I was wearing
brown trainers with visibly fluorescent-orange soles when I met the Queen in Berlin. I shook her tiny gloved hand but can't remember what I said to her. What I do remember is shaking the Dukey Ed's hand... which was fucking huge, but not as intimidating as Gerhard Schröder's bear-like grip. Big Phil then made a fairly dodgy comment about my heritage (Northern Irish), I burst out laughing and so did he. No sooner had I shook the limp hand of Jack Straw than the reporters from the tabloids pounced on me and asked what Phil had said. I told the truth. Then spent the rest of the day worrying that M15 or some equally lethal spooks would track me down and 'make it look like an accident'. But they didn't. I flew home the next day and have lived happily ever after.

Why was I there? A conference on climate change. To be honest the only good thing about it was a sexy girl from Devon. Oh and it was my 18th birthday. Nowadays, an eonic 2 years later, my memory is jogged only by hearing Buck Rogers.

We'll start over again
Grow ourselves new skin
Get a house in Devon
Drink cider from a lemon, lemon, lemon, lemon...
(deljani riggweltered yer ma, Thu 3 Aug 2006, 15:35, Reply)