Wrongbow
So a lot of water has flown under our bridge.
From St. Albans, to Cornwall, to St. Albans, to Brighton, and here I am, complete with kangaroo boots and pine. The Latest 7 magazine called me a hussy.
So how to document what's been happening. On Satuday me and Rosanne found ourselves in The Victory drinking pints of Peculiarberg.
And then, as occasionally is the case, we end up having a sibling-esque fight. Sort of a ridiculous bar brawl with chairs being smashed over each others heads, and then I'm lying under the table and Rosie's kicking me, and then I throw her across the room and with a horrible crash, she collides with a wooden door, crumpling down onto the ground. Everyone in the whole pub looks round at what appears, to all intents and purposes, to be me, throwing a small girl into a heavy wooden door.
I'm going to get lynched, aren't I.
Thank goodness for our last minute emergency technique, which involves leaping into each others arms and explaining; "We're brother and sister!".
It almost always works. However, the final denoument in this theatre of the absurd is that one of the onlookers turns out to be Grace. Yes, Grace from St. Albans who we haven't seen in a couple of years. "You haven't changed a bit", she says. What's that supposed to mean?
On the plus side, I didn't get lynched as a wife beater, and Ro-ro was okay, and it was nice to see Grace too.
* * *
Saw Tommy in Jessops. He was on an errand to buy Andy a lens cleaner. Irony works in funny ways.
* * *
More about Cornwall to come. More about White Christmas to come.
* * *
Entertaining Amy around Brighton as she becomes the only person I've ever met to regularly absent-mindedly buy bottles of wine. Not to mention a great wave of vicarious broodiness. Alice is so fat these days. And it's only a matter of days before the wee child emerges from her womb. Before long it's going to be running around her front room rolling an orthopaedic ball before it like a sea lion. Or so I imagine, I've never seen the Wizard of Oz and I don't really know what children do.
* * *
The other day Dom glued a silvery-grey wig to his head, making him the spitting image of Steve Martin. Then he engaged in an unusual courtship ritual with this girl all dressed up in sepia. Now what would their children look like?
From St. Albans, to Cornwall, to St. Albans, to Brighton, and here I am, complete with kangaroo boots and pine. The Latest 7 magazine called me a hussy.
So how to document what's been happening. On Satuday me and Rosanne found ourselves in The Victory drinking pints of Peculiarberg.
And then, as occasionally is the case, we end up having a sibling-esque fight. Sort of a ridiculous bar brawl with chairs being smashed over each others heads, and then I'm lying under the table and Rosie's kicking me, and then I throw her across the room and with a horrible crash, she collides with a wooden door, crumpling down onto the ground. Everyone in the whole pub looks round at what appears, to all intents and purposes, to be me, throwing a small girl into a heavy wooden door.
I'm going to get lynched, aren't I.
Thank goodness for our last minute emergency technique, which involves leaping into each others arms and explaining; "We're brother and sister!".
It almost always works. However, the final denoument in this theatre of the absurd is that one of the onlookers turns out to be Grace. Yes, Grace from St. Albans who we haven't seen in a couple of years. "You haven't changed a bit", she says. What's that supposed to mean?
On the plus side, I didn't get lynched as a wife beater, and Ro-ro was okay, and it was nice to see Grace too.
* * *
Saw Tommy in Jessops. He was on an errand to buy Andy a lens cleaner. Irony works in funny ways.
* * *
More about Cornwall to come. More about White Christmas to come.
* * *
Entertaining Amy around Brighton as she becomes the only person I've ever met to regularly absent-mindedly buy bottles of wine. Not to mention a great wave of vicarious broodiness. Alice is so fat these days. And it's only a matter of days before the wee child emerges from her womb. Before long it's going to be running around her front room rolling an orthopaedic ball before it like a sea lion. Or so I imagine, I've never seen the Wizard of Oz and I don't really know what children do.
* * *
The other day Dom glued a silvery-grey wig to his head, making him the spitting image of Steve Martin. Then he engaged in an unusual courtship ritual with this girl all dressed up in sepia. Now what would their children look like?
posted by Rufus Moonshine at 4:23 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home