WINSFORD

I may live in Winsford but my head lives in Cuckoo Land...cUcKOOMy name is Winsford I have my own Asda supermarket and a super duper railway station, but sadly no 24 hour garage so you're bolloxed if you want petrol after 11 me old cock sparra..............Anyway, I'm working on a new story about Winsford as seen through the eyes of Bob the bus driver from Hemel Hempstead. Bob sets out for work on Monday (down in Hemel of course), but he's 20 minutes late, he's been up all night, he ate too much fish and his belly is killing and to top it all off he had no Andrews liver salts so he had to suffer good and proper. All the passengers are moaning cos he's late and some little b* on the back seat is eating chocolate gateux and wiping his dirty fingers on the windows. Bob makes a mistake at the roundabout and ends up stuck in conjestion by the traffic lights in Winsford town centre (you know the ones, there's a tyre place or something there). Anyway, one of his passengers, who goes by the name of Hilda (a nice understanding lady brought up through the hippy era who also lived a past life in the early 16th century) suggests they all get off the bus cos it stinks of fish. The kid with the chocolate fingers, who by this time has made friends with Bob and wiped all the chocolate off the windows with a hanky he lent of Hilda, suggests they hop accross to the town centre so they can sample the culinary delights and discuss the local urban architecture, anyway it's p**s**' it down and Hilda doesn't want to get her hair wet, she's had to use food colouring this morning cos she couldn't afford a hair dye,even after dedicating 50 years of her working life to the state, mind you she got a watch, that's how she knew the bus was late so she got something back at least. Anyway they all toddle accross the road and in to the town, where a joyous time is had by all, it's just like Christmas except there's no coloured light bulbs hanging up. Bob manages to get a big box of fish and saves a full 12pence on the prices he's been paying down in Hemel, the chocolate fingered kid has got more cake and Hilda manages to nab 5 packs of hankies for the price 10. Everyone is well happy and the sun starts to shine like a mutha. Bob calls a halt on the shopping when he suddenly realises he's left his bus illegally parked at the traffic lights. They'd been having so much fun an' all. As they approach the bus they are met by the cheif of police and surrounded by 15 armed response vehicles (some drafted in from as far away as Lancashire and Cumbria) then surrounded by 35 local town dignitaries singing 'for he's a jolly good fellow' , Bob's made up, it's not even his birthday. The chief holds out the hand of peace, love and understanding and awards Bob and all the passengers a blue and yellow rosette with the words ' I shop Winsford' embroided in black, Hilda is made up, the cotton alone must be worth at least 20 pence, she can flog it for twice the value on ebay when she gets home to help pay for her internet line rental. Everyone claps loudly and the chief orders all the local dignitaries to hand out free lollipops to all the youth and children within a 5 mile radius providing they can provide 2 forms of iD, a breath test, a DNA swab and details of their whereabouts between the hours of 2 and 3.30 on Saturday morning. Bob gets his picture taken by all the paps that have gathered around the bus hoping to get the million dollar picture. "go get 'em Bob" shout the local onlookers. The chief offers Bob safe passage out of Winsford and through surrounding areas and sends a crack unit ahead to make sure there's no badgers or rabbits on the road that may hinder Bobs progress on route. The bus heads off into the sunset and it starts p*****' it down again. The local dignitaries put through a proposal that Bob should have his own personal bus lane made to commemorate his visit, they can cut bin collections to monthly to pay for it, plus it can be used by cyclists,joggers, people in wheelchairs and mothers pushing prams between the hours of 1 and 2 in the morning. Everyone's a winner.....It is of course fiction, make of it what you will because you will make of it what you will anyway, you will won't you??? Anyway, think of it as Ballamory for adults.Cheers for adding to the site.