This morning I sat through another shift at the museum. Come on people, why not pop in and learn something? What about you madam? Fancy a trip through history? No?

What about you sir? Yes you. Why not save on your mobile phone charges by spending an hour on our premises? No?

Hang on madam. That child of yours needs an education. Bring your little barbarian in here and put him off to a good start toward civilisation. No?

And who is that woman who keeps walking past the museum in the same direction? Is she going around in circles for fun or is she hopelessly lost?

Just at the point when depression and boredom was bringing me to the point of despair, Young L turned up. At last. He might not be the brainiest guy in the world but after hours of isolation on the front desk, start talking mate. You will talk. We have ways of making you talk.

"Me Sir? No Sir" He replied in a silly voice. Erm... What? It turns out that was a quote from Jar jar Binks, a character from the Star Wars films who was probably an agent of the dark side only no-one noticed because of his silly accent and idiot behaviour. I reminded Young L that I was holding a pencil. It could get painful if he doesn't stop reminding me of the mental trauma that character imposed upon me. Sadly I was unable to act on my threat of physical violence when I discovered that Young L has been made the Front Desk Boss. Passed over for a football player? What is the world coming to?

Naturally when discussing Star Wars the discussion inevitably arrives at Yoda, the loveable old muppet that trained the Jedi Knights to feel the force and find out who their fathers were. Ben Kenobi? Don't make me laugh. He didn't last the first film. On the other hand, Yoda reached a respectable 900 years of age.

"But he's only one foot tall" Mentioned Young S, one of the Front Desk Knights defending the museum. Yes, well, you see people shrink with age, S. Yoda was probably eight feet tall at your age. I wonder how tall I'll be in 850 years time? Minus six feet I waould guess, though Young S assures me the russian wonder pill that makes people live for eight hundred years is almost ready for sale in the west. So could I be a frazzled green goblin wielding light sabres in mortal combat when I get old? Might need some fitness training.

Wrong Button

Years ago I took a young lady friend for a joyride in a cessna 150. Those aeroplanes are very compact, let me tell you, and snuggling up to an attractive woman is probably one of the best reasons for wanting to be a flying instructor. However, on this occaision she was wowed by the array of dials, levers, and switches on the panel in front of her.

Well... This does that... And that does this... I have no idea what that button does so I never use it. Safety first.

I see on the news that an airline pilot did use that button and immediately lost 6000 feet of altitude, almost flipping upside down in the process. Good grief. Am I glad I didn't mess with the wrong buttons. I remember that at the end of one such joyride I reminded the woman that the step on the landing leg was very small and if you miss it, you'll fall off the aeroplane, which was exactly what I did. There you go. That was a demonstration of what can happen if you climb out of an aeroplane in a clumsy fashion. I hope you were paying attention because I won't be repeating it. She looked at me with new found dismay.

On Parade

That was a hot day, especially at this time of year. Even late at night I was still sweating profusely.

There I was, minding my own business, walking along the pavement without a care in the world, when up ahead a line of men all dressed identically in black jumpsuits and large chrome zips approached in a line, shoulder to shoulder, like a parade of the Special Hair Service. It was the strangest thing I've seen in quite a while, I can tell you. No idea who they were. Don't really want to know. Do have fun, chaps. Somewhere else though, okay?