|Thank You, Thing|
Having been dead for 25 years, I was hardly in the mood to celebrate the arrival of 2012. I saw the fireworks exploding over the hills (well, one anyway. In fact, it could’ve just been someone lighting a pipe outside the White Lion in Machynlleth) and I simply wasn’t stirred.
So on the first day of the year, when I saw the familiar blue car cresting the hill, my heart sank. Coyote and Roadrunner. They were bound to be laden with feather boas and vuvuzelas; and Coyote might even be wearing a kilt. Kilts only just about suit Scottish men with hairy knees. The thought of a Swansea boy wearing one made me blanch. I wasn't having them jumping all over me like two over-excited puppies so I kindly told them to leave.
Surprisingly, they did. They turned and left without a fuss. I figured they must've been feeling a little rough around the edges after the festivities.
However. Shortly afterwards, while I was minding my own business and looking for images of naked ladies in the clouds, I felt something strange on my head...
One of the little devils (I think it was Coyote) snuck up on me from behind and placed over my shrewd eyes...a hat. Yes, a soggy silver party hat which I initially thought was a deflated two-tone balloon stuck on a piece of cardboard (see, I knew that watching Blue Peter was good for something). Judging by the pink feather, I believe they may have liberated it from Chris Needs’ wardrobe. Either that, or they found it under a car outside their hotel. They didn't even bring me any haggis or whisky pizza. To say that I was disappointed was an understatement.
When they finally left in a heady cloud of Tuffins coffee steam, a chill swept over me. A new year has dawned. A year of Coyote and Roadrunner's antics is bearing down on me like a dark cloud of foreboding. Who knows what they have in store for me this year? My spies at the BBC have told me that they're going to get me something from Abergele at the weekend...
Oh, woe is me.