Charity

CHAPTER 8 – Charity Begins At Home

So Jane decided that we should go to Edinburgh. I don’t mind. I like Edinburgh – it’s got a castle and a shops and stuff – and going there is a good cause, but then she said she wanted to do a charity run.

“To Edinburgh?” I said.

That went down well. Now I’ve got to bend over twice as hard. Make poverty history. Clear the debt. Me, I’m all in favour. But I can’t really think about it at the moment.

My brain’s a turmoil. I was enjoying doing this so much. It seems like I’ve only been doing it a few weeks, and while I feel a tremendous sense of loyalty to Lord Insight – he’s been a great support and I’ll always remember that business with the… well, never mind about that, but there’s a freedom of contract issue. I’ve got to think about the future. I’ve got a wife and kids and you never know what’s going to happen. I could get injured. Anything.

The thing is, I’ve been approached by Chelsea. Seems Jose Mourinho thinks that his midfield could do with some laconic sarcasm and I can see that. He’s got two tricky wingers, the perfect holding player, a ’box-to-box‚ dynamo’, but once the ball’s in the box there’s no one to supply that all-important sarcastic one-liner.

“Call that a cross? I’ve seen better crosses in a desecrated church”.

He thinks it would take some of the pressure off Didier Drogba, who’s been having some problems adjusting to the English language.

It could be true. You don’t know. Football’s a funny old game and if Brighton can avoid relegation, anything’s possible.

Talking of the seagulls - and it’s seamless links like that that Lord Insight pays top dollar for - regular reader(s) of this column might remember last month I wrote about a seagull nesting on our roof. Curiously for a column - and this is possibly in contravention of the rules of the Columnists Union - it was true. It started off as a kinda cute story, a bit of a distraction, but it’s turned out to be a right old stress.

A couple of weeks ago, I looked out of the window, saw the parents and there, in the nest, was a small fluffy spotty head sticking up. Fine. All good. Then… nothing. For nearly two weeks I didn’t see anything. No small fluffy spotty head, nothing. I couldn't quite see into the nest, couldn't quite see what was going on, but you’d think that he’d have had a look around. It might well be that the baby was having a bit of a rest. Pecking out of a shell must be an exhausting business. But I was worried. Maybe - and I hadn't considered this - the baby has been bought by Chelsea. I did read something about that in the tabs and, thinking about it, it is true that Mourinho's team don't have a baby seagull in their line-up.

Anyway, this morning there he was. He looks awkward, like a kiwi – go and look it up on the web. All bottom and no wings. Waddling around on our roof while the parents look on, thinking that this is the best looking, cutest thing on any roof in the whole of Brighton.

“I know everyone probably says that, Henry” says the mother. “But just look at him. “I think he’s got my beak. And maybe your ears.”

“That’s very funny. My ears. That’s very funny. I wonder” says Henry. “Do you think maybe we should get him signed up for an ad agency?”