Return to Reality

The last week of March I spent at the Foreign Office, being quizzed on the performance and how it went and what it involved. There was certainly a lot of interest! People would come in and go out and then another set of people would come in and go out. There was talk of a diplomatic incident, although I can’t really take the credit for how the populous of that nation reacted to our departure home. It was a team effort, although if pushed, I would have to say my puppetry during Mid Summer Nights’ Dream was something I would be proud to have on my CV, and any future employer can explore at length my Bottom.

The problem which also dogged me was Melvyn Hayes, who was under instruction from a Columbian Cuddley Toy Cartel to smuggle in as many toy penguins as he could. Imagine my surprise when his body scan revealed over fifty eight of these items hidden in his rectal passage. The image of poor Hayes being led away by guard to literally have the stuffing taken out of him is something which will live with me for a long time, as is the imaginary image of him placing them there in the first place.

I returned to my flat to find absolutely no trace that Dick Van Dyke had been there and set an elaborate trap to force me to meet my maker. This was a tremendous relief to me; as readers know I have had a rather heated dispute over a set of pajamas which went missing in Greenwich dry cleaners and which subsequently I saw on an episode of Diagnosis Murder; it seems Van Dyke is biding his time.

London is something of a bump to reality when returning from a foreign tour. No one here comes up to me, let alone chases me, and to some extent I feel lonely, unappreciated and neglected.

I must ring Nicholas Parsons today.