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Chardonnay Moments


I occasionally have Chardonnay moments when suddenly I realise the sheer crassness and the often terrible stupidities and futilities of life around me.
I have begun to record the thoughts that accompany these moments and I am in the process of putting them below for others, like minded or not, to read, comment on and submit thier own rants if they like.

Do enjoy and do take the below like life itself with a large pinch of Sel de mer de Noirmoutier.

If I offend:
My work here is done!
Mea culpa





14/12/08

Deck the chavs with bows of holly

tralalalalalalalala

Tis the season to be jolly..........

Well, it's the run up to Christmas with the last lap in sight, pass the baton and run like hell towards 2009!
The streets are filled with more shoplifting chavs than you could possibly shake a truncheon at, the office party refugees are pouring themselves like walking wounded in and out of pubs, while the more inebriated and less capable are squatting outside shops with damp knickers and a viscous trail of snot hanging from nose to scuffed patent red leather shoe via chin, knee, back of the hand and gold plated ankle chain as they tell their concerned friend, between the occasional gob of vomit, "I knows ee's a bastard, Sian, but I loves 'im"
While Sian, who is wearing Xmas tree baubles as earrings and a pair of bouncing reindeers on her over made up and over laquered head, has her alco pop and cider coated tounge firmly down the throat of her married line manager, still manges the occasional, "and 'ees seeing that slapper from wages", all the while pushing the line managers sweaty hand further up her already thigh high skirt.

Carol singers are vying with Big Issue sellers for the small change while the Salvation Army and Charismatic (a misnomer if ever I heard one) evangelists are slugging it out, spiritually speaking, for the best spot in which to tell anyone sober and or interested enough about the sky fairies ( which they spuriously base their sad existances around) who will pour God's love down like warm honey upon the righteous while possibly you and, almost certainly I, will rot in hell for not bowing down and genuflecting (spectacles testicles wallet and watch) before the sky fairies hero, the Comander in chief, Joe Heva, his second in comand, little Jimmy Miracle, and his chief Ringwraith, the Holy Ghost.


Sadly I now have to take my daughter into the above mentioned Gomorrha for her own Christ (almighty!!!) mas shopping.

I have no doubt that I will be able to pour some more vitriol (mine's a large one) upon the cyber parchment of this page because of this trip.

Until then, Gentle reader, adieu!








Newportonian Swavster
(Lord of the Swavs)

(Swav: South Walian average as opposed to Chav: Cheltenham average)



Yep!!!

So, back from the affray that is the City centre of Newport and I am a sadder and more cynical man.
I was actually approached by a member of the BNP who was handing out leaflets to all and sundry (well, all white and sundry).
I explained that A, I would rather go to a bloody church than read his nazi propaganda and B, if he did not bugger off there and then I would tell the bunch of young asian lads walking down the street that he had called them Paki bastards.
Discretion being the better part of valour this nationalist affront buggered off in the general direction of away at a rate of knots.
Thinking that I could relax a little and grab a coffee while waiting for daughter and her chum to finish Christmas shopping I wandered into Starbucks figuring that at these prices the great unwashed shirtless tattooed Swavs that inhabit Newport with their crop top fanny pelmeted Playboy bejewelled girlfriends might be tempted to stay in McDonalds or some other fast food emporium and discuss the vast amounts of wkd purple nasties they had consumed at club whatever the previous night, I ordered a regular coffee.
I took my cup to a table near the back of the shop not wanting to pay £2.25 to sit on an Ikea sofa at the front window pretending that I was Chandler Bing while Chavs, Swavs, pimps, chimps, Geezers and Gangstas walked past staring at me like dickenzian urchins looking for a pocket to pick.
I began to sip the coffee and thought that I had probably got away with it when the nutter from the bus came and sat by me.
I knew it was the nutter from the bus even though I have not caught a bus in many years.
I remembered him from my childhood buses and my teen buses.
He had not changed at all and I suspected that there may be an extremely ugly picture in his attic.
Possibly he may have been a third or even fourth generation bus nutter, carrying the olympian torch of insanity onto buses that would have seemed like mobile palaces to his mad forebears.
He sat down before asking the question: "No one sat here then?"
Well, yes, I said to myself, there bloody well is now!
I thought: "If he mentions God, Christmas, shopping crowds, Gordon Brown or photography I will tell the manager that he has made sexual advances towards me and I would like him removed"
Bugger had a different tack: He farted loudly and pointed at me!
I drank my scalding coffee in one swift and painful gulp and left.
Back out in the cold streets of Newport I trudged wearilly to the rendevous point to meet daughter and her chum.
I remembered the crap joke about the terrorist who advised a chum to not go to Newport on Friday night, "Why" asked the chum, "Is there to be an attack"? "No" said the terrorist, "It's a shithouse".

