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11
What can I say about 11?
Have you ever heard the phrase "bull in a china shop"? I hate that phrase. I mean, who is stupid enough to let a bull into a china shop, or even have a door that a bull could get through. And lets face it, without opposable thumbs how could the bull manage to grip and turn the door handle to get into the china shop. And even if we put all those impossibilities to the side, what self respecting bull would go into a china shop. Except possibly when dragged by its wife to be for the purposes of setting up a wedding list of impossibily pointless and overpriced crockery (and exactly why any future Mr and Mrs Bull would want a set of five matching tureens, ramekins and three-tier cake stands is beyond me) . And then it would be a "bull and future mrs bull in a china shop". And even then, any self respecting male would enter a self-defensive comatose state where the lower reptilian brain takes over utter affirimatve grunts at appropriate pauses in the conversation, and therefore completely incapable of any form of damage -- except to be on the receiving end of the mental damage kind.
Where was I?
Oh yes.
Eleven. Eleven is a fine character, just a little, ummm, unfortunate. Full of enthusiasm. Too full, really. Cheerful to a level bordering on hyperactivity. And somewhat short sighted. Not an ill-meaning bone in its body (not, being a number, that it has a body, but you get what I mean), but it has mishaps.
For example, it did try to park a friend's car once. Just the once. I think the latest grand total of damaged items is eight cars, six flower pots, two bollards, nine shopping carts, a tramp steamer and two dovecots (the lawyers are still arguing about the satellite).
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