So… I’m on the phone tonight arranging a trip into town for Manchester Pride tomorrow and I hand it over to the missus to arrange the details with our mate (she’d spoken to him before on the subject). And he mentions – in passing – that he was there last night and that Belinda Carlisle was playing and that he “sort of recognised her from the ’80s”. The divine flame-haired temptress of my youth and she didn’t even leave a light on for me! Why do I feel like that time Homer Simpson failed to see Mr T at the mall? I pity the fool! The fool is me, alas.
Anyway, next weekend, there is an opportunity for me to see a joust, the Red Arrows and Alan Titchmarsh all on the same day at Chatsworth.
I’m not missing Mr T at the mall twice. That would look like carelessness.
I think I ought to draw the threads together here but I just can’t. Can you? I can’t… So take it away Ms Carlisle…