Matt Whistler goes on a road trip

OMG, ATM, it seems, is getting all the attention. I am WELL JELL. She was invited to a questions and answers gig in the Prince Albert on the Hill of Rodborough in Stroud. As ATM only communicates with telepathy and a dot matrix at times, I had to act as an interpreter.  Driving all the way to Gloucester, I had to put up with ATM telepathically singing Dr Foster went to Gloucester in a shower of rain, he stood in a puddle and it went up to his middle and he never came back again. At junction 12 on the M4, I turned off and paid a pound for ATM to sit in a service station automated back massage chair and her antennas pricked up then she dozed off for an hour. It’s not easy having a girlfriend as a robot, especially having to pull over onto the hard shoulder every now and then to scramble a handful of stray nails and aluminium cans together – metal sandwiches are difficult to concoct. Jamie Oliver would probably think I had a screw loose, when all I need is a loose screw with a sprinkling of salt and pepper. Dr Foster went to…Sugar lumps, she’s got me chuffin’ brainwashed.
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