Why I love the milk float ...

Well well well, it HAS been a long time since I updated.  I am going to share a storey with you about my near death experience that happened whilst living in Canterbury. 

My life was saved by a milk float.  That’s right people I owe my life to a milkman and his rickety old milk float. 

Let me set the scene…. It’s 3.30am I am wondering home with Maria McGilesinian.  We are lost.  So lost. We’ve recently moved house and we’ve not too familiar with the roads especially in the dark.  It’s late.  It’s cold.  It’s a dangerous world out there.  Especially for a shark like myself.  People often do not understand that I am a shark with a heart.  When I’m on dry land I cannot rely on my mermaids to protect me.  I thought I would never get home, we tried everything; rubbing a street lamp in the hope a genie might appear, clicking our shoes together chanting “there’s no place like home”, I dropped a penny on the floor in the hope it would bring me good luck, I even raided the bins for a chicken foot.  And then, just as I was about to engrave my will onto my fin and admit defeat, a milk float approached, it slowed down, the driver looked at us, smiled and asked if we were ok.  We explained how we were lost, very lost.  We gave our address and he chuckled to himself and said get on. I dread to think what would have happened had that milk float not appeared.  A world without McCruickshark just doesn’t bare thinking about.   So on we hopped to this nice milk float, he then drives…literally just round the corner….and there before us was our lovely new home with the nice black door.  A little embarrassed at how close we were, but still managed to nab ourselves two free bottles of milk.  We get inside, relieved to be in the warmth and rest our tired little feet, and I go to put the milk in the fridge… CRASH BANG WALLOP… that’s right I’d forgotten about that step into the kitchen and fallen flat on my face covered in milk.

From that day onwards whenever we went out we left a trail of bread crumbs just like Hansel and Gretel.  Worse case if the trail doesn’t lead us to our house least I get a house made of cakes and sweets.