Well I didn’t get to the Unicorn Theatre in the end to see any of the ODN festival for reasons I won’t bore you with. I understand our play ‘The Summer of my Thirtieth Year’ is now to be put on as part of the Wallingford festival this week. I shall hopefully be able to write a few lines about our performance and the ODN festival soon. We used to get a brief synopsis each week as to what is happening at group headquarters but no more it seems. Surely I won’t have to attend a club night?

Three intrepid individuals, me included, have put forward a motion for a special general meeting of the drama group as we are disturbed as to the way things are going. Like downhill. The last play was cancelled and rumours abound doubting our ability of being able to put on the November play. Oh dear.

Plans are afoot for Cheltenham this week to see ‘Calendar Girls’. Again we have to venture miles as the Oxford Playhouse fail to cater for popular theatre. The Everyman (Cheltenham) Theatre brochure is packed with productions I’d love to see, as are the Bath and Windsor theatre brochures but not the Oxford Playhouse, or is it me?

Following my brief crit of ‘Fun Run’ last time I met Steve Hay at a Pig Roast last week and was pleased to know he reads my blog and thanked me for his mention. Good on yer Steve!

Well little more to say this week except for this story passed to me from a wellwisher. A rugby league fan is drinking in a Yorkshire bar, when he gets a call on his mobile phone. He hangs up, grinning from ear to ear, and orders a round of drinks for everybody in the bar, announcing his wife has just given birth to a typical Yorkshire baby boy weighing 25 pounds.

Nobody can believe that any new baby can weigh in at 25 pounds, but the rugby fan just shrugs and replies, "That's about average in Yorkshire... like I said, my boy's a typical Yorkshire baby boy. Gonna be a rugby league player."

Congratulations showered him from all around, amid many exclamations of "WOW!" One woman actually fainted due to sympathy pains.

Two weeks later, he returns to the bar. The bartender says, "Say, aren't you the father of that typical Yorkshire baby that weighed 25 pounds at birth?

Everybody's been making bets about how big he'd be in two weeks. So, how much does he weigh now?"

The proud father answers, "Twenty pounds."

The bartender is puzzled, concerned and a little suspicious. "What happened? He already weighed 25 pounds the day he was born!"

The Yorkshireman takes a slow swig of his Samuel Smith's, wipes his lips on his shirt sleeve, leans into the bartender and proudly says, "Had him circumcised..."