Until the next time, Peace and Love, Lawson



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16/12/08





Take That, take this and take the piss





Over the past ten days or so I must admit that I have been a little lax in the old household chores department and not really keeping to my part of the domestic drudgery contract.

It’s not my fault: I have been attempting to de-grumpify myself and get into the spirit of the festive season by joining in the over indulgence currently sweeping the nation in the run up to Little Jimmy Miracle’s birthday on the 25th, and at the same time do my bit for the beleaguered independent breweries whose under appreciated work force are at risk of redundancies in the current economic climate!.

(I say the past ten days but, truth be told I actually began in Cardiff on the 5th of December with a few like minded friends, a birthday boy and a couple of dozen Brains SA 2 for 1 beer tokens)





Anyway, I said to Wifey, “Wifey, I have been a little lazy over the past day or ten and would appreciate it if you gave me a little list of chores to do tomorrow on my day off” Knowing that this would go some small way towards her treating me a little less like a leper and a little more like a mere Pariah, I smiled a satisfied smile and went to bed.



(Now, don’t tell Wifey – yours or mine - but domesticity is easy:

Bung a pile of washing into a machine, take dog for a walk.

Take washing out of machine, hang it on the line, take dog for a walk.

Bring it in and iron it while watching a decent DVD film/concert etc. take dog for a walk.

Run hoover around the house, put hoover away, take dog for a walk.

Morning out of the way!!!

Do a little shopping, Prepare dinner take dog for a walk

Afternoon out of the way Easy!!!)





I awoke to find my list:





Just the one chore:





Get 2 Take That tickets












Now, I have nothing against Take That and indeed I suppose that they must be able to sing or at the very least entertain as they do seem quite popular.

I thought to myself, if wifey wants to go to the Millennium stadium and leave some DNA on a seat while watching Take That, far be it for me to complain!





Easy,

I thought to myself.



Then I was told by Wifey that the tickets would go on sale at 09.00h precisely and that there would be huge queues on the phone lines and the website.





So, I thought, I can sit on my arse; get tickets and “Take That” dog for a walk.

Preparation is all: Nice cup of fresh espresso, pump number into phones ready to simply hit the re-dial button, access website as second option and wait until 09.00.





I visited the stadium’s website to get said phone number and web address for tickets.

There were three different phone numbers (four if you counted corporate hospitality which started at £160 per ticket which I swiftly discounted) and three different websites for tickets.





OK, I have three phones, 2 cordless for the land line and one mobile, and if I click 2 extra tabs out on the computer I can have access to the three websites.





No problem!





I proceeded to do this and got three different numbers programmed into the phones and three websites ready and waiting.





Right, make coffee, sit down, do the business and take dog for a walk.





Piece of pi r squared!!!!





08.57 - 08.58 - 08.59 - 09.00!!!!! GO!!!!!






























I hit the re-dial buttons on the phone and the mobile at the same time, next I go to the first website and start to press the appropriate buttons, the site instructs me to wait while I am being logged on, OK, go to the next site and do same, I listen to the engaged tone on the land line and an ansaphone message on the mobile, hit the other land line’s re-dial button, curse, hit the hang up button on first cordless, re-hit the redial button on second landline, open third tab on screen up to find that this site has crashed due to the amount of people trying to obtain Take That tickets online, listen to the engaged tone on second landline, hit the off button re-dial the first landline, hit the mobile’s redial, and go back to the first website.

I am asked what tickets I would like, I press the “Best available” option and whiz to the second website which has crashed due to the amount of people trying to buy Take That tickets online, listen to the engaged tone on the second landline and to another ansaphone message on the mobile, hit the off buttons and the re-dial buttons again and look at the first website which tells me that I need to log in if I wish to pay by credit card (how else am I going to pay on line? Stuff used tenners into the back of my computer and hope that the cyber faeries take them to the ticket agencies own computer?)

I begin the laborious process of becoming an account holder and plug in my details, name, address, age, sex, phone number, mobile number, works number, weight, birth sign, height, favourite food, best before date, do I want to receive information from affiliated third parties wishing to sell me cucumber blower uppers and so on and so forth to the nth degree, all the while hanging up and hitting re-dial buttons at a rate of knots.

