It was 9am and the sun was setting. It was at this point that I realised my watch had stopped, so I resolved that I would get it fixed by the Great Wizard of Birmingham tomorrow morning – or afternoon, depending on what time my watch decided it was. Since I was under the delusion that it was almost time for brunch, I had already missed lunch and afternoon tea with the queen. I hadn’t been invited, but I figured she’s a nice gal and wouldn’t mind me dropping by for a quick cuppa and a chat. I wondered what type of tea the queen would drink. English breakfast one would assume, although that’s only ever good for breakfast. Why do people drink a tea named after breakfast throughout the day?
As I was wondering these unimportant questions, there was a significantly more important event taking place in the field behind me. I had no recollection of how I came to be in field, but I was glad to be there. I was glad just to be out of the house, what with the dog always moaning about something or other, this or that, chalk and cheese. So what if I’ve left the remote inside the microwave, it’s not going anywhere is it? It might if I’d have bought one of those microwaves with legs and artificial intelligence. They’re cool. My nan had one once, or at least she told me she did. It was hard to believe anything my nan said, as she was a compulsive liar who was very good at dominoes. She didn’t know how to play, but she’d throw them at you until you declared her the winner. I tried that with darts once. It’s odd seeing a 60 year old man with belly piercings.
Anyway, I was in this field. It wasn’t a great field. Quite muddy, as some fields are. I had my Wellington boots on. These were my dark grey boots with pictures of my favourite Womble painted on. I walked over to where a bunch of grapes were lying and picked them up. I ate one and didn’t explode, so I ate another one. I offered one to the man sat next to me whose picnic it was, but he was more interested in shouting about my boot being in his trifle. I’ve never understood innuendoes. I picked one last grape and made my way over to the school. It was sports day, and although I didn’t have any children to speak of, I had been invited to perform my world famous stand-up routine after the events, before the awards were given out. I wandered over, and gave in to the urge to heckle one of the children in the egg and spoon race.
“Ha! You dropped it you moron! You’re pathetic, you little twerp!” I shouted. Some might say it was a bit mean, but I think kids need to learn from an early age that if you’re not good at something, don’t do it. This is the philosophy I have lived by, and I’ve never been skiing, nor have I had any relationships with girls for that matter. Still, I felt pretty pleased with my contribution as I walked on over to my stage. I say stage, it was more just a piece of cardboard on the floor with a few lights badly painted on it. Still, I’d worked in worse venues.
As they finished the final three-legged race, it was time for me to take centre stage. I must point out at this point that I had never done a kids show before, and most of my material I had stolen from Bernard Manning. Safe to say that the act didn’t go well. I started off by insulting a small Indian kid, then moved on to the Chinese girl, the fat boy and the Ukranian gym teacher. I was booed off before I’d even got to my joke about the one-legged Italian waiter, with the majority of the audience crying, begging me to stop, and the rest hurling various cups of squash in my general direction. All in all a good day’s work I thought.
I asked for my pay, but they insisted that I wouldn’t receive a penny of their money because I had agreed to do the performance for free as it was a charity fundraising event. They also told me that I would be invoiced for several sessions of psychiatry for the children. As I sauntered back off to my van, I passed the picnicking couple again. I nodded to them, and they stuck their fingers up at me. Not all of their fingers, just a select few. I got in my van and drove off home. I decided to stop off at the chip shop as I was on a diet and wanted to get off it as soon as possible. The chip shop owner refused to serve me, as she was too busy trying to free her daughter from under my van. I swore I never meant to hit her. If I’d had know she wasn’t a cat, I’d have swerved. Still, everything all looks the same when you’re drunk on power.