I had a dream last night that I shouted so loud that I made myself deaf. Is that even possible?

When I woke this morning I came down and opened up my emails.

Almost the first thing I read was about Dickie Fletcher, the crier of Bridlington in 1827 who died whilst carrying out his duties. Apparently, he tripped and broke his neck, poor chap. Mind you he was 79 years old which for the early Nineteenth Century was a very good innings indeed.

Then I opened the post. A new Jabot has arrived in the mail following a bit of ebay recklessness last week. While opening the packet I caught my finger on a staple and spilled blood all over the place.

The staple looks rusty. The irony of a crier with lockjaw isn’t lost on me! And it isn’t even 9.00am yet.