Sidney the Tattooed Skeleton

This is Sidney. Rather, it was Sidney. Well, to be precise, it was part of him.

Sidney and I met the other day when I was in the euro (dollar) store. He was, as I discovered, hiding out in a barrel of Halloween stuff. Walking down the aisles I heard a little voice whisper "help". (It's unbelievably hard to shout when you don't have vocal chords, or any of the other paraphernalia you need in order to speak up.) I looked around, and then I heard it again: "Help me!"

All I could see was a skeleton hand gripping the rim of a bargain bin. Bravely, I dug down and uncovered Sad-Eyed Sidney... all 150 centimetres of him. He looked decidedly lost, dejected, and cold, which was not surprising, as he was, as skeletons are wont to be, stark naked.

"Take me away from here," he pleaded. And since his price tag was only 20 cents, I did. Actually, I took his brother, too, but that's another story.

As carefully as I could, I packed him into my bicycle basket and carried him home. That evening I sat him at one end of my sofa, and we had a little heart to heart. Ummmm... ok, we had a little heart to where a heart would normally have been. It quickly became clear that Sidney was totally depressed, so I decided the only thing I could do was try to bring a little color back to his life. I slaved away with gel pens for two evenings.

As you can see, it worked. Sidney now looks decidedly brighter. He's changed his name from Sad-Eyed Sidney to Sidney the Tattooed Skeleton and is now contemplating a new career as part of a travelling circus. He's thrilled to bits! (I'll fix that in a day or two with the help of a few grommets.)

Just in case you're wondering, Sidney's brother, Boney Brian, now lives with my 8-year-old granddaughter. She thinks he's scary, but guess where she's hung him? At the end of her bed -- that's where. Go and work that one out....