´óÏó´«Ã½

Woke up this morning on the side of the highway. My bottom was sore and my head hurt.

Morris Telford

"For reasons of National Security I canÂ’t write down what happened today."

The last thing I remember was thumbing a lift from a limousine with little flags stuck on the front, I can only presume that the American government have subjected me to some sort of memory loss drug to erase all recollection of the brain washing I have been subjected to. Someone has stolen three days of my life and I want him or her back.

I am not going to take this sort of violation lying down and have written a stern Email to George Bush.

"Dear Mr Bush,

IÂ’ve tried to contact you several times on the telephone and am disappointed you were unable to take my calls personally.

My name, as I am sure you are aware by now, is Morris Telford.

I am writing to complain about the recent mistreatment I have received at the hands of one of your covert organisations, the CIA, FBI, MIB IÂ’m not sure which but they had a car with little flags on. I was abducted for three days and have no memory, just a sore head and posterior.

Please don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, I know all about ‘plausible deniability’. Where I come from (Moreton Say, Shropshire, England, UK) we don’t have ‘plausible deniability, we have truth, honesty, justice and unless you count my seventeenth birthday party we don’t give people perception altering substances or meddle with their bottoms against their will.

You might think that you can do what you want just because you are President, well you canÂ’t. I once knew an office assistant who thought he could change the whole way that photocopier toner was ordered just because he had the authority to do so. Well he did change the process, but it was wrong and nearly jeopardised a very important presentation when copies of a handout with a picture of a pig in a suit started to come out grey. Please donÂ’t let history repeat itself.

If I have anymore unexplained blackouts I will hold you personally responsible.

Yours truly,

M.Telford"

IÂ’ve taken some orange flavour junior aspirin; I feel confident that the stern tone of my correspondence should do the trick and resume my hitchhiking today with renewed determination.

American humour seems to differ from the sense of humour in Shropshire.

My feet are hurting; IÂ’ve been walking for miles now. The soles of my shoes are started to get sticky as they melt and my toes burn with every step. The cash I keep in my shoe is not going to be legal tender much longer if I keep it there.

I managed to walk to a petrol station. They call them Gas stations in Alabama, which is odd, because petrol is clearly a liquid and not a gas. I tried to explain to the attendant but his expression started to look like BradÂ’s had earlier so I didnÂ’t press the point. I explained to the attendant, who looked like a young, blonde Harry Dean Stanton and was called Jerry, who I was and asked if he needed any help. Jerry told me he needed $1000 to buy some "stuff", so I gave it him.

Then I saw something very ugly in JerryÂ’s eyes, a flame of greed I have never seen in Harry Dean StantonÂ’s eyes, even when he was doing a bewilderingly out-of-place cameo. Jerry took my $1000 and said something about what would really help sort his problems would be $10,000 for "more stuff", I could smell his regret at not asking for more first time around. I asked him if he could be more specific about what kind of "stuff" he had in mind and his imagination failed him, so I left before he got angry with me.

Funny how giving someone money can just make them unhappy.

IÂ’m sleeping under the stars tonight; itÂ’s getting quite cold now. An animal of some sort ran past earlier, then a naked Hannah Gordon ran past after the animal trying to spear it with a paintbrush, she turned to me and said "Morris, youÂ’ve won the box of watercolours". I think I might have a touch of heatstroke.

ItÂ’s three in the morning now and IÂ’m regretting not buying a tent, or a sleeping bag, or one of those shiny blankets, or some walking boots, instead my camping equipment so far consists of an airline inflatable pillow and three Twinkies. I couldnÂ’t sleep so IÂ’m walking to keep warm, and I seem to be hitchhiking down a road nobody ever uses. I canÂ’t understand why such a big road is so quiet.

Jerry passed me on his way home; he offered me a lift for $250. I declined his offer.

I gave him some valuable information about how people treat each other in Shropshire, how money will never buy you happiness and how the only currency of any real value was love.

Morris Telford

IÂ’ve decided not to just give out money, people need more direct help and I am not being responsible just handing out cash.

In saying that, I did meet an old woman today called Maureen. MaureenÂ’s goal in life seemed to be collecting empty cans in a shopping trolley and pushing the trolley around. I asked her why she did this and she said that the more aluminium she keeps near her, the less likely it was the government would find her.

She actually put forward a very convincing argument so I bought her a used Audi with an all-aluminium body shell and she lives there now.

Maureen seemed very interested in Moreton Say and I gave her my Mother's address in case she ever visits Shropshire, which seems unlikely as apparently the government took away her passport in 1978 for ‘knowing too many secrets’. Maureen was one of the nicest people I have met so far in Alabama, and yet she lives on the fringe of society. Funny how the souls that have been most rejected by us often have the most to offer.

Than again, Maureen had a friend called Trent who just foamed at the mouth and threw his shoes at me, so sometimes these souls are rejected with good reason.

IÂ’m here to inject some Shropshire positivity into the strange folk of the world not fortunate enough to have been born in Shropshire, like a hypodermic full of joy piercing the veins of humanity.

