Black Hole Of Bliss

Those of you who live in the more southern parts of our city may have noticed recently the words "Help me I'm happy" spray-painted onto various bus shelters.

Now when I first saw this, I naturally wanted to do everything but "help." I have not helped another human being since 1984 when I gave a 'helping hand' to a pug-eyed infant that had got its pudgy toes stuck in quick-setting tarmac. The child, in return, threw some Smash in my face and then took a Polaroid. I have hated children and helping ever since. Yet that was such a long time ago and at least I have Norv now to hurl some Smash at in recompense.

But just who is the author of "Help me I'm happy?" Could it be the same person behind the phrases, "Help me I'm cheerful" and "Help me I'm just peppy" that adorned a number of tram stops across the city a few months ago? Could it?

Well, one man who thinks he knows the answer is Darryl Chinwax. Darryl is a somnambulist and often roams the streets of South Manchester during his nightly torpors. Thankfully, he has never been hurt during these slumbering escapades but has often woken up in the morning absolutely covered in either paint, chalk, or pink highlighter pen with little idea as to how any of it got there...

Darryl, are you intimating that you could be the "Help me I'm happy" man?
"Yes, I think I am. I have been having the same recurring nightmare since I was a boy where I am trapped in an endless state of happiness and just can't escape from it however hard I try."
That sounds horrendous. Can you explain further?
"It is like being in a black hole of blissfulness. I used to wake up in a cold sweat every morning and would have to watch lots of medicinal dramas on the telly before I went to school, just so I could get my mental equilibrium back."
Painful. But what exactly makes you think that you could be behind the graffiti?
"My paint-stained nightgown and my sub-conscious fear of being happy. Also the fact that I once woke up in a police cell and was told that I had been arrested for vandalizing bus shelters pretty much gives it away."
I suppose it does, Darryl. But what happens now?
"My girlfriend, who is a very skilled carpenter, has fashioned me a large, wooden, barbaric-looking cage to sleep in. We are both hoping that this will iron out my subliminal fears of jollity."

I hope so too, Darryl. There can't be many nightmares in the sub-conscious stratosphere much worse than those of being trapped inside a great void of never-ending cheeriness. There really can't be.