My Mother's dog's bum has just phoned someone on my mobile. This feat was achieved because the animal sits on everything, and the phone was on the floor. I do apologise. I cannot work out who was dialled in this unorthodox fashion, as it is not a number I recognise.I dearly hope that it was one of those nuisances who call,uninvited, and then ask me impertinent questions about accidents I may have had. Just for the record, I have had tons of accidents,and they were ALL my fault.
I don't want it to be the charming man from the local takeaway. He is, I think, Cantonese, and might not be up for a lengthy explanation from me about dog's bottoms next time we speak. Few people are, I find.
Yesterday, I went to the new flat to try and clear a path from the front door to the kettle.Some men had been in, to install a new shower. They had left an enormous ladder, some power tools, and half a packet of digestive biscuits.I don't care for ladders. When I lived in Crouch End, there was an incident involving the borrowing of a ladder, two bottles of red wine, my adventurous friend Natasha, and the next-door-neighbour's kitchen window.
Yesterday's mystery object was an alarming-looking square black box with a red light and some wires. It looked like something Doctor Who might have left behind in the course of a hasty departure back to the Tardis. I decided to ignore it unless it did anything threatening, and started to throw bin bags down the stairs. After a while this activity lost its charm;so I was relieved to be joined by my lovely Glaswegian friend. As the saying goes, someone from Edinburgh will help you move house, and someone from Glasgow will help you move a body. Liverpolitans and Glaswegians, I find, have much in common. Jokes about the lawlessness, the accent, and the binge drinking to be found in both our fair cities are still common currency. It is those very features that have attracted several pals of mine to go and live there.
This little Weegie combines a pleasing exterior blonde fluffiness with a core of tungsten. And that is how we set about moving a gigantic sofa. I think that when a task is clearly impossible but you still have to do it, the only approach is to have a couple of drinks and then just hurl yourself at it. We danced that sofa around in every possible position. We rotated it a full 360, we stood it on its head, and we slid, pushed, pulled and prodded it until it gave up and did our bidding. Then we sat on it, and had a fag and a Big Dirty Red. After conquering the sofa, we threw a lot of cardboard boxes out of the window, which was fun for a while. But then we had to take them to The Tip. I had never been before;it isn't the sort of place you go if you don't have a car. It is a very serious place, I can tell you. Lots of men in overalls eye you and your load suspiciously. The general effect is very "border of war-torn country". Then there are umpteen bays with stern notices instructing you to separate some things, flatten others, and lists of articles that you should just not even think about bringing. Japanese Knotweed, for example. I know little about it,but was fairly confident that we had none in the car, so we chucked some more cardboard about, did a little trot on the bubble-wrap, and retired, feeling ecological.
There is a very discouraging doorway to my new abode. The proper front of the house is rather grand; a stately portico with pillars. WE, however, are reached round the back and down some small but deadly steps, where no light shines. The bottom of the door has a big steel panel.My friend pointed out cheerfully that the wood on the other side had been "eaten by a creature".
Perhaps I shall just go in and out through the windows? Another chum had neighbours in their street in Birkenhead who did this as a matter of course; I am not entirely sure why. When visiting her,I thought they were being burgled by a boy band, as a host of fashionably-denimed young male bottoms were to be seen wriggling their way into the first-floor windows. She explained that this was now their preferred and usual method of egress and exit, after their doors had been boarded up. They were a very pleasant lot of youngsters, actually, but their parents enjoyed a troubled relationship; and there were noisy spats from time to time. I was impressed when one of them threw the family dog at the other one.The dog's views remain unrecorded. It was a big dog, and must have been a bugger to lift, never mind throw. And now we seem to have returned, in a roundabout way, to the topic of dogs, and indeed, bottoms. So I shall stop now,before I delve any further into either.
I don't want it to be the charming man from the local takeaway. He is, I think, Cantonese, and might not be up for a lengthy explanation from me about dog's bottoms next time we speak. Few people are, I find.
Yesterday, I went to the new flat to try and clear a path from the front door to the kettle.Some men had been in, to install a new shower. They had left an enormous ladder, some power tools, and half a packet of digestive biscuits.I don't care for ladders. When I lived in Crouch End, there was an incident involving the borrowing of a ladder, two bottles of red wine, my adventurous friend Natasha, and the next-door-neighbour's kitchen window.
Yesterday's mystery object was an alarming-looking square black box with a red light and some wires. It looked like something Doctor Who might have left behind in the course of a hasty departure back to the Tardis. I decided to ignore it unless it did anything threatening, and started to throw bin bags down the stairs. After a while this activity lost its charm;so I was relieved to be joined by my lovely Glaswegian friend. As the saying goes, someone from Edinburgh will help you move house, and someone from Glasgow will help you move a body. Liverpolitans and Glaswegians, I find, have much in common. Jokes about the lawlessness, the accent, and the binge drinking to be found in both our fair cities are still common currency. It is those very features that have attracted several pals of mine to go and live there.
This little Weegie combines a pleasing exterior blonde fluffiness with a core of tungsten. And that is how we set about moving a gigantic sofa. I think that when a task is clearly impossible but you still have to do it, the only approach is to have a couple of drinks and then just hurl yourself at it. We danced that sofa around in every possible position. We rotated it a full 360, we stood it on its head, and we slid, pushed, pulled and prodded it until it gave up and did our bidding. Then we sat on it, and had a fag and a Big Dirty Red. After conquering the sofa, we threw a lot of cardboard boxes out of the window, which was fun for a while. But then we had to take them to The Tip. I had never been before;it isn't the sort of place you go if you don't have a car. It is a very serious place, I can tell you. Lots of men in overalls eye you and your load suspiciously. The general effect is very "border of war-torn country". Then there are umpteen bays with stern notices instructing you to separate some things, flatten others, and lists of articles that you should just not even think about bringing. Japanese Knotweed, for example. I know little about it,but was fairly confident that we had none in the car, so we chucked some more cardboard about, did a little trot on the bubble-wrap, and retired, feeling ecological.
There is a very discouraging doorway to my new abode. The proper front of the house is rather grand; a stately portico with pillars. WE, however, are reached round the back and down some small but deadly steps, where no light shines. The bottom of the door has a big steel panel.My friend pointed out cheerfully that the wood on the other side had been "eaten by a creature".
Perhaps I shall just go in and out through the windows? Another chum had neighbours in their street in Birkenhead who did this as a matter of course; I am not entirely sure why. When visiting her,I thought they were being burgled by a boy band, as a host of fashionably-denimed young male bottoms were to be seen wriggling their way into the first-floor windows. She explained that this was now their preferred and usual method of egress and exit, after their doors had been boarded up. They were a very pleasant lot of youngsters, actually, but their parents enjoyed a troubled relationship; and there were noisy spats from time to time. I was impressed when one of them threw the family dog at the other one.The dog's views remain unrecorded. It was a big dog, and must have been a bugger to lift, never mind throw. And now we seem to have returned, in a roundabout way, to the topic of dogs, and indeed, bottoms. So I shall stop now,before I delve any further into either.
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