Engaged, ansaphone, engaged, site crashed, ansaphone, engaged, Orange (not Jason) informing me that I have run out of credit and asking me to dial the top up number, put email address here, retype email address there, enter password here, not long enough, I thought F U 2 as a password was, under these circumstances, at the very least appropriate, please re-fill the highlighted error boxes, re enter password between six and 16 letters and or digits, site crashed, engaged tone, coffee cold, dog howling for walk, engaged, headache coming on, dog howling, engaged, site back up and running, what tickets do you require (Take bloody That tickets you cretinous piece of cyber filth!!!!!)



Suddenly!!!!!!!



Computer crashes, I howl louder than the dog, engaged tone, re-hit redial button, throw mobile at howling dog, get computer back up and running, re-enter site, asked for password, curse, curse louder, remember password, enter it, curse louder still, enter correct password, hit re-dial button, engaged tone, throw landline at howling dog, and look at an offer for bloody Oasis tickets that has suddenly appeared unasked for on my screen, curse loudly, dog legs it, I hit back button on computer and now the screen asks me for my credit card details, I frantically enter them, and I am told to wait.





I wait





I wait



I wait





I wait a little longer, the dog peers around the door, looks at me and, realising that I am going mad, legs it again, the screen jumps into life and tells me that for £44.04 x 2 for tickets + £4.40 x 2 service charge + £4.95 delivery = £101.83p I can now send my wife and daughter to the Millennium stadium to watch Take That in seats that are about seven miles from the stage, come with oxygen masks due to the altitude and, no doubt, be given the right to pay £15.00 for a Take that hot dog and coke.

And I just know she will buy a Take That T Shirt and extend our mortgage to pay for it!!!





Still, at least the hell that has lasted for the past 2 hours is over!





Tickets: £88.08





Service and post: £13.75



Total: £101.83





So, almost 15% on top of the original price for the privelege of buying and paying for my own tickets and never once talking to a human being.





I once queued for 60 minutes to obtain a half a dozen Bob Dylan tickets that I bought from a real person who said please and thank you and did not once ask for a service charge!!!!!

The times they are a changing!!!









Let’s Take That dog for a walk.



Peace and Love,

Lawson











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20/12/08

























The Saturday before Christmas,

























Cardiff City 1 Lawson 0






I was forced into doing the last minute Xmas shopping for Wifey.


Now, I have been getting this wrong in spectacular fashion for the last 20 years.


I have, however, learned a couple of things in that time but mainly, in all honesty, I was not paying enough attention to the teacher and could really have learned more!

























THINGS I DID LEARN:


I learned that Wifey (well, women in general) does not have a sense of humour when it comes to the “Amusing” present and I cite the following as examples:


The Typewriter (1993) the ironing board (1997) the iron (1998 – to go with the previous year’s ironing board -) and the cutlery set (2001) to name but a few.

























THINGS I DID NOT LEARN:


Stop buying the “Amusing” present!

























This year however, I decided to not get it wrong and demanded that Wifey supply me with a present list and send daughter with me to keep my “Amusement” quotient in check.

























I got the list and read it: the usual suspects, Perfume, a bag, a purse, and etc and then, I spotted lurking at the bottom of the list, those words that send shivers down the spine of every man in my position (the crap present buyers position) who has had the sense to demand a list: “ AND SURPRISES”!!!!!

























I asked for a list to avoid bloody surprises, I do not do surprises!

























Head bowed and money in wallet I headed for Cardiff to obtain the list and surprises.


I went to Cardiff as I can no longer stand the horror that is Newport (see above grumpy old rant) and I wanted to have a little more choice than the great British cloned high street of Newport can offer.

























We arrived in Cardiff quite early, around the 10.30 mark and headed for

Queen Street
via the arcades.

I was horrified to find that I was being accosted every 30 foot by a Big Issue seller wearing a Santa outfit with a sullen and mangy dog wearing similar:

























“Ho, Ho, Ho, Big Issue, Sir?”

























“Ho, Ho, No thank you, I cannot condone begging as I am a socialist and feel it incumbent upon the Government to keep people above the poverty level in order to keep beggars off the streets.”

























“Working not begging, Sir”

























“Declaring the income then?”

























“What?”

























“If it’s working then you should be declaring it as an income to the appropriate department of either: Inland Revenue in order for them to process and calculate your earnings for income tax or to the Department of works and pensions in order for those civil servants to deduct the appropriate amount from your Job Seekers Allowance.”

























