Dear brothers and sisters of the Arrse, last night i was told a true and to those of you sick of mind, funny as fcuk story. I feel I need to share because it is very very funny... The fenian bride went to have her advancing years concealed by the hairdresser yesterday. Imagine the scene, women of a certain age relaxing with coffee and Bath Life, while perma-tanned orange faced 16 year olds wash their locks, bring more coffee and sweep up hair. TFB is chillaxing, the fenianette is despatched to Uncle The Michael Collins Fan Club for a few days and all she has to do is be made beautiful for the return of her handsome husband. Or me. The dame in the next chair suddenly gets a phone call. After a brief chat, she is up and out of her seat and dashes out of the hairdresser promising to return ASAP. Which twenty minutes or so later she does. It turns out that the call was from her mlaaring son, a 29 year old of normally sunny disposition, fevered appetite for sweets and lager shandy and an almost superhuman strength. He was very worried and as she had left him watching Lord of the Rings, she asumed his imagination had been overstimulated and he just needed a there, there and his ice cream levels topping up. So imagine her surprise on arriving home to find agitated number mong son, capering with anxiety and excitement in the hall of her cottage. "Mummy, Mummy! I've caught the troll man! I've caught the troll-man!" says the mong. she is just about to start the "Now then dear it is only a story, calm down..." patter when there is a flurry of angry kicks from inside the hall cupboard and a strange squeaky voice can be heard demanding rescue, help and succour... Opening the door to the understair cupboard, she finds a midget in the livery of a nationally recognisable - and obviously a diversity champion - courier firm. The mong had spotted the porg/dwarf approaching and with his mind set to Middle Earth, determined he was a "troll-man". So while the courier dwarf was getting ready to deliver a package, the mlaaring one nips out the side-door and with a duvet cover promptly snaffles the dwarf and lobs him into the cupboard. The dwarf was obviously a bit cross and theatened to sue, making much of his disability but when the lady of the house pointed out that her mong-child wasn't exactly blessed 100%, 24/7, the troll-man backed down and headed back out. No doubt to deliver a box of rings to Sauron Industries? I wish gentle arrsers that I could have been there to watch the great mlaaring hunter stalk and seize his prey. To say that Fred (not his real name) could probably lift me off my feet will give you an idea of how easy it would have been for him to detain a small, brown uniformed possibly, courier. Especially an unsuspecting one, who perhaps immediately before Fred struck, was musing how nice the world was and how fortunate he was despite his disability, to be holding down an interesting and socially valuable occupation. Fred will no doubt be rationed in his exposure to fantasy films and may experience a reduction in lager intake - he is 29 but has a mental age of about 10. However he is a mlaaring, balloon-loving, ice-cream-scoffing, dwarf detaining Record Breaker in my book.