Speechless

It has been a long day...

It began when I woke at 4.30am. Bob knows why. Nervous excitement or something.

Today I was a 101 year old Hungarian, saggy breasted burlesque dancer.

It was a voiceover for a comedy puppet show set in a rundown hotel.

Speaking in low gravelly tones took its toll however and towards the end of tonight's rehearsal for Twelfth Night, I burbled full on gibberish in an Italianesque accent.

My brain is jam. Black cherry jam. On toast. Mmmmmmm...zzz...zzz...zzz...zzz...

Are these my feet?

Waiter this Waldorf's orf

Both of my daughters used to go to a Waldorf Steiner school. Now I would consider myself a fairly open, laid back sort of guy, however...

He himself, old Rudolf, was a complete fruitcake.

Thankfully only one is left there. She enjoys it, on the whole and would be sad to leave.

There are those amongst the staff and parents who would consider sweets and television to have been created by Lucifer or some other demon in the cupboard.

The black crayon is considered sinister and kept from children until they are 93 years old, in case it attacks their delicate sensibilities.

They love to partake in the esoteric 'eurhythmy' until their minds turn to sponge and start their day with some gibberish burbling about the sun.

Oh, and they ask for around £300 per month for this wonderful 'education'.

Avoid this salad in order to stay healthy.