Crystal Bollocks

Curiosity got the better of me last night and I dipped in to 'Cilla Live' on Living TV to see what the artist formerly known as The Queen of Television, also known as The Fag Hag From Hell, was getting up to. It was a terrible mish-mash of all the things she used to do quite well but are now done so much better by people like Graham Norton.
But it did contain one of the television highlights of the year. I missed Cilla's introduction but I'm sure the man was described as "a leading international clairvoyant", because they always are; their trade union insists upon it. What followed was the funniest thing since the Phoenix Nights episode with the incompetent psychic Clinton Baptiste. People in the audience looked baffled as unknown family members called Jack or John tried to communicate with them. At one point, Cilla, realising he was dying the death so to speak, said wasn't he good ladies and gentlemen and there followed a smattering of applause like a light drizzle falling on a perspex roof.
The highlight was when he asked a lady if she knew someone called 'Ann' who was anxious to speak to her. "Yes!" said the lady. But just as the poor man was about to relay Ann's messages from the other side, the lady said "But Ann's still alive!"
Oh, what bliss!
There were also the usual 'Surprise, surprise' reunitings and I rather wish I'd requested one myself. Back in the sixties, when Cilla was topping the charts with her unique brand of Nasal Pop, the school bus was sometimes overcrowded and I had to sit on the lap of a boy in the year above me. In fact, he always insisted I did so - sometimes, mysteriously, when the bus wasn't even full. As I bounced up and down on his bony knees he would look into my eyes and sing "You're My World", which was Cilla's Number One at the time. Maybe he was going through one of those phases one hears about.
You're my world, you're every breath I take
You're my world, you're every move I make
Other eyes see stars up in the skies
But for me they shine within your eyes
he would sing, putting his hands on my shoulders to keep me upright as we went round corners.
On a good day he sang it loudly enough to drown out the boy behind us who, by popular request, would sing about twenty verses of a song that began:
Good morning, Mr Robertson
God Bless your heart and soul
I tried to shag your daughter
But I couldn't find the hole
Ah, those far off days when childhood still retained the innocence that has been so sadly lost today.

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The Adventures of Carlo Episode 27

When I went into the library after breakfast I found a letter to the vicar on the Davenport. I must have written it late the previous evening.

Dear Vicar

I trust you will accept that I did not 'instruct' Carlo to use the expression which has so distressed you. I must have muttered the phrase to myself when you rang the bell. You had, unwittingly, called at an inopportune time as I had just cut my finger on a tin of anchovies and Carlo was helping me staunch the flow of blood. Furthermore, we have recently been plagued by what might be called bogus carol singers, mostly children from the council houses in Springer Road. When I have chased them away, their language has, I assure you, been much worse than anything you heard from Carlo.

I very much hope that your account of your reprimand to Carl Higgins was an abridged version. If not, it has some worrying implications. I trust you pointed out that the phrase 'Paki bastard' was offensive on more grounds than its factual inaccuracy. And I trust you made clear that the noun was as inaccurate as the adjective. Also, I fail to see the relevance of the Phillipines being a Christian country. I hope young Carl was not left with the impression that it is acceptable to abuse people from non-Christian countries such as the Indian sub-continent.

Perhaps in future you would be kind enough to give me advance notice of your intention to sing carols and solicit money at my front door. I can then ensure that your cubs, beavers, etc, will not be exposed to the kind of language that they undoubtedly use every day of their lives.
I should also be interested to know what value of donation on my part would ensure that the church bells remain unrestored and forever silent. With all due respect to your well-known love of campanology, I have to say that the past two years have given me the Peace That Passeth All Understanding (Phil.4:7, but I suppose you know that).

With best wishes for a happy Winter Solstice,

William Lupin

I tore the letter up and put it in the bin. The last time I had a feud with the vicar and cast aspersions on his beliefs he had prayed for me at Evensong and I had received several Get Well cards. Instead, I would make a carefully worded non-apology next time I bumped into him in the Co-op biscuit aisle.