Actually, while I'm on the subject
of being run over by celebrities...

My Mother combines a love of a flea-ridden charity shop bargain with an almost pathlogical disregard for road safety. So when I took her to the poncey row of second hand shops to be found in the Marylebone area of London, it was like trying to control a hungry lioness on the scent of an injured wilderbeast.

She spied an Armani suit in the window of the Sue Ryder shop on the other side of the road and went haring across the street before I had time to shout "for the love of christ, you lunatic pensioner, mind the bloody great big powder blue Bentley coming towards you..." she'd sprinted across the road as fast as her tiny legs could carry her. With no thought for my own safety, or for the huge life insurance policy I would surely come into if I'd just left her to the mercy of the London traffic, I jumped in front of her and shouldered her out of the path of the car, just as the driver slammed on the brakes.

Sheepishly, I raised a hand in an apologetic gesture. I was rewarded with the sort of look that said driver usually reserves for the collection of mentally troubled chavs that he, being Simon Cowell, normally finds himself auditioning on X-Factor.

My mother still refers to this as the day Simon Cowell tried to kill me. I reckon there's a few grand in that as a headline if I played it right...
(Rakky (forgot her password) The muffin maverick, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 15:19, Reply)