Morris Telford

They were very welcoming and talking to them about the magical, faraway land of Shropshire reminded me of why I was alone in a hotel in Alabama.

IÂ’m not here to wallow in self-pity or dwell on failure, IÂ’m here to inject some Shropshire positivity into the strange folk of the world not fortunate enough to have been born in Shropshire, like a hypodermic full of joy piercing the veins of humanity.

Harris and Joanne gave up their precious holiday time together to talk to a complete stranger, I cannot thank them enough.

Fortunately I was able to help them, Joanne needed to fly home again urgently to see her sick Uncle so I gave her the $1000 for her flight and the $3500 she needed for travelling expenses, the least I could do for such a nice lady.

I went shopping and bought some camping equipment. I found a collapsible tent that folds down to the size of my fist, some walking boots that people use for mountain climbing and one of those shiny blankets that keep you warm if you are cold and cold if you are warm, like a thermos you can climb inside.

No one ever seems to reply to my Emails in America. None of the TV networks, newspapers or politicians has got back to me yet so I really appreciate all the Email support form home.

Mike Batt has written again, Hi Mike. You are quite right about the cream teas and pasties, it’s impossible to get either in Alabama. In one Alabama café I ordered a cream tea and a pastie, I was given a cup of tea with cream instead of milk and a Danish pastry, hardly the same. The waitress was six feet tall with one eyebrow and a pierced chin so I didn’t complain. Sorry I confused you with the legendary Wombling Mike Batt, thank you for putting me straight. Why should I avoid truckers with red lights in their cabs?

IÂ’m not a very big fan of country music, obviously I acknowledge the talents of Billy Ray "achy breaky heart" Cyrus but the rest leaves me cold. I once went to a line dancing class in Market Drayton village hall and an eleven-year-old girl broke my ankle during the "Bear Mountain Hop".

I can almost hear them whisper in their alien voices, sounding a bit like Stephen Hawking "What are you doing down there Morris?" and I poke my head out of the tent and shout in reply "IÂ’m all alone in a world of madmen trying to show them how easy it is to be happy. IÂ’m a dazzling beacon of purity in a world tainted by country music and greed. Come and visit Moreton Say before you think about invading earth, youÂ’ll never want to leave."

Morris Telford

Ahab is married with eleven children; I offered to drive his truck for him while he visited his family. He told me he hadnÂ’t been home for six years and that was the secret of a good relationship. It was hard to argue with his logic, but I tried anyway, it didnÂ’t work. He showed me a photograph of his family, oddly his wife looked like Freddie Mercury, moustache and all.

I called home and spoke to Toby. HeÂ’s doing very well now, he told me he has been promoted already, IÂ’m obviously very happy for him. I worked there for over a decade and was never promoted and Toby gets promoted after a few weeks. So itÂ’s really, really good to see Mr Magson has turned over a new leaf and started recognising potential in his staff, maybe it was my leaving that made him reconsider his management style. Toby also started to tell me how well he is getting on with Sophia, I really wanted to hear more but phone calls home are so expensive I told him I had to go.

IÂ’m sleeping in my new tent by the roadside now, the stars are so clear out here with no light pollution itÂ’s like thousands of little aliens are shining their flashlights at me. I can almost hear them whisper in their alien voices, sounding a bit like Stephen Hawking "What are you doing down there Morris?" and I poke my head out of the tent and shout in reply "IÂ’m all alone in a world of madmen trying to show them how easy it is to be happy. IÂ’m a dazzling beacon of purity in a world tainted by country music and greed. Come and visit Moreton Say before you think about invading earth, youÂ’ll never want to leave."

Sunny day today so I hope to meet some interesting people in need of a little of my special Shropshire magic.

He once had to eat his own foot, not as you might imagine out of hunger, but out of sheer boredom.

Morris Telford

An elderly man called Jim stopped his camper van to pick me up. Jim is a fascinating man; he resembles an older Simon Callow, only without the nose and continually smoking a cigar. Jim used to be a soldier and had some horrific stories to tell about his active service. He once had to eat his own foot, not as you might imagine out of hunger, but out of sheer boredom. He also told me he knew seventy-three different ways to kill a man, I asked him if he had a favourite and he told me it had to be number twenty-eight – "The spoon". He didn’t elaborate.

Just before he dropped me off Jim showed me his collection of antique firearms. He said antique, but the laser sights, automatic machine loaders and computerised targeting on some of his weapons led me to believe some were relatively recent. The camper can was packed with all sorts of weapons with a little foldaway bed in the middle of it all and an old poster of The ‘A’ Team on the wall. Jim insisted that his collection was just an innocent hobby and he only ever used his fiery arsenal of death for "personal protection", I didn’t fell inclined to argue as he was holding a missile launcher at the time.

Aside from his lethal hobby, Jim actually seemed like a nice man, a devout vegetarian and committed ecologist, admittedly a devout vegetarian and committed ecologist with enough firepower to level Market Drayton and a fixation with George Peppard, but a nice man. Jim kindly offered to address any issues I had with IGMT and Ironbridge but I suspect his idea of direct action might prove structurally damaging to Ironbridge itself so I declined.