I have no voice. No voice. I have some weird little squeaky thing that sounds like this squirrel handpuppet I have which has a little squeaker box in his chest. His name was Bushy, and we bought him at a fair in Rochester in England in 1990. Well, the original one, anyway. He got left on an underground train in London during the World Cup game between England and Germany that year, while Mum rushed to get us back to the hotel before the soccer hooligans let out. I was inconsolable, so they sent away for another one. Imagine my delight. Anyway, Bushy the second occasionally had to get washed because he got really grotty, and then water would get into his squeaker box. You had to squeak it a lot to get all the water out, but for a little while there, he just sounded really sick.

Well, that's what my voice sounds like now.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to Cafe J^e.