"You're Not Michael!"

 

So I was attending a swish little garden party, an exclusive gathering. I'd brought along Talon Vexx, a woman of long acquaintance very dear to me, and of course we both stole the show together, as you do.

The table before us was well laid-out, with guests sitting at their places enjoying themselves. I looked for a place where we could sit together - and when I looked back, I couldn't find Talon anywhere.

I went searching for her. There was an area separated from the main party by a thick, dense hedge. I couldn't see part it. A group of men approached me, grabbed me and hauled me into the area past the hedge.

They plonked me down in this grassy area, with two rows of seats, people sitting with an expectant look on their faces, and a blonde wearing a bridal dress.

Kind of like the above.

She looks at me. I look at her.

'You're not Michael,' she says.

'I'm glad to hear that,' I think, and then say to her 'Do I look like a Michael?'

'No, you're taking the Michael,' she replies.

'I don't know this woman,' I proclaim to the crowd, and we part company. I wander along the impromptu aisle past all the wedding guests. Just a little beyond the wedding area, there's a mobile pub, and a tall, slender Black guy sort of sashays behind the counter.

I look at him. 'Give me something long, stiff, and hard, Angel,' I say.

He gives me a broom handle. Now that's more like it.

So I'm standing there, with my weapon at the ready. 'Right,' I say. 'I have questions! I want answers!'

And the alarm started swearing at me, so I woke up.

I'm still not Michael.