Today I saw the Queen. She is very short. She arrived in a helicopter, which made me very jealous because I’ve always wanted to fly in one. Then I went back to the office and designed a 12-page supplement with many, many, many pictures of her and Phil the Greek. Now my eyes hurt and I hate her hat with a passion. The supplement looks excellent, though.

Should I send my optician bill to Buckingham Palace?

Am I a bad parent? Before you all rush at once, you gits, let me explain.

Our Youngest Lad is rather fond of K9. He grins and pays attention when he spots the Tin Dog on screen (those who know the boy will know he couldn’t pay attention if his life depended on it and, being a teenager, grins are few and far between).

Ambling through Woolies today The Folically Challenged One and I spotted a super duper remote control K9 and agreed it would be the perfect pressie for him.

Now, we’ve already bought his pressie – it’s one of those This Cost A Bit So It’s The Only One You’re Getting type of pressies so we agreed we shouldn’t buy the Tin Dog.

The reason I’m wondering if I’m a bad parent is this – I’m going to ask my mum and dad to buy it for him for Christmas cos I really REALLY want to play with it!!

Got a warm, fuzzy feeling while wandering through Ottaker’s book store on Saturday.

A little lad, no more than seven, ran to his mum and nan, eyes shining with excitement, and declared at the top of his voice that “there’s a Doctor Who book and you can make a CYBERMAN!!!”

“How sweet,” thought I, “Nice to see the next generation of Whovians being born.”

Then I darted across and bought the last copy of said book for my nephew for Christmas before ‘mum’ or ‘nan’ got to the display.

I am evil (though as far as young Tom is concerned, I am the best auntie in the world).

Wow – what a week…

By the time I got to Friday I was ready to curl up in a ball and whimper the weekend away.

Keith and I should be in Brogdale, supping on the finest ciders, eating bread and cheese and enjoying live music with Jean and Bill. But we’re not…

I shall talk you through my week.

Last Thursday our youngest picked up a headache which wouldn’t shift. He’s not a lad to complain of being ill and when he does it’s usually a doozy – I should have guessed.

Headache was still there on Friday and I noticed he kept tugging at his mouth.

Why? said I.

It feels funny, said he.

I kept an eye on him on Saturday and by Sunday he still had a headache, his mouth “wouldn’t go where it’s meant to be” and when he blinked his left eye wouldn’t close properly and his eyeball did its own thing.

One mad dash to hospital followed.

Now, we only have a walk-in centre (no A&E as the government decided a town of 100,000 people, right next to a major airport, couldn’t possibly need one) but they were brilliant and saw him quickly.

The doctor started to use words like ‘stroke’ and ‘tumour’ and, if it wasn’t for the fact it would have terrified the wee lad, Keith and I would have fallen to pieces.

“He has to go to casualty in Surrey” says the doctor.

“We don’t have a car” says us.

Ohshitohshitohshit – thank you very much, Labour bastards.

In stepped The Godfather (Adam) who didn’t need asking twice and drove us up to Redhill and sat in the hospital (which I know he hates) to wait for us. (I always have said our choice of godparents was top notch).

The boy, uncomplaining, went through a thorough inspection. He was poked, prodded, had things shone in his eyes and ears, answered questions even though he was dog tired and was pretty fantastic.

Turned out he has developed Bells Palsy – a paralysis of the left side of his face. He will have to go to hospital every week until it clears. They reckon three weeks for it to start to clear but it could be months before he’s back to normal.

All he seemed to care about was the fact he can now raise one eyebrow (something he’s always wanted to do). Kids!!

It was nearly 1am by the time we all got home and Keith and the wee one took Monday off.

So, a stressful start to the week.

On Tuesday, just as the paper hit deadline and we were all ready to go home, there was an almighty crash outside and a horrible scream. A young girl had been hit by a car – and it was nasty.

While half the office panicked, the other half ran outside to help. I think 100 people, inside and out, called 999.

Meanwhile, in the next office, the manager had looked out of the window, taken in the sight of the poor girl and the large amount of blood and passed out, whacking his head on the fire extinguisher on the way down.

As first aider I spent the next half hour helping him – he was more embarrassed than hurt – while listening to the sound of the stricken girl crying as the paramedics did their work.

I admit to feeling a little queasy by the time I got home.

But I’m full of praise for the folk of Crawley – we had so many people drop in on Wednesday to ask if we knew how the girl was doing. (She’s hanging in there).

And to add to all that, Andrew hasn’t rung.

Two weeks and the little sod hasn’t checked in!!!

I know that means he’s doing fine and is too busy to worry about his mum and dad, but jeez…

Here’s hoping next week goes smoother, though if Jamie keeps scaring the girls in his class with his freaky eyeball, I’ll probably spend it ‘discussing his behaviour’ with the headteacher…

Once upon a time there were seven strange people.

Their names were Keith…

Adam…

Karen…

Andy and Jane…

Andrew…

and Jamie…

One day, they decided to get on the train and go to Hyde Park for the Last Night Of The Proms.

But before they even got to the station Andy had a very close call.

He, Jane, Keith and Andrew were driving along in his little car when Keith spotted something scary.

A big, hairy spider was crawling up the back of Andy’s shirt – a VERY big, VERY hairy spider.

Keith wondered what to do – should he ignore it and hope it went away or should he alert Andy to his peril and hope he didn’t crash the car whilst trying to deal with the arachnid.

There was a chance of course that Andy would flick the spider into the back of the car and Keith didn’t want that to happen – it really was a scary-looking spider – so he sat back and twiddled his thumbs and watched the spider creep closer and closer to Andy’s ear.

They arrived at the station, parked the car and all got out.

Then, being a good mate, Keith said ‘There’s a little spider on your shoulder, Andy’ and waked off at a very brisk pace with Andrew.

Behind him, Andy was screaming like a woman and flapping madly at his shoulder, hopping from foot to foot while the spider held on for dear life.

Finally Jane picked it up and put it on the ground. It ran away.

Andy puffed his chest out in a manly fashion and tried to look butch, but he had blown it and the others giggled at him behind his back for the rest of the evening.

After an uneventful train journey they arrived in London and trotted off to Hyde Park.

Despite taking a ridiculously long time to get into the park due to the etremely questionable organisation, once they had settled down in their chairs they were feeling very patriotic…

The programme promised that Terry Wogan would be hosting the evening and it was agreed among the group that Big Tel was a good bloke who would be amusing to listen to.

But before Big Tel took to the stage they were forced to endure the ‘talents’ of Chas and Dave and Chico.

Andrew was less than impressed…

But finally The Mighty Wogan took to the stage and the evening became amusing and entertaining with good music aplenty and refreshments within easy reach.

Despite his great age, Lionel Ritchie – he of 80s fame – bounced around the stage and sang some songs. He was very good.

The moon came out… and it got a bit nippy.

Andrew, Jamie and Adam all tried to wrap themselves up in the same blanket because they were wussy’s.

The stage looked very pretty in a spooky, the-aliens-have-landed kind of way…

After much patriotic dancing and flag waving and singing at the tops of their voices during Pomp and Circumstances they all went home.

The train was very VERY crowded and by the time they got back to Crawley Andy was begining to wish the spider had eaten him – it would have been less stressful.

But overall, they all agreed, it had been a fun evening and Terry Wogan is to be admired and not mocked.