I'M always in a rotten mood on Saturday nights. I've been like that for many years now.

In the old days it was because I had woeful weekends as a young man. No girls would go out with me because of my odd ways.

These days, I'm in a miserable temper on Saturday nights because I can't seem to come up on the Lottery.

"Even £1.2 million once in a while would be nice," I grumbled to my wife.

"You being nice would be nice, too," my wife grumbled back.

"You don't understand," I said, tearing up my Lottery ticket in disgust. "I just never seem to have any decent luck."

"Luck!" my wife exploded. "Just be grateful you're not domiciled in some disease-ridden swamp with fierce crocodiles snapping at your heels."

"Better than you snapping at me," I muttered under my breath.

"What did you just say!" she demanded. "I said I adore you, my angel. But while we're on the subject, are you sure it's crocodiles that live in swamps? I thought it was more likely to be alligators."

Failing to maintain her philosophical attitude, my wife lunged at my throat and tried to strangle me with the dog's lead. I managed to extricate myself and took the opportunity to take our Brian out for a walk.

"It's all right for you," I commented to my pooch. "All you do is eat, sleep and play with the Jack Russell at No.14."

Brian sat down in protest on the pavement and gave me a withering look.

"Okay, I'm sorry," I said. "I'd forgotten you've fallen out with the Jack Russell.

"But why spoil a long-standing friendship over a petty argument. You claim it's your bone. The Jack Russell insists it's his. Why don't you both compromise and share the blasted thing."

Brian glared at me.

"Okay, okay," I sighed. "So it's a matter of honour. But remember, my faithful friend, pride cometh before a fall."

Brian grinned and deliberately fell over.

"All right, wise guy," I said. "You've made your point."

"And just what is your point?" my mother asked me one Saturday night 36 years ago.

"My point, mother, is that there's no point in me departing the house tonight to have a good time because I'd be socialising on my own. All my pals are out on dates."

Mother thought carefully before giving her considered response. "So you're just going to sit on the sofa being miserable and spoil my telly viewing?" My father popped his head out from his newspaper. "I'll tell you something," he said. "When I'm feeling low I find that the best tonic is to nip to the pub. What d'you say, son?"

"Okay, dad, I'll fetch our coats."

"Just fetch mine, son. You'd only depress me if you came with."

"And I'm going to bed," mother said. "Oh, by the way, son, don't forget you're seeing the chiropodist in the morning to have your verruca scraped."

I put my head in my hands. "Things can't get any worse," I groaned...

"Things can't get any worse," I repeated 36 years later as I dragged Brian along the streets.

Suddenly, a bird fluttered down from the skies and perched on a gatepost.

"That's all I need," I whinged. "A flaming magpie."

My dog gave me a quizzical look.

"You know what they say about seeing magpies, Brian. One for sorrow, two for joy. It's just my luck to spot the loneliest bird in Bury." Brian seemed to understand my torment. He suddenly leaped off his haunches and careered round the corner, pulling me behind him.

Brian stopped dead and indicated with his paw. There on another gatepost stood another magpie.

"Bless you, Brian," I said, patting him on the head. "That makes it two magpies in total. It looks like I'm in for some joy after all."

Then I thought it over.

"You stupid mutt!" I barked. "You're supposed to see two magpies TOGETHER to bring you joy. You've made me see two SEPARATE ones. That means I'm in for two lots of misery!"

Brian shrugged, slipped his lead and headed off to No.14 to stick his tongue out at the Jack Russell.

"Still no luck then?" my wife asked me when I arrived home trailing an empty lead.

"Luck?" I said bitterly. "If it rained soup I'd be standing there with a fork in my hand."

So what else can I tell you? Oh, yes, Brian made it up with the Jack Russell after the latter's owner sawed the bone of contention in half, and I won £10 in the next Lottery but had forgotten to buy a ticket.

Anyway, the following evening I went for a walk and spotted SEVEN magpies sitting in a field. But I hadn't a clue what that was supposed to signify so, just to be on the safe side, I hid under a hedge for three hours in case the sky fell down.

Converted for the new archive on 14 July 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.