Really guys, living the life of a single man does have its benefits. For instance, you can go to bed at whatever time you wish. Same with getting up in the morning, whatever time you like.
Television? Watch what you want to watch, with the volume as high as you want.
Eat what and whenever you are hungry.
Yes, who needs a wife and children?
Take this morning for example. I rolled out of bed at ten-thirty, and after a quick wash and shave (optional) I strolled into town.
I ate a hearty breakfast without any vocal reminders that I wasn’t doing my heart any favours by eating so much, then it was into the betting shop for a while, then into the pub for a couple of pints with the lads.
We had a good old natter about ManU’s abysmal performance last week, and then I headed home for an afternoons TV and maybe a kip.
Now maybe it was the beer that I had consumed, I don’t really know, but that bus-driver wasn’t really very quick in the old reflex department as I tried to cross the road in front of him.
The bus hit me squarely in the back and sent me flying like a Don Quixote windmill, arms and legs careening like a crazy circus performer.
I hit the floor with a sickening crash and lay there for a few moments to get my bearings.
Rising to my feet I was surprised to find that I was OK, no broken bones or anything, other than a strange light-headed feeling.
I quickly hurried off, too embarrassed to face the bus-driver and the stares of interested spectators.
I arrived home in a bit of a sweat and lay on the bed for a while to recuperate. I must have dozed off because when I opened my eyes again it was four p.m.
My stomach felt empty once more, and finding nothing to my taste in the larder I headed back into town to enjoy yet another cafe meal.
As I was walking along the high street I stopped and looked down at the floral tributes that had been placed on the pavement.They were laid at exactly the same spot where I had had my lucky escape with the bus this morning.
Suddenly the reality of my predicament hit me like a thunderbolt exploding in my mind.
I looked around, aghast that nobody looked back at me.
I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came from my throat.
I wanted to cry, but tears would not form.
I longed desperately to resort to my native instinct when faced with emergencies and run away, but just where do ghosts run to?