IT'S been an eventful week weather-wise, both Severn bridges were shut on Friday due to heavy snowfalls and thousands of Welsh rugby fans were stranded at Bristol airport because flights to Edinburgh were grounded as they tried to get to the opening Six Nations match.
Closer to home and the Prince of Darkness was thinking of warmer climes. He and the Wonderful One having bumped into a couple of fun-loving Antipodean Laydees in the new old O'Neills.
The Prince described their first meeting thus. "This blond girl was being hounded by a drunk and I went to the rescue."
I wondered about this a great deal. Could it be that the dark Lord was actually having an out-of-body experience and it was looking down on himself badgering the poor lady? Then again, maybe he had caught sight of himself in the mirror. But that wouldn't be possible. According to all the folklore, you cannot see a vampire's reflection.
Anyway, having escaped the clutches of one drunk, the poor visitor to our shores fell into the hands of another. She and her friend soon got chatting to our pair of ne'er-do-wells. The girls explained that they had been staying in London and fancied a trip to see some other hidden treasures of the UK. I'm not sure if the evil Lord and the miserable Withers really fit into that category.
Having hired a car they drove until they could drive no more and ended up in fair Cardiff, where they unsuspectingly fell among thieves. At three in the morning, having been promised the best nightlife the city had to offer, they ended up in the Prince's crypt - or rather, his favourite boozer Six Feet Under. Apparently an enjoyable night was had by all.
Interestingly, a couple of days later one of the young ladies got in touch by e-mail. Having thanked the Prince for his hospitality she went on to ask about the well-being of the Wonderful One. "He strikes me as a person who needs some lovin'" she said.
Later, it was the wonderful one who got an e-mail, this one describing the Prince as looking like "a rundown Hugh Grant". What a perceptive judge of character she must be.
Meanwhile, poor old Wren has been off work with the lurgy this week. I have been quite good, really, though I did go out and sink a few cheeky ones on Wednesday and Friday night. I left the usual suspects in town last night, though, and was intrigued to learn that the Prince of Darkness had taken to the karaoke in the Model Inn late on Friday night, warbling his rendition of "Like a Rolling Stone". Keith Richard, I would humbly suggest.
Paps has been pushing the merits of his homemade Chilli Sauce this week, and a pot of the stuff duly landed on my desk. Since then I have been having it on cold meat sandwiches and even used it to accompany a tin of Stagg chilli I lazily heated in the microwave the other night. Top stuff.