Representation versus reality

We have a lunch club at work: every couple of weeks we try a different local restaurant. This week was the turn of a Tex-Mex type of place. My colleague, Ian, ordered buffalo wings as a starter, what a rip off. If I remember my natural history correctly, buffalos are huge great big hairy cows. You would think that a buffalo would need whacking great big wings to enable it to soar effortlessly over the plains, thus avoiding the slings and arrows of outrageous red indians. The ones that Ian got wouldn't have looked out of place on a chicken ferchrissake, rip off Britain at its best, there ought to be a law against it!

Emptiness

The man is all alone in the house, his wife and young son have gone away. He misses them terribly, he is alone with his thoughts. The house is empty, no longer a home, just a house. It is unnaturally quiet without his son's chatter, his singing, his laughter, even his crying. Toys sit in the basket, macabre lifeless objects. The giant plastic ant in the man's shoe holds no joy, no feigned terror to provoke hysterical giggles. The man hears the small noises that the house makes in the night, the creaks and bumps. He hears the church bell chiming the hour in the pre-dawn darkness, a hunting owl disturbs his sleep. The bed feels too big without his wife, he wakes suddenly, disoriented, alone. A meal is no longer a meal, not a social event, simply fuel for the fire. He talks to himself, the TV, the washing machine, the kettle. He stares at the telephone willing it to ring, he longs for human interaction. Then his mate Dave comes around and drags him kicking and screaming to the pub. The hangovers begin…

Unaccustomed as I am

I'm busy working on my Best Man's speech for Swiss Toni's wedding on Friday. I've got as far as "Ladies and gentlemen, mumble mumble mumble…". Ten minutes of that should just about do it eh? Bore the buggers into submission, that'll learn ‘em. Sitting there open mouthed expecting to be entertained, lazy sods we made our own entertainment in my day, bloody cheek.

You are what you eat

What would you like for your dinner Sammy?
Bogies!

Some people will read anything

I seem to have toddled over the 20,000 hits mark some time over the last day or two. I'll keep writing it if you keep reading it you crazy fools!