sure that's unintentional.

She wasn't actually scheduled to pay me a visit yesterday, but having flown into the country on Wednesday morning and made her way to Chelmsford, it was only a matter of time before she realised that the taxi driver had left one of her bags in the car park at Gatwick, and she'd have to drive straight back down on Thursday to pick it up.

Of course, if you go by what you read on this blog, Big Sis is currently throwing snowballs in Oregon with another three or four states still to visit, but suffice it to say that's not true. Like the plot of Neighbours, we're constantly a few weeks behind in this country.

But anyhoo, siblings aside, the good news is that I spoke to my doctor on the phone yesterday morning, and the cancer test they did last Thursday has come back negative. Which is a relief as I haven't finished teaching my cat to type. I do however have suspected prostatitis, which is the first and last time you'll be hearing that word on this blog. Mainly because I have trouble spelling it.

Buoyed by the news that I'm not dying, things then continued to improve when I bought yesterday's Argus and found this in the centre pages...


It's me and the Mayor! I'm not the chap dancing with her, I'm the bloke in the background, dead centre, wearing a denim jacket and red shirt. You can tell it's me because I'm the only one looking at the camera rather than the dancers.

The Argus managed to spell the Mayor's name wrong, and called the musical act in the Pavilion Gardens "a string quartet", which is interesting as there were five of them plus a xylophonist, but other than that, it was a top quality report.

And my local fame didn't go unnoticed. I received a text message from Lisa's sister at half past six last night which read:

"Did you go to the Theatre Royal celebrations? There's a distant figure in The Argus that looks like you."

I replied that yes, it was indeed me, and congratulated her on her ability to pick me out in a photo of hundreds. She replied:

"I thought who is that man craning his neck to get in the photo, oh it's Phil."

That woman knows me too well.