It begins innocently enough in the pet-shop. I am seeking worms for Jetta.

'Hello there,' says a vaulting tenor voice behind me. 'We meet again.'

I turn and take in the black clothes and trademark dark glasses. I bow and smile. 'Mr. Roy Orbison, I presume. What brings you to our little emporium?'

'I was passing through town on my way to a rock star conference in Essen when I decided to get some de-worming powder for my dog.'

'Ah! How ironic! Your dog has worms and my Jetta eats worms.' I decide to risk a little joke. 'Perhaps we should bring the two of them together!'

But Roy does not laugh. The eyes behind the dark shades express no mirth. 'What? What are you saying? Are you saying your terrapin should eat worms out of my dog's ass?' he snarls.

It is all going wrong. My palms sweat. I wish to die. I try to wake up.

I blush and mumble apologies. Fortunately just then a distraction arrives.

Two criminals burst in waving shotguns.

'This is a robbery!' they yell. 'You two are hostages.'

'Make them tie each other up,' says the lead robber.

'Ach! I have forgotten the rope,' says his cohort.

'I happen to have a roll of cling-film with me,' I offer diffidently. 'Perhaps that would serve?'

'It will have to. Wrap that man in black in cling-film at once or it will go badly with you.'

'Very well.' Trembling, I take out the cling-film. 'I am sorry Roy, it looks like I have no choice.'

'Do what you have to.'

I start at the feet and work my way up. I wrap him as tenderly as a mother swaddling an infant. I marvel at the play of light on the miraculous translucence. Soon, Roy Orbison is entirely wrapped in cling-film. I thank God that I was born to live this minute.

'He is completely wrapped up in cling-film,' I report.

'Good,' says the bandit. 'Now I want you to wrap the clingfilm around the two of you so that you are wrapped up with him.'

My mouth dry, I stand pressed against Roy, who is wrapped completely in clingfilm. Awkwardly, I pass the film around both of our waists several times, until we are bound together by the miracle substance. My synapses overload with joy.

'We are both wrapped in clingfilm,' I tell the robbers. 'I am not completely wrapped, however, but is there more clingfilm in my briefcase if you would care to finish the job.'

'No, that will do.'

It certainly will!

It is an hour or more before the police come to release us.

'Well,' I say to Roy Orbison, 'it was nice to meet you again.'

'I'm not a philosophical man,' says Roy thoughtfully, 'but it seems like we are bound together in some way.'

'Yes - by cling-film!' I say.

This time Roy does laugh.

More tales of Roy Orbison being wrapped in Clingfilm