sweet effay

Well, it’s all over, but the effects of ridiculous amounts of eating and drinking, combined with too much television and sleep deprivation brought on by the Little effay’s hacking cough are still having their effects.

Last night I dreamt that The Little House on the Flatlands was under threat of attack by al-Qaida. As a precaution, the guards from Kinnear’s house in Get Carter were positioned in the surrounding trees. Unhappily, my distrust in them proved to be correct when they started shooting at me. Whilst I was spraying them with bullets from my trusty machine pistol, al-Qaida launched a double-pronged attack on the house in a great big yellow tank, and a flatter armoured vehicle, strangely reminiscent of the Millennium Falcon, which burrowed up through the foundations. Running alongside these vehicles were the evil terrorists’ foot soldiers who, interestingly enough, turned out to be heavily armed Clangers. Flight was the only option, so I set off as fast as possible with the Clangers hot on my trail. We ended up racing through the centre of Salford, which had altered out of all recognition; in fact I recognised it as Trollope’s Barchester. Nevertheless, I could tell it was Salford as The Fall’s ‘Bingo-Master’s Break-Out!’ was booming out from all sides.

Unhappily, just as the tension was really mounting, I was awoken by yet more coughing and so will never know whether I would have had to put a bullet through Tiny Clanger’s brain; thereby causing myself years of unconscious trauma.