I've had to walk to the Theatre Royal for the last three days, Petals. Yes, you've guessed it, my mode of transport has been stolen from outside me sad old pensioners' two-up, two-down in Acomb.

Now who, you may ask, would want to steal our wheelie bin? I'm going to be controversial and suggest it's a police conspiracy.

Three times they've stopped me two sad old pensioners from pushing me to the theatre in me wheelie bin.

The first time they said there was too many passengers in the bin, so I no longer go to work with the dog Jessie and Mrs Fitzackerly (to be fair to the police she is a big northern woman). The load is now lighter, but still the Chief Constable of York is not happy.

The second time we got done for having no lights on the bin; so I strapped lighted candles on top of me pensioners' heads. The trouble with this is that every time they go over a hump in the road the candles blow out.

The third time the police fined us was for going too slow. When I heard this I clambered out of me bin and really gave the officer in charge a piece of my mind. "Strewth" I exclaimed, "can't you see they're pensioners, they can't push me any faster."

It's not just me who is suffering because of this dirty deed. I used to let me sad old pensioners borrow it to get their pensions and go to the chippy for their Sunday dinner.

If the police haven't got me wheelie bin and it has genuinely been stolen, then please keep any eye out for it.

It's very distinctive - it's all black and has two wheels!

We're halfway through the pantomime - it's traditional by now for me to have paid a visit to the York District Hospital, as a casualty.

Me son, Martin Barrass, was there last week but it had nowt to do with the show.

Let me digress; as many of you know, Martin made me a grandmammy earlier this year. Now I was breast fed on Newcastle Brown Ale and now that you can get the same stuff in bottles, I suggested he fed me granddaughter Megan on Newky brown.

But no, he has to do things his way, so there he was half asleep at three in the morning making this piping hot milk for Megan when he missed the bottle and poured the whole lot over his foot. I know I'll get letters from concerned parents, but I am void of sympathy for me only son.

If he'd listened to his mam he could be skipping through his performance on two legs instead of one.

I'm thrilled with the audience reaction to Beauty And The Beast - he absolutely loves it, bless him! I spoke to him afterwards in the bar and he said he's going to recommend it to his wife.

On the strength of this, I just know the Theatre Royal management are going to ask me to do the millennium pantomime. But what will the title be?

Does it have to be a traditional title? Does anyone care what it's called?

Is Martin Barrass too old to play me son? Will Suzy Cooper and Juliet Howland suddenly marry their stockbroker boyfriends?

Will Blaise Doran ever play anything but an idiot? Will our luvvy villain David Leonard ever forget he was once an actor?

08/01/99

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.