me: Guess where I'm going this afternoon?

J: Er... Jimmy's?

J: Aha! A short interval on Google reveals that Jimmy's is, in fact, St James's Hospital, named in honour of the famous Leeds-born St Jimmy Saville. Do you think you'll see him there? Bushra, if you see St Jimmy at Jimmy's, PLEASE get his autograph for me, because he is one of my heroes, seriously. I'm not even joking. I hope you get this message in time.

me: You crackpot.

J: No, seriously, I'm pretty sure I read somewhere that Jimmy Saville does so much charity work for hospitals that when he's in the area they let him crash there for the night. You might well see him. In the most recent pics I've seen he's been wearing a full-length puffa jacket, tracksuit, big trainers and sunglasses. If you approach him he'll be friendly but perhaps a little over familiar, but if you could get a little message and an autograph that would be just super. Howzabout that?

me: But, but I was hoping to go pop in to the medical museum next door...

J: A medical museum! Do they have a shop?

me: It's the same one as before. You know with the postcard. Thought I'd visit one of me old stomping grounds an' all that.

J: How I long to be in a position to collect medical antiquities. But they are so very expensive! At the moment, I have only one item - a Georgian physician's leech bowl. About thirty squid was paid for it because at the time it was thought to be an old goldfish bowl. It's actually worth about £200. It's a lovely looking thing, but of course it does make you feel a bit apprehensive, having a delicate 200-year-old glass bowl in your house.

me: You know, office person M was good at finding that sorta thing. I'll see what I can hide under my jacket on my way out.

me: The funniest thing just happened. The training chick started initiating a break, I noticed that I was the only the only person from an 'ethnic group', or whatever it's called these days. Anyway. Discussion turns to smoking, apparently you have to go down to the basement. Describing it one of the trainers mentions there is a Muslim prayer room next door. And a whole bunch of people just turned and looked at me.

J: Oh dear. Er ... the smoking room is next door to the Muslim prayer room? Mind you, I recently nearly fell over a fella who was praying in a quiet corner of the library. He had his little bit of carpet down and everything. Only a deft bit of footwork on my part prevented disaster. And then I looked at him, raised my eyebrows and said: "Oops."

me: You didn't walk directly in front of him, did you? Because that would have broken his prayer, you know. Anyway. Workshop has finished an hour early. So I'm off t'museum. And this time I've got my camera with me.

J: No, I nearly fell over his arse, but I have a feeling I may have broken his prayer anyway. Ah well. I am keen to see your photographs; do snap away.

me: 'Last admissions at 3pm'. Bastards.

J: What the fuck is all that about? I think you mean not 'bastards' but 'lazy bastards'. Pah.

me: Ah well. Guess where I am now. I'll give you a clue, I need to pick up a new screwdriver set because the dad stole mine...

J: What kind of father lets his daughter go to Bradford without her screwdrivers (even if she is left-handed)?