“Dou­ble, dou­ble toil and trou­ble”

Costa Blanca News (South Edition) - - Entertainment -

By Chris Ash­ley, writer and broad­caster Once upon a time I was a Walker. No! not a Texas ranger (that was Chuck Nor­ris '93-'01) - an es­cort for un­at­tached ladies not look­ing for a re­la­tion­ship, but need to be seen at so­cial soirées on a chaps arm. Those re­cently di­vorced – wid­owed – a phi­lan­der­ing hus­band – or maybe of a clos­eted Sap­phic per­sua­sion.

For the gig, ide­ally you need to be Clooney hand­some, which ob­vi­ously I'm not, and Big­gins gay (ditto) although in a cer­tain light, ap­par­ently I do look a touch laven­der. My ser­vices were scarcely re­quired, in fact, my one and only tryst was with Jane Ross­ing­ton, from the orig­i­nal Cross­roads – and boy, oh boy, for 24 years didn't she suf­fer? Mar­ried a bigamist – then a drug­gie then an alkie – had a nip­per with her step­brother (where's Jeremy Kyle when you need him – there's a sen­tence I'd never thought I'd type) but she didn't ap­pear to dally with Benny, un­less you know any dif­fer­ent.

Talk­ing of which, I saw Paul Henry, who played Benny, on a quiz show the other week it was 'Point­less Celebri­ties' - an apt de­scrip­tion of the show. I sup­pose if you have fruit­less time on your hands an ar­gu­ment could be made if the so called 'Celebs' were recog­nis­able to­day, but you find your­self think­ing, 'My God, he/she's still alive, or who?' I don't know where Paul/Benny takes his hols, but it's not here in our neck of the woods. He made David Dick­in­son look like Casper the friendly ghost, if he stood in front of our gar­den shed he'd dis­ap­pear.

Look, it's only right to point out why an at­trac­tive in­tel­li­gent woman like Jane would need a chap­er­one. We were both in­volved in a wor­thy, but a deadly dull 'do'hence it was a covenant of con­ve­nience whereby nei­ther of our re­spec­tive part­ners would have to un­will­ingly schlep sul­lenly along wish­ing they were sev­eral post­codes away.

Some chaps carry them­selves with a cer­tain suave ' Je ne sais quoi' which is French for ' Am I not a smug git? I don't pos­sess the nec­es­sary vibe, vividly demon­strated at a ra­dio awards shindig in Lon­don at­tended by such lu­mi­nar­ies as Rod and Penny Ste­wart - the pa­parazzi were go­ing bonkers.

“Rod give us a wave Penny give us a flash.”

As I traipsed in, one of the 'click­ing clod­hop­pers' bel­lowed, “Re­lax, it's no­body.” There­fore, as a nonen­tity, be­ing asked to sign a scrap of pa­per by a to­tal stranger was ex­tremely weird. “Who do you think I am?” I asked. “Come on Dave, don't be stand­off­ish.” Dave! Dave? It felt like a con­ver­sa­tion be­tween Rod­ders and Trig­ger. “Look chum, you're con­fus­ing me with some­one else, my name is Crispin Ash­ley” “Oh! Gone all hoity toity après ski have we Dave? Ed­die War­ing wouldn't be this pon­cey.” Then it dawned, he mis­took me for David Vine from 'It's A Knock­out/Ski Sun­day etc' – mor­bidly, this hap­pened three months af­ter he died - didn't re­alise I looked that knack­ered.

Delu­sion­ally, years back I thought I had more than a pass­ing re­sem­blance to Robert Mitchum be­cause we both had a lazy eye, although with the Bob­ster it was known as sexy bed­room eyes, with me it was just plain boss eyed. Un­aware I looked like Marty Feld­man's love child; it was down to my first girl­friend as a 12 year old to gently point out the eye­ball anom­aly. “It seems like one eye's look­ing at the man­tel­piece, while the oth­ers look­ing up the chim­ney.”

Thank you Su­san for graph­i­cally paint­ing pic­tures with words thus phys­i­o­log­i­cally scar­ring me for life. Mind you, she fin­ished up mar­ry­ing my best mate Barry which didn't end well as this phone call he an­swered re­vealed. “Hello? Oh hello Mother. Well you know, soso. Yes, Su­san is play­ing up again. Yes, Mother you did tell me Su­san was not a nice per­son, in fact a har­ri­dan. I know Mother, you told me not to marry Su­san at any cost un­less I wanted to spend the rest of my life with a screech­ing fish­wife. What? You want to have a word with the she-devil? Just a mo­ment – Su­san, your Mother's on the phone.” Any mar­i­tal mis­chief from you al­ways wel­come; ash­ley­bob­ble@hot­mail.com SPON­SORED BY www.right­movein­sur­ance.com LA MA­RINA-QUE­SADA-LA ZE­NIA FOR ALL YOUR IN­SUR­ANCE NEEDS. Now open our new large La Ma­rina of­fice next to the Post Of­fice just down from The Chippy.

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