“If you give me any more trouble, I shall visit you in the small hours and put a bat up your nightie.”
… don’t spend a Sunday evening (a) reading “Cranford” and “Cousin Phillis” by Elizabeth Gaskell, (b) drinking a fair amount of wine, (c) completing the Observer cryptic crossword and (d) trying to tune out the “screeching tyres and rattling machine guns plus some choice swearing” sounds generated by a Scotsman with a nice new X-Box. It leads to some alarming dreams!
Am still recovering from Wednesday night, however, as a hunt for a missing poem turned up boxes and boxes of old photographs, postcards, letters, gig ticket stubs, and miscellaneous other nostalgia-soaked paper … That was a helluva long walk down Memory Lane, and my feet still hurt!
I’m currently in the process of typing up my (surprisingly unslender) oeuvre of poems, and will have them on my website (thanks to Scott sorting out the HTML once more!) reasonably soon. Hence the warning …
PLEASE don’t ask me how, but my very first post has now been deleted. I hereby offer my humble resignation from the geek community … suppose I can always blame the (Scottish) germs that are still lurking in my system!
The other night, we were slumped on the sofa (for a change), watching “O Brother Where Art Thou?” Opening sequence sweeps back to show stripey-suited convicts, breaking rocks to the rhythm of a song. “Blimey,” I remarked to S., “and you think you’ve got a shite job”. “Pah!” was the heartfelt response. “At least they get to sing …”! Poor lad.
Scott and I appear be playing a delightful game of tennis with this stinking rotten cold, and this week it’s my turn, let joy be unconfined (don’t worry, I’ve thoroughly fumigated this blog!). So creativity is off the menu for this evening, as I have a date with a bed, a Lemsip and a box of tissues. AGAIN!