Music To Drive Dogs Crazy

It has been a beautiful few days here in North Wales. Few places on Earth look as good when the weather is just right. When the sun catches the crests and curls of the sea and a breeze comes in off water with an invigorating aroma able to bring fresh resolve to lowest spirits, I'm happy that I made Bangor my home.

Yet it is common knowledge by now that The Chipster had a bad Monday. I think we’re all on friendly enough terms to admit that I can be a bit moody. You have probably come to expect these occasional lulls as I go to my corner and sulk about all that’s wrong with the world. You also know that they pass, eventually, and I spring back into the common herd, my thong sparkling like a beacon of goodness.

And this is when I’m usually at my weakest.

‘Chippy,’ said Gabby as I sat down at the breakfast table. She ran a finger over my neck and under my chin which totally distracted me from the Times crossword. She knows, you see, that I’m quite ticklish, and I felt weak and foolish when I gave an involuntary giggle as she touched that point of my neck where I’m most vulnerable.

‘What is it my love, my world, the reason my heart occasionally murmurs?’

‘You promise you won’t shout?’

‘And what reason would I have to shout on such a beautiful day as this?’ I asked before I spooned some Alpen into my mouth.

‘Well, you usually get annoyed when I ask you if my sister can come and stay with us for a few days…’

A raisin ricocheted off the toast rack and went flying out the window.

‘Gabby? You don’t mean…’ I gasped.

She went to tickle my chin again but this wasn’t the time for it. I parried her finger back with my spoon.

‘She’s coming up today and I said she could have the spare room.’

‘But Gabby?’ I began…

But there was nothing I could say. Looking at that face, with the old scars from the many razor fights of her youth, I couldn’t say no to my dear Gabby. Just as I couldn’t say no to you, my dear thonglateers, should you decide to come to visit North Wales’ top stripper. I could only hope, however, that if you ever did invite yourselves, you’d be good enough to leave your twin at home. Especially if your happens to be called Monica.

‘Gabby!’ she screamed as they looked at each other across the concourse of Bangor station.

‘Monica!’ screamed Gabby.

I’d slipped behind a telephone kiosk, where I’d hoped to be safe from the effects of these lethal sonic weapons fired in an enclosed space. But these were the advanced models. They seemed to transmit the coordinates of their targets by telepathy. No sooner had Monica finished kissing Gabby sister than she turned to me.

‘Chippeeeeeee!’ she screamed and came rushing at the kiosk which I swear jumped out of the way leaving me in the open.

My legs buckled as one half of a Romanian’ supergroup threw herself at me. Before I even hit the floor, my face was wet with kisses.

I could only take it in good humour and try to break free from her hold.

Back on our feet, I didn't feel like I'd just taken part in the Romanian version of WWF Raw.

‘It so good to see you!’ Monica squealed.

‘It so good to see you!’ squealed Gabby back at her.

‘I have much to tell you,’ squealed Monica.

‘I have much to tell you too,’ squealed Gabby.

'You look lovely!' squealed Monica.

'You look lovely too!' squealed Gabby.

'And doesn't Chippeeee look good!'

'Chippeeee look very good!'

That’s when I knew that no matter how much the sun might shine, this is going to be a long long week.