The most spectacular reception (not BBC1)

And so, thanks to an unknown philanthropist settling some disputable debts and bringing cheer to the “Oooh poor me I need a holiday by the seaside and hot food” orphan-types, I am returned from my travails.

In my time a-roving our spinning globe I have seen many strange and disturbing sights, so I was pleased to enjoy the rapturous welcome home party put on for me by Club Derrig. Everyone was there and kicking up a right old rumpus and necking supreme-quality cava and cassis (a ‘Cherry Fizzbomb’ is the correct term I am advised). Roistering and exuberance in excelsis was the order of the day.

One of our very own - Lady Amanda Kendal - was there in the guise of a potpourriazzo, snapping away for what I am sure will be an exclusive lengthy photo-essay in one of the upmarket celeb glossies.

I can’t recall a time when the Club was so densely packed with well-wishers and admirers, thronging together in the most joyful and companionlike way. It was standing room only, and a lengthy queue at the door for those prepared to wait for someone to leave and make way for them (fire regulations, you know). Several times my elbow was jogged by the crush of jostling revellers, leading to cherry fizzbomb (accidental) spillage occurrence incidents, but I maintained my poise.

What a merry - if overcrowded - band we all were!

Except of course for Mr.Thomas, who was now returned to his lowly position of BarSteward, having been lording it over the Club in my absence. Never has someone been so lax in so many ways: letting the levels of Jagermeister fall below a good evening's-worth of drinking; persisting in forcing his team of stewards to expose themselves to the horrors of dermatitis through his neglect of the bottle-washing equipment; and the loss of reception of BBC1 - the Queen's own broadcasting system - on the bar television, meaning I had to forego the pleasures of Eastenders and the One Show during the celebrations being held in my honour!

Never have I seen someone look so glum, save the time when he had the nerve to try and fake a whiplash injury in my vehicle as I dragged him from the near-to-exploding burning wreckage, in spite of the many and dreadful injuries I had myself sustained.



PS - For those of you fond of the temporary international header to my webblog journal, here it is for posterity.