This week Morris holds a Salopian Auction in Perth, offering Aussies the chance to bid for some postcards, some polaroids, a packet of Polos and the services of Morris himself. Sadly he discovers he is only worth $17.50... which is slightly less than the Polos...

The stage platform is being set up and the MC I hired has just arrived.

I hadn’t met the MC before now and it seems to me his advert was a little misleading. I booked "Crazy Mick - Perth’s most dynamic, bombastic, happening master of ceremonies. Perfect for all your major events, receptions, auctions, parties and functions. "

Crazy Mick’s real name is Cyril who looks a little bit like David Dickinson might if he really let himself go. He is mahogany, 53, overweight, balding and admits this is his first ever gig. He does look the part in his mauve rhinestone jump-suit though.

Mick is auctioning the snowstorm now. It would be an exaggeration to say that things are going spectacularly well. No one has actually bid on anything yet, the postcards and polaroids failed to fire up the enthusiasm of any bargain hunters, though a small crowd has gathered.

Someone just bought the snowstorm, there was a minor bidding war, one man bid $1, then someone else bid $1.50, then the first man came back with a bid of $1.75 which proved too rich for the other bidder and won the auction. Exciting stuff.

Things are really hotting up now, the Polos attracted seven bids and finished at $18.00, they must be hard to get hold of here or something. I hope no one notices I ate one and folded the silver foil back over. I’m up for auction next, whoever wins gets my exclusive services for three whole days and nights, I hope someone nice wins.

I am, apparently, worth $17.50

$17.50 for three days and three nights of Morris Telford. I wouldn’t mind so much, but the Polos sold for more than I did.

Still, fate has once again smiled on me, the auction was won by a man called Chip Roland who looks a bit like an young Todd Carty, just after he left Grange Hill but before he got Aids. Chip owns a stationary supplies company ("Chip’s Clips, Paper and Staplers, Perth WA") and I am once again up to my elbows office paraphernalia, no one could be happier at such a fortuitous outcome. Except possibly Chip who has employed an experienced office consumables clerk for less than six dollars a day.

I started yesterday morning and immediately set about reorganising the stock allocation and ordering process so that it conforms to a more modern, indexed system. I felt almost guilty enjoying it so much, sat surrounded by box upon box of poorly organised stationary supplies, it’s like a little holiday. Would you believe I actually found a box of the pre-code banner twist file ringlets?

After work finished at seven, Chip took me home with him. On reflection I was leaving myself open for abuse by pledging 24-hour days, but I’m a man of my word so I went home with Chip and it wasn’t so bad. He did make me wear a giant teddy bear suit and kept me up most of the night making me sing Waltzing Matilda while he stapled pictures of his ex-wife to the furniture. Chip cried himself to sleep at about 6am so I left him to sleep and got back to work at the stationary suppliers. I changed out of the teddy suit first.

Today is day 100 of my Salopian Opus. A centenary of sacrifice, a milestone of personal triumph and a red-letter day for all lovers of Shropshire. I suspect the streets of Moreton Say are ringing with the cries of rejoicing and celebration, that’s probably why no-one answered when I called home, they are all busy doing parades and waving flags and things like that.

The postcards and polaroids that didn’t sell at auction are being put to good use; I’m slipping one into each order that is dispatched from Chip’s company, spreading a little Shropshire goodness along with the paperclips.

When I worked for Mr Magson I used to put signed photos of myself in any stationary orders I was particularly proud of but he made me stop it. No one appreciates professional pride anymore.

He opened up a bit while I cut his hair, apparently his wife Sheila left him last year and he never really got over it. He seemed to love her very much.

I had a long chat with him, tried to explain to him how important it is to move on, start a new chapter of his life, perhaps move to Shropshire, I think it really helped him having someone to talk to. After I cut his hair he made me wear one of Sheila’s old dresses while I read to him. He couldn’t decide what he wanted me to read, so I chose the 2003 Stationary Supplies Catalogue of Western Australia and read through the pages of new stock items. Chip fell asleep about halfway through the desk diaries on page 57, but I kept on reading anyway until the sun came up.

I have left Chip’s stationary business in better order than it has ever been, I’m not sure that Chip himself is much better though. I kept telling him that if he only relocated to Shropshire he would be much happier, he was foolishly sceptical about moving to Shropshire being a panacea, how little he knows of the deep happiness you enjoy just by being in England’s finest county (Shropshire, not Devon).

He is deeply unhappy and uses the business as an excuse for staying as he is, I’m very worried about him.

"I am sure that your feet will be thanking you for every step in your pilgrimage towards the Holy Grail of bingo halls, on golden sands of beautiful Perth.

The address of The Biggest Bingo Centre is 496 Guildford Rd Bayswater...I only hope this message reaches you in time. "

Hurrah! Today I shall play Bingo like never before.

The Biggest Bingo Centre stands on Guildford Rd like a radiant bastion of pure joy. Inside the air is thick with warm love and the nostril-arousing aroma of freshly opened bingo markers. After the past few days I think I deserve a little self-indulgence, I intend to play until my arms go numb and my eyes bleed.

Contrary to popular opinion, Bingo, like life, is not about winning; it’s all about the journey. The chair you sit in, the tone and performance of the caller, the marker you use, the type of grid your numbers are in; any one of these factors can totally change the bingo playing experience.

The moment you walk into the Bingo Hall a galaxy of possibilities open up before you. Who will you sit next to? How many cards will you play simultaneously? What colour maker will you use? Is the method used to select the numbers a genuinely random system? Can you hold out to the end of the game before going to the toilet? All these exciting forks in the Bingo road are just as important as "will I win?"

Today I hastily assembled a ragtag fleet of jobless, homeless and in a couple of cases hairless people to run the office supplies business for me. Once the twinkling magnificence of stationary ordering grabs them I’m sure the business will thrive in my absence.

I also called the Filthy Mug and I’m going to have Meat brought up to Perth to help run the business. Once he learns to speak I’m sure he will make an excellent stationary operative.

"I've been wondering where on earth Morris would go next - which part of the planet most needs his unique touch, which harbours the most urgent problems, and then I'm sure I spotted him the other day in Amsterdam! I do hope he deals with that dreadful 'dance music' everybody seems to be into here, and maybe takes home some of the embarrassing British who have defused over here!"

No, that wasn’t me, I’ve never been to Amsterdam, it’s not a bad idea though. I was thinking of going to Devon and proving to myself just how wrong Country Life really were, but if Amsterdam is where I am needed, then that is where I shall go. I’m very sorry to hear about the dance music and that some British people are being embarrassing, you have to remember that not all British people come from Shropshire. I’ll pop over and see what I can do.

Do they speak English in Amsterdam? I do hope so. I’ll admit I know absolutely nothing about Amsterdam. Except, of course, that it won’t be half as nice as Shropshire.