fnighorn strikes again . . .

. . . Or does she?

I didn't sleep well last night because I sensed knew that after defying the publicity-shy geriatric delinquent and splashing her name all over cyberspace yesterday she would be out to get me, and I kept having this dream that I was falling . . . falling . . . falling from a great height, out of this world and into the withered but still fearsome arms of she whose name I must not say . . .

. . . but it was already too late; she was there, waiting for me to lapse into the arms of Morpheus, and that was when she got me . . . not with her beloved skateboard but a shiny new scooter . . . then with a maniacal laugh she was gone, leaving a group of young admirers to pick up the pieces, laughing and pointing at me and taking photographs, until . . .

. . . I had to get out of bed to answer a call of nature, stepping carefully to avoid the scooters, before realizing it was only a dream. There were no scooters, nor any taunting juniors - although in retrospect I am sure they were really quite nice lads, better behaved than some of their elders and their laughter was probably more sympathetic than taunting - but with no photograph to support my story, who would ever believe me?

And so, dear readers, when you look at the empty rectangle above, where such proof might have appeared, please imagine the scene I have endeavoured to place in your minds, of an event which never actually happened (. . . or did it?) and perhaps with our combined mental powers exorcise the memory of the dreaded ms fn.......

Oops! I nearly said her name; I think a cup of tea is called for to help me recover my senses. Please excuse me while I have one.