Hooked

My friend Natalie called from the UK. She doesn't believe I'm really down under but she's had to accept it now she's called me on 0061. Anyway, I was caught red-handed singing to Rolf Harris and his wobble board, so there's all the proof she needs. Tie me Kangaroo Down, Sport. I know all four verses:-

Watch me wallabies feed, mate
Keep me cockatoo cool, curl
Send me koala back, Jack

and

Mind me platypus duck, Bill (my favorite).

Natalie thinks I've lost it but this is nothing compared to Darren. Yesterday I bought Ella a Wiggles magazine from the newsagents. I noticed there was a new "yellow wiggle" and wondered what they'd done with Greg. I mentioned it in passing to Darren, who presumably filed it under "pending", because this afternoon he went actively searching for the magazine to check it out for himself. "They can't just replace him!" he exclaimed from the sofa, a look of genuine disappointment all over his face.

He's gone, far away to the land of wiggledom. He sings the songs at work as well. I can't help thinking there are poor souls whose last moments on earth will be filled with the presence of my husband singing the oop-dee-doo. If he starts twirling round while he pours his tea, it's divorce.