Diana In Heaven

The Big Man has brought in a new scheme to help make everybody’s deathday even better. He’s put together a catalogue of special powers and if it’s your anniversary, you get to choose one that you can have for one day only.

So anyway, last week the honour fell to Syd Barrett and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s turn. Barrett opted for the ability to swell his head up like a balloon so that he could float above everyone and fart clouds of pink gas everywhere. He looked like a twat.

Meanwhile Sir Arthur took advantage of the extendable handlebar moustache. Once applied to the face, the wearer can extend to the length of a hundred feet within a couple of seconds. Sir Arthur used it to catch the dead ones out of The Golden Girls and gently lick their faces before letting them go again. Cheeky bastard.

Back on Earth, my family made a few bob from selling off some of my old stuff the other day – heirlooms, works of art, anything that Burrell hadn’t been able to squirrel away.

But thanks to my ingenuity the best stuff is safe and sound. I’m talking about the painting of the dogs playing billiards, the limited edition 56-sided Rubik Cube that Chas gave me for a wedding present and, most of all, the signed 12″ of We Close Our Eyes by Go West.

You’ll have to dig up the Memorial Fountain to get your grubby little mitts on that lot – and I am always watching…

Just been chatting to St Peter – administrative snafu meant that nutcase Moat wound up at the Pearlies hoping for a VIP pass.

But Pete – old pro that he is – took one look at his file, one look at him and said ‘sorry mate, no trainers’.


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