Model-maker in a coma

This time I am back for good.

After the false start of almost a year ago I have returned to the land of the living after spending all that time in a Mrs Belm-induced coma at Hints cottagers hospital-cum-tanning saloon.

It has been a difficult time, although thankfully not for myself as I was oblivious to everything.

Believe myself when I say this to yourselves, if I had known I was in Hints all that time I would have been actually factually very angry.

But I didn’t, so I wasn’t.

The medical professionals say I shall be returned to normality forthwith after awakening from my coma. A curious side issue is my firmly held belief that it is 1953, but I see that as a positive given the state of the world I’ve awoken back into.

Anyways, Mrs Belm and her bosom is also returned to the family home.

She was released early from her 4 year sentence for grevious bodily harm on my head with a frying pan and is already looking to accessorise her outfits to match the electronic tag she must wear around her ankle for the next 12 months.

(Artist’s impressions of four of the suspected Frying Pans that caused my coma, which the police issued afore Mrs Belm’s arrest).

It should not be too much of a hardship as she is well used to having electronic buzzing devices around her personage.

The big upset is caused by the fact that she can no longer sit as a magistrate given her conviction for assault with kitchen utensil.

‘Tis a mighty shame, although she will continue in her role as self-appointed community judge.

If I had been consciously able to, I would have mounted Mrs Belm a spirited defence at her trial.

It was all a complete misunderstanding involving myself, Henrietta Scuttlers and our nudity and I’m happy to reportage that friendships have been rekindled – indeed Mrs Belm and Henrietta are currently finishing off their third bottle of wine by way of reacquainting themselves with one another.

It appears that Derek Belm & Sons is in rude health and has maintained its position as the world’s premier model-maker to the stars and minor royalty.

Alas, however, though, The Shouty Villager has withered whilst I was coma-ed.

I must decide whether to resume my editorship, or otherwise.

Tonight we all celebrate the return of myself and Mrs Belm with shandy-type drinkage at the Bedknobs & Broomsticks, which has acquired some more Angela Lansbury memoribilica in my absence.

This world that we all call home, she keeps turning and it is pleasuring to be on her again.

‘Til then!