“Women!” I repeat breathlessly.
“Women!” I repeat breathlessly again, concentrating on not falling off the pavement. Short Tony nods in agreement.
“It is just so unusual to see women in the Village Pub,” I elaborate. “Especially young ones, who look like they look after themselves a bit and know how to dress.” There is another nod.
“I am here, you know,” snaps Mrs Short Tony.
I try to explain that my comment was not meant to be in any way derogatory of the regular ladies that we hang out with, but it comes out a bit wrong, as abuse. Short Tony chips in to be conciliatory, but it is less like pouring petrol on the flames than chucking the petrol, the flames, some fireworks, a British seaside pier and Richard Reid the Shoe Bomber into a large hadron collider and switching it on to see what happens.
“To be honest, I wouldn’t know how to talk to one these days,” I continue sadly. “It is a shame that Big A left early. Although it might have been for the best.”
“Do I take it that the LTLP’s been away a couple of days too long?” enquires Mrs Short Tony, sarcastically.
“The thing is, although I am there in the Village Pub, I am really more of a metropolitan sophisticate type,” I ruminate, as I wee into a bush. “But they are not to know that. I should have said ‘hello’ and introduced myself.”
“Are you coming round for a bite to eat then?” demands Short Tony.
Although I have already planned a dinner, this is admittedly a Bombay Bad Boy Pot Noodle, into which I was going to dip a cold leftover lamb chop.
“Yes please,” I agree.
“a metroplitan sophisticate type”. Hahahahahahahaha (breathe, H) hahahahahahahaha.
They’re giving away self twirling forks for the eating of Pot Noodles with. I saw it in a magazine. Perhaps you should purchase one. It would be infinitely more sophisticated than a regular fork and you could impress people down the pub by randomly twirling it.
did mrs short tony pass out while you were weeing – how was short tony still allowed to invite you round?
how was short tony still allowed home himself, for that matter?
is mrs short tony okay?
if she lives she will tell the ltlp, you know. you’re in big trouble jonny.
Time the LTLP got home pdq, I think!
Well at least we’ll understand the “Local Blogger Served Up as Main Course,” “Bogging for Apples: Cannibalism and the Modern Web,” “Entree Nous – Blogger Baked for Babe Bashing” headlines that will be topping the more lurid rags tomorrow.
Also I’m wondering if JB can be trusted to know what women look like as the chicks he hangs out with are of the feathery variety. Personally I think there were several pints involved and a rather blurry squint at Otto the Poacher or whatever colorful Norfolk character was lurching towards the loo at the moment.
Sad flight back to mediocrity in your choice of title verb this time Jonny. “Return” is frankly pedestrian. “Weave home” might have been more le mot juste, or “lurch home”, even. Sleep it off before you commit your next indiscretion to the ether – then you might remember to pick up a thesaurus occasionally.
I notice Mrs Short Tony did not avail herself of any bushes on the road home. I dare say she was saving up. Soup for supper, was it?
No, nothing displays you urbanity and sophistication more than outdoor water sports with the STs.
*your* Dammit!
using a bush is more sophisticated than filling one’s shoe, to be sure.
‘Bombay Bad Boy Pot Noodle, into which I was going to dip a cold leftover lamb chop.’
Nice.
Now I need some tea and toast.
That works on several levels, Carnalis.
I suppose it IS Norfolk and I suppose it IS good for the garden but I feel urbanity and sophistication is speedily receding from your sticky grasp. sorry Jonny:(
Why were you running? Were the Women *that* frightening?
Accessorising the pot noodle really does bring it in to a different realm. That’s almost cooking.
Anyone had a fun pot noodle experience? I’m collecting food related experiences – click my name if you want to share…
Hullo Discover Unearthed and welcome. I wish you luck with your quest.
You’re not really in Canada, admit it!
I’m pleased to see you maintain the accepted protocol in the British media of only ever referring to Richard Reid the Shoe Bomber as “Richard Reid the Shoe Bomber.” Presumably this is because Richard Reid is not a particularly memorable name. Another poor fellow in the same category is “Canoe Man John Darwin.” I wonder if he ever feels hard done by – all the things he has done in his life cast aside and his personality and experience in their entirety summed up in the words “Canoe Man.” Richard Reid might feel the same way. “I mean, I shoe-bomb just the once and suddenly I’m The Shoe Bomber??”