Some of the more inquisitive among you have questioned the reasoning behind my wearing a pair of stripey woollen socks on the tired old antennae when seeking inspiration for new acts of naughtiness.
I'm not too sure myself to be honest, but it usually does the trick, whether due to subtle stimulation of me wee green cells or the placebo effect of "magical thinking". One thing is for certain; I never have to resort to pleading for a second helping at the dinner table as Auntie P knitted them and is proud to see them on display.
Having said all that, I have been thus festooned since New Year but am still straining the swede to concoct a caper fit to put the crew back in the headlines after what was a shameful hiatus in 2013. There are certainly things to be sorted, right on our own front door.
Ambrose Day is just over a month away (5th March - put it in yer diary) and this year we want to extend our festivities of riotous misrule into the community and possibly across the globe. The deep fat fryer at Empress Pamela's Chinese Chippie needs its filters blasting out (I think the remains of a zebra hide are clogging it up) and the harmonium could do with an early spring clean.
Honestly, the keyboard is an absolute disgrace. It looks as if someone has been playing it while demolishing a tin of Quality Street. I have my suspicions. Daft bro Mordecai suggests I "tinkle on the ivories then give them a wipe over with a Scott Joplin piano rag". That is definitely one of Groida's old jokes and I am sure the cheeky sod put bro up to it.
That is why, dear reader, I am the sole mouthpiece of Team Ambrose and the rest of the bunch are kept safely at the periphery. Keep the faith.
