As my more loyal readers will know, 2009 wasn't the happiest of years here at Swipe Towers. Not only did the year bring your humble scribe more than his fair share of chronic health problems, it also saw me become increasingly estranged from my beloved wife, the glamour model and puppeteer, Roberta Swipe.
Yes, one way or another, it was a pretty tough year for the old Swipe ticker. No sooner had I recovered from what subsequently proved to be a fairly severe silent cruciate embolism (or knee trembler, as it's more commonly known) than I had my heart broken good and proper by the former trouble and strife. I was barely out of the neck brace before I was forced to endure her public canoodling with a barely distinguishable procession of lithe young mannequins. Things reached an insurmountable impasse between us when she was seen emerging from a topless bar physically entwined with the mini Iggy Pop from the insurance commercial only hours after having publicly proposed to Lamb Chop live on air halfway through the Shari Lewis Show. Then, to add injury to insult, I suffered what has since been diagnosed as a recurrence of the heart murmur that forced me to pull out of the 'Marmite Macht Frei' tour a couple of years ago.
Fortunately, this time my health problems had less impact on my schedule as I'd already scaled back a lot of my work commitments in light of my mounting knee woes. Still, I won't pretend. It wasn't a bit of a blow when this wretched heart murmur of mine forced me to to withdraw myself from contention for a place in Fabio Capello's world cup squad - especially as it had started murmuring things like '4-4-2 is a dead formation you hide-bound Italian caution monkey. Get Cole in the hole and start playing it on the deck, you useless mafioso bollock brain. (It was murmuring in flaming Italian too, which can only have made matters worse...I dread to think what my scores were on that much-maligned Capello index of his.
Still, what doesn't kill you can only make you stronger, no matter how much havoc it might play with your no claims bonus. The surgeons say it could all have been considerably worse. They put it down to all the seig heiling I got up to at Victoria Station in the mid-seventies. The doctor bids reckon that if it hadn't been for the fact that stack-heeled glitter boots make it virtually impossible to goose-step, I'd be *dead* by now!!
Fortunately, the recent sale of the rights to my back catalogue has given me enough financial security to mean that I don't need to worry so much on the work front. I've also been fortunate enough to be able to move into assisted accommodation. So all my fans the world over can rest assured that even though the hits might have dried up, their idol will be looked after most handsomely.
I'd be lying if I said that being incarcerated in the Entertainment Artistes Benevolent Home hasn't been pretty hard to adjust to - especially as I've been forced to room with Kenny Lynch while they get my room ready for me - although how it can take grown men three days to daub a few Kabbalist symbols on the walls is beyond me - I mean, where do they go to get the goat's blood; Greece????
Oh well, better dash, Kenny's hovering behind me desperate to get on the laptop to pre-order his Arnold Palmer US Masters Golf wii set. I just hope he gets out of his pyjamas before he starts swinging away on that thing - no, hold on a mo, I think those are his new flares...
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