Last week, an old lady kept phoning me and asking, ‘Is that Osric?’
I told her repeatedly that no, it wasn’t.
And now I’m getting messages for a Mr Loveday. Mr Loveday’s dentist left a detailed message earlier. I know everything about his teeth now. I could go on Mastermind about them.
So the big question is – WHO IS OSRIC LOVEDAY?
Is it me, or is my life getting even weirder? I’m not on anything. Honestly. Just heart tablets and hay fever pills.
Unidentified Flying Santas are attracting the attention of paranormal researchers, according to the Boston Globe. Could aliens or ghosts be manifesting themselves as St Nicholas?
Goodness knows what possessed me to download the Aretha Franklin version of Son of a Preacher Man at 6am on Thursday. But I did. I just had a sudden whim I wanted to listen to it on my way to Harefield Hospital.
So off I went on the train to London and fell asleep just south of Hertford.
Then, at Enfield, I woke with a start. A mysterious-looking Eastern European boy had sat next to me. He was listening to his iPod through loud headphones. And the song was unmistakable – Son of a Preacher Man. The Aretha version.
I found this a bit odd. It’s not exactly the best-known version, and I’ve still no idea why I’d had such a strong hunch I wanted to hear it.
But there was more to come.
When I arrived in Uxbridge, I popped into a cafe for lunch. What was playing in the background? Yes – That very song. That very version.
I half expected to get to Harefield and for Aretha Franklin to pop out from behind the ECG machine and reveal she’d become a cardiologist. But she didn’t. Just as well. I’d have probably had a heart attack.
As it was, the consultant said my heart was sounding ‘beautiful’ and all was well.
I must admit, I was dreading an answerphone message when I got home, saying something had happened to a long-lost schoolfriend who was, literally, the son of a preacher man. Yes he was, he was, oh yes he was.
But thankfully there was nothing, so I’m assuming he’s OK.