YOU. ARE. IT.

As I emerged from the house that morning, it became clear that something was seriously wrong with the world.
I should have guessed when I awoke to static on the radio. Or when I opened the curtains and didn't see, or hear, any traffic. Perhaps the lack of a TV signal should have given me cause to worry. 
But no, I'm always a bit slow to wake up properly in the mornings. It takes me ages to notice anything.
Yet, as I emerged from the house, I could hide from the signs no longer. There were at least three dozen people in the street, with torn clothes and palid faces, staggering around like zombies. 
I have to admit: it was pretty scary.
What could have happened? Has Mrs Dixon farted? I wondered. Is Steve Lincoln's new album out?
I noticed that one of the shuffling, fetid people in the street had spotted me and begun to stagger in my direction. Was that a zombie? Or perhaps Dave Evans...? I could not work out which - Dave had always looked like that, so it was impossible to tell.
He - or it - mumbled something to me, but I could not make out the words. But I did not like his tone, so I started to back away nervously.
Just then the creature stopped, at least five metres away from me. He began to gesticulate, in a rather agitated fashion. He was clearly pointing up the street, trying to draw my attention to something which I could not see from where I stood on the doorstep.
I had to make a decision: barricade myself in the house, or take a look at what the creature was pointing at. It was so hard to choose, but finally I decided to take the plunge because, for the moment at least, the beast did not appear to be a threat.
I took one step outside, trying to see what the creature was pointing at. No, I still could not see anything. I tried standing on tiptoe. Still, no good. But the creature continued to gesticulate, more urgently now, so cursing myself under my breath, I let curiosity got the better of me and took a few further steps away from the house and into the street.
That was my undoing. 
Suddenly, without warning, the creature came alive. It moved like lightning, far too quickly for me to react. The monster lunged towards me and slapped my arm.
"TAG!" cried Dave, for that is who the creature was - I could see that now. "YOU'RE IT!" he hollered in my face, grinning from ear to ear. Then he legged it, before my mind could even register what had happened, and all the other so-called zombies ran off too, laughing and squealing.
I sighed and shook my head, disappointed with myself. I should have realised.
They take the game of 'tag' ever so seriously in our town.

CALLING TIME ON MAGNETS - Part 3

"By gum, you've still got it!" nobbed the burglar.  But what did he know, lilting as he did on wind and sail, egg and barley, steam and more than a hint of cornflake gayness. "Better out than up a fig pole, I suppose."
And with that he turned to Lincolnshire and watched as most of the population expired in drainpipe trousers.  Or was it the bulbous one, with the fish antlers?  In days to pass, they never could remember.  Each was too busy with the passing of the new slurry horse, writing it large and taking much inspiration from the fat man's daughter and her enviable collection of fridge magnets.
"Have you been at the sugar crisps again?" asked Auntie Emma with a knowing look in her one unwinking eye, as she stroked his pies. He never did reply, just pulled a face like Steve Lincoln in high wind, and wombled off into the distance.