octobre 29, 2004
my holiday #1
Harry's given me his 3 phone. You know this because since I got it you've all been sent a jpeg memento of my every movement. Or motion. I'm like the opposite of those woolly liberals who make wide-eyed ominous comments about Big Brother (the real one, dummy) and ID cards. Harry says I'm like Penny when she first got her computer. Harry used to go Penny when we played Inspector Gadget. I was the main man, on my gadget skates. Harry was Penny, using "The Ladybird Book of Computers" as a computer. I haven't seen it for a while, but being 20 years ago all the computers looked like Deep Thought.
So I've been in London and York for a while, and I took a lot of photos in York. The one with the stag's head is the Banana Warehouse. There were also towering piles of old suitcases, books, furniture, light fittings and a figurehead on one of the rafters. And a Joan Crawford film playing on a black and white telly. It was very Gilliam lite.
London was ace. There are a lot more photos in the playground, and some of you know the way to get there. The rest of you can all go ask a policeman for directions to Sesame Street. 
I stayed with Chris in Highgate on the first night. Some of you stole his hat at Monkey Chews. The rest of you may as well conjure in your minds the implications of Rigsby and Harry Hill crammed into Brundlefly's transporter. That is Chris, whom I love dearly, as I do all the surrogate brothers with whom I spent my holiday: Baz, Log, Nick, Pete, and the rest of you are all an etcetera because this is a blog, not an Oscar speech. My Oscar speech would be: "Get lost!" *climbs back into bin*
So mostly, in London, let's just say I wasn't lying when I put "Socialising with friends!" on the "Hobbies" section of my CV, beneath "Wanking and crying - preferably at the same time!". There was a nick and bag theme to London. Nick gave me a bag out of a bin. (The bag was binny. I suppose the bin was baggy, too.) And Angel got his bag nicked in the Moon and Halfpenny in Soho, a notorius bag-theft spot.
In York I tried on my dad's hats and wigs, made lots of compilation CDs, played with my brothers and ate chips with scraps. If you ask for scraps in Scotland, you get "chibbed" in the "pus".
Posted by rosy at octobre 29, 2004 03:28 PM | TrackBack> pus
Ah, going for the gaelic spelling I see.
I once asked for a 'fish supper' in Whitby and promptly had my entrails nailed to a tree before being pushed down a hill.
Posted by: air at octobre 29, 2004 03:49 PMThat's because they thought you were asking after a 'sup' of their ma's furry cup.
I drug up in Humberside so I should know.
Curiously, the only similar innuendo I found here in the soft South West was when I worked in a cafe at the tender age of eighteen.
I used to have to bite my lip when all the oldies used to ask for cheese and tuna rolls. It just conjures up so many horrid mental images of tramps and binners enthusiatically engaged in the act soixante neuf.
I also used to over tighten my apron strap and tie it 'round the front under my knob bulge so it really stood out. A sort of improvised cod piece really. It made the day seem more enjoyable asking an octogenarian if she'd like milk in her cappucino when my willy was at her eye height. Makes me wish I could wear an apron to work really but I guess it would be frowned upon at the design studio.
That's a crap oscar speech.
I'm lonely.
Posted by: Dog Poo at décembre 8, 2004 08:54 PMaw gee pooey, whys ya gots to bees lonely?
ya looks like a miiiiiillion dollahs!
Posted by: air at décembre 8, 2004 10:48 PMSorry DP. Will try better. You shit.
Posted by: Speedwolf at décembre 10, 2004 12:56 PM