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| Ken's Saucy Sofa | ||||||||||||||
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| I've had many, many fascinating visitors on my saucy sofa in my time. I will try to relate a few of the more outre tales that have been spilt over the velour upholstery! | ||||||||||||||
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| One wet Wednesday winter's day I heard a knock, knock knocking at my door. It wasn't a raven, as I had initially expected, but instead was Mrs McClusky from Grange Hill. I invited her in from the cold, wondering why she had chosen mine of all doors to rap upon. She told me that after she'd been given the boot from Grange Hill, she went off the rails and became an OFSTED Inspector. We had a coffee and a round of Twister, and then she asked me a personal question, to which I replied, "No, but I do have some corned beef in the cupboard." | ||||||||||||||
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| It was a sparkly, dew-filled Wednesday afternoon and I was combing the cheeseplant when I caught sight of a familiar vision through the venetian blinds of my portakabin windows. It was none other than my good friend Mr Ricky Tomlinson! He was just passing by on his way to cure sick children at a convalescent home, but I managed to drag him in and we had a jug of stout and yakked about the spread of myxmatosis amongst peacocks and who our favourite one was out of The Backstreet Boys. | ||||||||||||||