Calm down, he’s not dead, but let’s face it, he’s no spring chicken……. he’s an ogre, and even ogre’s have to die some day, so bearing that in mind I’ve made a few more purchases with his Debit Card, one of them being this lovely headstone and a burial plot at St Nichols Church in Blakeney.
I’ve left instructions that in the event of his passing, he is to buried with a glass of Pinot, a packet of Marlborough Reds, a copy of the Times and the I (for the damn crosswords that he abandons me for every day while he solves them in the bath) and a photo of yours truly.
In the meantime, I’ve decided to try and make some money out of the old boy by signing him up as the new face of “Stannah Stairlifts”. They want Helen Mirren, but I’m sure these publicity stills I knocked together will convince them otherwise.
He’s going to need the income to pay for a few more purchases I’ve made on some very desirable property in the area. The barn should be fine – I’m still waiting for that million fish sticks from that African prince I emailed a few weeks ago, but the ogre’s short on cash, and I really want that boat. I’m going to call it “A lick and a Prayer” or “Monty’s Tub”
I’ll use it to take tourists out to visit the seals at Blakeney Point, and thereby gain my independence from this cursed tyranny of human domination. There’ll be no dogs allowed, however, I don’t want any rivals after all.
In the meantime, I’ve sent off job applications to Morrisons and North Norfolk Council Refuse Collection. I’m sure even the ogre can manage to scan a Weetabix or lift a bin into a truck – let’s face it, most days he smells like a bin bag, so he should feel right at home.
Then we he’s worn out from all these new jobs I’m supplying him with, out of the kindness of my heart, I’ll purchase a few props to keep him going.
Sniff you later