this is your life. . .

cordy

In a small house, in a small town, on a small island there lived a girl.  She was small too, but her heart was big, as were her dreams.

All her life, she knew there was something out there in the big world that was meant just for her.  So when she got old enough, she set out to find it.  Her mother and her father and her brothers and all her family didn't want her to go, but turning a deaf ear to their protests, she packed a sausage roll, a packet of crisps, and a bottle of shandy in a basket, took her little dog Mac, and set off.

Before long a terrible storm came up and Cordy (for that was the girl's name) and her basket and her dog were swept up by the winds and disappeared into the clouds.  When she finally landed she was in a part of town she had never seen before.  

But luckily she met a lady who told her which street to take to the nearest tourist kiosk.

She thought she must be near an airport, because there was a lot of air traffic about.   

On her way, she met a hobo, but he seemed harmless.  "Wha' t' 'eck', she thought.  "He'll be compenny."

The hobo seemed a few sandwiches short of a picnic however.  "Tooa bad 'e doesn't az mooar brains.," Cordy thought.

Cordy and the hobo next met a member of the SAS, still wearing his body armour.  He was a cold-hearted bloke, but offered to help them find their way.  The street led thro a dark, overgrown park, and Cordy worried about her tights.   "Snags and ladders and tears, oh my!  Snags and ladders and tears, oh my!"

Then she heard an awful roar and a particularly hairy hippy jumped out at them all. 

The hobo and the trooper were of no use, so Cordy tamed the hippy with a glesga kiss and he was so impressed, he asked to come with them.

"Thee kna Mac, ah az t' feelin we aren't i' Yorksha anymooar. "

Cordy and her companions continued on.  Crossing Thatcher Terrace, they noticed that everyone walked backwards.  At the corner of Inman and Norton, there seemed to be a fancy-dress party, but no one asked Cordy to dance, so she left.   

When they came to Baker's Close, she found that she had run out of dough, and decided not to loaf around.  There was no plaice to sit at the Herring Street Cafe, so they trouted on to the next block.   She felt like a heel when she stopped to shoe shop and left her tired sole-mates with their tongues hanging out, but she did get a lovely pair of heels for only two quid.  

On and on the small band traveled.  Cordy  was getting dreadfully homesick now, and thought of her

little town, and her little house, and most of all her little bed, cos her new shoes were killing her little feet!

Finally they saw a bus station and ran to the ticket window, only to be told the ticket master couldn't see them until next week.

Cordy was livid and ranted and raved in her best Yorksha manner until a scrawny little man with bad taste in clothes came out of the loo.   He said he couldn't sell her a ticket because he didn't know how to run the cash drawer.

"Thas eur reeight bad bloke. " said Cordy .

"Oh, no", he replied.  "I am a very good man.  I am just a very bad ticket master.  But I'll tell you what, you trade me those shoes, and I will give you a ticket home instead."

Then Cordy finally realized that her heart's desire was indeed at home, and she need never go looking for it again.  She cried at the thought of leaving her new friends, but obviously she wasn't going to take that collection of freaks back to meet her family.  

Ther's nerrr place li' 'ooam.     Ther's nerrr place li' 'ooam.     Ther's nerrr place li' 'ooam.     Ther's nerrr place li' 'ooam.     Ther's nerrr place li' 'ooam.     Ther's nerrr place li' 'ooam.    

**Midi:  "I'm A Believer"