JaJa99. No 59. Thursday 14th November 2019

Have you ever, in an idle moment, wondered what it might be like to be shipwrecked on a desert island? In the unlikely event of this happening and just two of you survived,  who would your perfect companion be? Would it be a friend or lover, same sex or opposite, younger or older, British or foreign, a stranger perhaps and hope for good chemistry?

My perfect companion would definitely be a beautiful, slender, blonde about twenty years younger than me and still able to undertake the more arduous tasks that might prove troublesome in my dotage! She’d be sexy, practical and highly intelligent. After all we are together 24/7 for the foreseeable future and the art of conversation is going to be crucial if we’re not to drive each other stark staring bonkers. Ideally it would be someone I had just met on the cruise and sparks had flown without any intimate contact. We would have all the time in the world to let a relationship blossom and flourish, only committing to physical love once we were sure that wouldn’t scupper the burgeoning partnership.

Of course you have arrived on the island with nothing. Condoms and other preventative measures are now secured in Davy Jones locker. Would you practice time-honoured Roman Catholicism or let the Devil take the hindmost and worry about pregnancy when it happens? That thought would probably keep me chaste! (Sadly it is a long time since I have been chased). The thought of polluting my tropical island paradise with another argumentative, stroppy, temperamental, self-opinionated teenager is too much to bear.

Do you have a PC in mind? Or have you yet to find the Perfect Companion?

A friend of mine recently got done for parking in a supermarket “Parent and Child” slot when she was clearly alone. Disgraceful! I wagged a shocked finger and showed little sympathy at her financial plight. Whilst driving my darling 12 year old daughter home from a brilliant hockey win yesterday, we needed to stop at Tesco to purchase some provisions for her long journey to Derbyshire today. The only spaces available were five empty “Disabled” bays. Figuring it would only take us five minutes, the chances of four disabled drivers arriving in that time seemed mildly improbable so I took a chance. We actually took six minutes as said daughter lingered to decide which two smoothies, with knitted woollie hats, to take. The extra thirty seconds that wasted were all it needed for the Hungarian Traffic Warden to issue the dreaded ticket. His nationality is of course irrelevant, other than the fact that it’s easier to hate a foreigner and if Boris The Bountiful wins, they will all be sent home anyway. Or not. To be fair, he was very apologetic and offered to note the situation. I have written a begging plea of mitigation for the £70 to be waived, but I am not overly hopeful. Serves me right for my lack of sympathy towards a potential PC.

Meanwhile, daughter has made it to Repton School for the IAPS National Hockey Finals. Photos of the squad of nine romping around their Premier Inn in Burton on The Water (currently Burton underwater) suggests a fairly high degree of excitement. I just hope they sleep!