Escape

The cops are on to me. It seems that some nosey old biddy on Marlborough Road was peering from her bedroom window when I captured Victor, Jessica and Okwonu. A photofit picture of me has appeared on the front page of "The Star" (see above) and I must admit that the likeness is quite uncanny. There's also mention of a grey or silver Vauxhall car, though thankfully the old snooper - a Miss Kate Price - didn't clock the registration number.

Time to get away. As luck would have it, Shirley has a week off from work so I have quickly booked flights to Portugal - leaving in the morning.

I realise I have got myself in a hell of a pickle. There are seven parking enforcement officers in the underhouse and we are going to be out of the country for a week so I have decided to share my secret with our daughter - Frances. She's working as a temporary receptionist in a health centre before returning to university. It will be up to her to keep an eye on the "Secret Seven" - provide them with basic sustenance and take out their stinking slops. I have a feeling she'll be supportive as she recently got a parking ticket in Sheffield city centre - in spite of leaving a note on the car's windscreen - "Ticket machine out of order so unable to buy parking ticket". She was fined £60 - rather more than a full day's pay for a temporary receptionist.

There are plenty of fugitives from the law on Spain's Mediterranean coast and in Portugal's Algarve region - which is where we are heading. I will probably meet up with some of them in a smoky Portugese bar where we will communicate in cockney rhyming slang while downing litres of Sagres beer and bottles of Mateus Rose. Back next Thursday. If I get the opportunity to blog while in hiding, I will keep you posted...

The beach at Albufeira, Portugal