The Fag Hag ended up getting a stern going-over last night when she found herself on the wrong end of the law. Sadly I wasn’t filming the opening scenes to a fabulously 70’s ‘chickawowwow’ porno, I was innocently driving along in my car (ahh, remember Suggs before he went all bloated and school run?) en route back from Fag Hag Mum’s.
As I found myself singing along to Lilet Allen’s ‘The Fear’ in a sort of loudly enthusiastic tone you’d expect to hear from Geoffrey Rush in Shine I saw some blue lights flickering frantically behind me. Oh dear, what dirty Bertie has got himself in trouble with the Fuzzettes this time? I wondered idly as I pulled over to let them pass. Suddenly that truncheon was a mere inches away from the Fag Hag’s face.
‘Is this your car madam?’ ‘Why yes!’ I replied in a manner not unlike Emily Howard. ‘May I ask why you were driving so fast?’ I toyed with sticking my tummy out and inventing a phantom pregnancy but decided it would get way too traumatic if he believed me so I went for the less fashionable option – the truth.
‘Well I want to get home.’ First I had my wisdom tooth out and it’s throbbing like Aiden Shaw in a Viagra factory I had to stop myself adding. He looked totally unmoved. So it was time to bring out the big guns. ‘And then this spot appeared. Look at it!’
The policeman suddenly frowned as he caught sight of the Amy Winehouse crack sore on my face. ‘Oooh , nasty. I’m really sorry about that,’ he said, wincing with horror. And then let me on my way.
So it’s official. I now have a spot so bad it’s legally admissible in court as evidence of diminished responsibility. I’m almost gonna be sad to see this baby go.