Chappy

There are things that my Girrel says that make me pinch myself in disbelief at how lucky I am to have her as my girrel. She sent me an email the other day. We were both in a bit of a strop with the 9-5. To relieve the stress, she suggested that we handle it in a really mature manner by smashing some windows! Now before anyone picks up the phone to dial the police, said target would have been a disused shed in a field some where. The idea was perfect. Our plan now for next weekend is to buy lots of plates and cups from a charity shop and introduce them to gravity and a rather large brick wall. (I'll be taking my brush etc so that we don't leave a mess).

It's the kind of thing that you want to do when you're a kid. It reminded me of playing "chap-door-runaway," more affectionately known as "chappy." One instance sprung to mind that involved my little brother and I. We'd just finished dinner at our aunt's house, and for whatever reason, none of our friends would "come out to play." Rather than head back indoors, I suggested to Johnnie that we have wee game of chappy. It was winter time, the street lights were on and I can remember Johnnie was wearing Magic gloves. Don't get excited. Magic gloves is a bit of an exaggeration. They really should have been called stretchy-man-made-fibre gloves, but that doesn't have the same effect. These are the gloves that look like they're made to fit a 4 month old, but some how "magically" fit most* adult hands. Not only did Johnnie have Magic gloves, but he had day glow orange Magic gloves. Walking down the street all you could see was the glow from Johnnie's hands kinda like the guy from the Readybrek advert.

Being big sister, I flipped the first couple of letter boxes. Once we'd gotten our breath back from running away from the 4th door I decided it was Johnnie's turn. I pointed to a door that had a wall next to their path so that it would be difficult for them to catch us. Johnnie plucked up his courage and went to rattle the door. I poised on my tip toes getting ready to bolt. Unlucky for Johnnie, the letter box was a pushy-inny rather than a flippy. Ooops! I'm standing there, staring at my brother shouting "come on! Run!" And this wee voice screams back at me "I can't! My glove's caught!" He'd pushed the letter box too far in and it had sprung back on his finger! I had to go round the wall and free his finger and Magic glove from the letter box. I'd never laughed so hard - Johnnie never played chappy again!