Unless he does prefer to eat the rude

8PM. The posh car* has to stop at the light to let us cross. We take our time.
The windows are rolled down, symphonic music, perhaps a tiny bit too loud.
There's a silky haired blonde in the passenger seat.

-Smooth guy.
-Yep, says J. Do you think he's an Hannibal Lecter type? Expensive life style, caviar, the best music?

The light's gone green, foot on the accelerator, too much, just too much, the posh car speeds away, trying to impress the blonde maybe?

- Nah; no sophisticated, cultured serial killer here; he's just a rich wanker.
- Yes; also he probably listens to Classic FM anyway. The radio for people who don't actually like classical music.
- No redemption possible there. Shame. I shake my head in regret.
- Well at least he won't eat her brain for dinner.


*I don't know what make it is, I know fuck all about cars, nor do I care.

Vernaculaire and dairy products

1. I think your cat’s got the ‘ump, my Special lady friend says.
Yes. Pancho has got the hump, I concur.

There is a blank. The blank morphs into a pregnant silence.

It’s not the same with the ‘h’, is it, she remarks.
I was thinking the exact same thing. Thing is, if I say ‘ump’, people assume it’s a French accent. I just can’t win, can I.
Oh.

2. Blogfolks, I was going to tell you about this man I saw last night, who placed his half-eaten yoghurt on the railing next to me, went into and out of a shop, grabbed it back and finished eating it– in the middle of Victoria station; I mean, has he not heard of spiked yoghurt? But now it doesn’t sound so riveting. So, no. Thank you for stopping by.

Today’s highlights

1. 6.45am; just out the shower, I slither back into bed next to my Special Lady Friend. The room is hot and so is she. She doesn’t complain that I’ve pulled back the covers. I have 15 minutes before I have to leave home. Yay.

2. 6.45pm; at the end of a 2 hour 15 minute meeting, we reach the bottom of the agenda and ‘any Other Business’; buttocks clench up, breaths are held, but mercifully no-one pipes up. At this point one of the Work Trolls usually launches into a 15 minute diatribe about the lack of staples/ the state of the staffroom, but today the trolls aren’t in. Yay.

3. People of blogland, I can’t wait to go to bed.