“Not on JSA, Mate, I’m on invalidity, sickness benefit and Disability Living Allowance, too ill to work.”

























“Obviously not the case today, though, is it?”

























What?

























“Well, you have just informed me that you are working not begging.


Therefore, by the use of logical reasoning, I can only conclude from the statement you posited, that you are “too ill to work”, that you have either miraculously recovered from whatever ailment recently laid you so low that you were incapable of employment or that you are indeed earning an undeclared income and defrauding the benefits system which I support via my wages.


For working, by your own admission, you bleeding well are!”

























“Piss off you twat”

























“Twat with a home, Matey!”

























So, with that off my chest I go shopping.

























First port of call, Boots the Chemist for some of their finest perfume.


I am overwhelmed by the vast array of fine perfumes on offer.


Thankfully I have Daughter with me, who at the age of 12 going on 25 can be blamed for any errors I may make.


30 minutes later and smelling sweet I proffer a lot of sovereigns to the lady behind the counter and point at my choice, “That perfume there” I say.


“Ah”, she responds “that box is the shower gel, the perfume is £100”


Now I realise it’s cheaper than a 1926 “Macallan Fine and Rare” whisky which comes in at around £1,500 per shot but I am still shocked by the price.


I start again at the more reasonable end of the market and still manage to spend an awful lot of my beer tokens on Wifey’s perfume.

























After the above mentioned foray into Boots I think a coffee and a sandwich would be appreciated so Daughter and I saunter off in search of a decent eatery.

























Sidestepping yet more Big Issue sellers I am confronted by a solid wall of people who are standing stiller than the “street artist” who has spent at least three hours applying enough make up to look like a statue and then stand stock still for minutes on end with a pot on the floor in front of him for the public to throw money in.































Every now and then a child or a drunk will go up to the artist and stare at him at point blank range, the artist then slowly moves into being and induces a chuckling guffaw from the fascinated crowd by taking an age to slowly shake hands with child or drunk and then point poignantly at his "begging bowl".


Crowd throws a few coins in and the artist regains a statue pose once more.


Drunk picks up statue’s pot and statue suddenly moves faster than Sebastian Coe on Senakot!


Wall of people part like the red sea as drunk is pursued by irate statue.


Seeing a break in the wall I quickly exit the scene in the direction of a café.

























“Are you open?” I ask the chap putting chairs by tables directly outside the café.


“Yes, he says, “just opened now”


“Good, may I have a tango, a coffee and a couple of cheese and salad baguettes please?”


“Er, no, not yet, the barman’s not here yet and the chef is late”


“Any idea when they might be here?”


“Well, the Chef’s a bit temperamental so I can’t really say and the barman’s had a bit of a row with his boyfriend so he might not turn up at all”


I ask if he can recommend another place to eat and he responds,


“Well, there are a couple of cafes in the arcade but, quite frankly, they are not as good as we are”


“Really”, I reply fully expecting this conversation to develop into a parody of the Cheese Sketch from Monty Python’s Flying Circus.


“No, and they are a bit dirty as well”


“Ah, probably contaminated by food”, I say and depart leaving the waiter staring blankly in the direction of puzzled.

























After we eat at a very decent café in the Morgan Arcade we go off to finish our shopping.


We buy a CD, book, bag, purse, & etc until the list is cleared.

























As we walk slowly back towards the railway station I notice the Big Issue seller I had been discussing socio-economics with earlier in conversation with an oddly familiar drunk.


“Yeah” says the drunk, “I didn’t think a fu***ng statue could move that fast! If it wasn’t for the fact I knew Boots had a side door for deliveries he would have caught me”


They chortle and pass the biggest bottle of White Lightning cider (AKA Tramp Juice) I have ever seen in my life back and forth to each other.



































Still, shopping is over and daughter and I have had a very pleasant bonding few hours while completing the list.























I might just get it right this year.

























Even got the surprise presents.

























Hope wifey likes the lawn mower!

























Until the next time,

Adieu sweet reader, adieu!



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22/12/08



Holy Moley Christ almighty





I noted that a recent report from the Bible Society has claimed that church attendance will fall from the current 1,000,000 attendees to around 88,000 by 2050.


However, in defence of the strong arm of the church, the Reverend Lynda Barley, head of research and statistics for the Archbishops' Council, said the figures represented only a "partial picture" of religious trends, adding: "Church life has significantly diversified so these traditional statistics are less and less meaningful in isolation."






















I am still trying to decipher that one!!!






















She went on to say: Attendance at Church of England cathedral services has been growing , while church groups have attracted new congregations by holding meetings in venues such as pubs or at car boot sales.






















Now I don’t know about you but I have never once been asked to sing The Old rugged cross, (though I did join in a powerful “Guide me O thou great Jehova” after a particularly memorable Welsh rugby win over England), remain standing, pray, genuflect or kiddy fiddle a choirboy in any of the boozers I drink at or whilst haggling over the price of a socket set sans 5/16th socket at a car boot sale.






















But I digress.






















So, in about 40 years (holy wars have lasted longer) we will see more empty churches that you could shake a Crosier at and atendances down to single figures in some places!






















What does this tell me?






















Well, for a start, that people seem to be fending for themselves rather than pointlessly praying for divine intervention over such issues as “Lord don’t let me be pregnant because my husband has had the snip and he will discover my infidelity and kill me” or “Dear Lord Jesus, I pray thee please let the boss make redundant that atheistic bastard Jones and not me” and “Hey, Lord, could you find it in your divine heart to stop babies dying of AIDS in Africa”






















It will also mean that there will be a lot less peodophiles in vestments, dog collars and cassocks being transferred from parish to parish whilst evading the retribution of secular law.






















I forsee a time coming soon when priests will be made redundant as the poor old Church of England and the Holy See of Rome run out of the money they have extorted from generation after generation of the gullible.


A time when these two will be forced into an unholy marriage of convinience in order to continue the stipends for the hierarchy of the churches.






















This in turn will cause more schisms and scions than were formed at Constantine’s Council of Nicaea in 325 AD when Christ was first deified by democracy as scores of righteous bible bashing translators prove themselves to be right and all else to be on the verge of eternal damnation.




















It will be the end of the church as we know it!!!










































So, jolly good show I say!!!!



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02/01/09



The Satuday after Christmas



Hoist the main sale





Actually, despite being dragged by the wallet to the sales, Cardiff was not that bad today and I was only forced into grumpiness on a couple of occasions



For example:



Waiting to pay the car parking fees while being forced to stand in line behind people who do a number of very annoying things when parking at a Pay and Display car parking area:



1/ Forget to have the right change



2/ Have any bloody change



3/ Ask the people waiting teeth gnashingly in line behind them if they have any change



4/ Say such things to thier partners as "I thought you had change, Darling"



5/ (when finally obtaining the right change) say "How do you do this?"



WITH OPPOSABLE THUMBS YOU CRETINOUS SIMIAN THROWBACK!!!!!



Eventually, after what seemed like enough time for the people in front of me to evolve as far as the Neanderthal era I was finally able to insert the correct amount of change swiftly into the machine and allow the poor sods standing behind me to do the same.

Though as I walked away I swear I heard one of them say:

"I thought you had change, Darling"



After we had walked the short distance into town we began to look at the shops.

Not go into them mind you, that's a bit too bloody easy, but to look at them and decide which one to go into first!



So;



We walked up St. Mary Street.



We walked down St Mary Street.



We went into the St. David's Arcade.



We went out of the St. David's Arcade.



It was about this time I pointed out to Wifey, after she asked why I had not spoken for the last ten minutes, that I had noted the average time lapse between being passed by stupid South American hat wearing Swavs was ten seconds.

She in turn pointed out to me that I was no longer simply grumpy but that I had indeed had become Obsessionally grumpy!



Well, I have been accused of worse (living in Pedants Corner for example) so I was quite able to rise above that one.



Into the Queens Arcade.



Out of the Queens Arcade.



As we were walking along, down, up, past, through, around, over and under every shop in Cardiff I was asked by an oddly familiar drunk who was with an oddly familiar Big Issue vendor:



"Gorreny spare change, Mate?" said the drunk with breath that had so much alcohol on it I feared he might spontaneously combust.



"Well, it really comes down to how one defines "Spare" change, doesn't it?"

I replied.



"I mean, is the change I have "spare" because it is currently unspent or is it not actually "spare" despite the unspent nature of the coinage, as I do indeed have a future use for it?"



"Piss off you Twat" said the Big Issue vendor, "You was here last week wasn't you?"



"Sadly, yes" I said as I walked on, over, up, down, through, in and out of every street in Cardiff.



Wifey and I ended up in Debenhams where I spent an obscenely large amount of beer tokens on new cuttlery.



That was it!



New cuttlery!



I had to lug five kilos of steel tableware around, in, out, up, down, across, over & etc until we arrived back at the Pay and Display car park where the car was some four hours later!



We got home and I took the dog for a walk.



He did not ask me for spare change, he did not inform me that I was obsessional and did not drag me pointlessly around shops.

No, he licked my hand and ran around me in happy tailwagging circles.



Speaks volumes doesn't it?



















Until the next time, Dear Reader, fare thee well!



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21/05/09

Canine capers!



I was happily watching the television recently when Oliver, my youngest, said, "Er, Dad, I think you better come and have a look at Monty"

Speak up I said I have not got the old hearing thingy in.

He repeated and we went to look at Monty.



Monty being the delicate little Cavalier King Charles Spaniel that I inherited from a colleague who was sadly unable to look after him.



Now, Monty has been to the vets on a number of occasions recently due to his penchant for acquiring pulled shoulder muscles: "These should see him right as rain in a couple of days, Sir" said the Vet as he handed me a prescription for doggy Ibroprufen in one hand and a bill for £60.00 in the other!!!

So I was a little worried that my hard earned beer tokens would once more be going in the direction of the Vet's bank account rather than into the till at Wetherspoons!!!



Monty was lying on the bottom part of the stairs with his little tail wagging and his big moon eyes looking cutely at me.

In his mouth I noted something hard and pink with bits of metal sticking out at very odd and broken angles.



Oliver legged it into the kitchen as he saw the look of horror on my face when I realised that the little bugger was chewing on my hearing aid!



As I put my hand forward to see if I could salvage it the little sod had the temerity to growl at me and refuse to give it up!



(Tell the RSPCA if you want to) I smacked him across the snout hard and he yelped loudly, obviously I didn't hear it!

I held the wrecked aid in my hand and noted that the ear insert mould was at least OK so I would only have to shell out for a new microphone.



I called him some names and informed him that the next time he pulls a bloody muscle in his shoulder he will be lucky to get Tesco's own brand Ibroprufen and a squirt of Deep Heat linament spray!!!



I think he got the message as he stayed out of my way for the rest of the day!



Wifey found the whole episode amusing and my daughter was annoyed that I smacked him but at least my son managed not to smirk, it being quite close to his birthday!!!



Until I sort out a new hearing aid I trust you will forgive me if I say "What?"



Until the next time,



Fare thee well.



Easter Crackers
Or
A Very Happy Hallmark To One And All!!

Whilst by no means a religious person I must admit to a certain horror when my children asked could they have "Easter Crackers"
Easter what? I spluttered hoping against hope I had misheard as the old hearing thingy was in the kitchen, as opposed to in my ear, for the duration of Corryenders or some other such mind numbingly boring piece of televisual garbage.
Crackers, Dad, Easter Crackers they repeated.
Now as I said, I am not a religious person but even I could see satanic cracks appearing in the satin and sack cloth fabric of the Holy Secular Continuum.
I mean, if there is a god and a devil, it's precisely this sort of Hallmark holiday hi-jacking that must annoy the former and amuse the latter!

My daughter, ever the pragmatist, wondered what they contained.
Pieces of the true cross? I suggested,
Glow in the dark Rosaries?
A tooth of Saint Apollonia?
My son, ever the pralineist, suggested a chocolate Jesus.
Perhaps they have prayers instead of jokes my wife suggested.
I remembered "Lucky Bags" from my youth and recalled pulling out the rare piece of paper that said you have won the star prize, ask your shopkeeper to help you.
Not unlike the Golden Ticket from Charlie and the chocolate factory except the shopkeeper directed me to the cellophane wrapped plasticene rather than informing me that I was to become the heir to a vast chocolate empire.
Perhaps, I ventured, following on from my Lucky Bag revelries, there is one lucky cracker that contains a miracle, a genuine miracle that can be used as a tool for the good of mankind over the Easter period while we celebrate the holiday by re-enacting the nailing of a bloke to a tree.
I would use the miracle for an endless supply of chocolate Jesus' said my cocoa addicted son.
My daughter wanted a five bedroom house possibly in order that she can distance her post pubescent self even further away from the bosom of her family.
I thought my closet Christian wife would possibly redeem the family by suggesting something beneficial for the planet.
She said a six bedroom house with a double garage that contained a BMW and a Smart car.
Probably thinking along the lines that the fuel sensible Smart car would balance out the BMW's ridiculous consumption, rather like a large bag of chips and a diet Coke!

I took the dog for a walk and decided that mine would be for peace, love and understanding.

Now, that would be a bloody miracle!

Until the next time....