Alas, apologies, etc.
Posted at 9:14 PM on 15 July 2007
This weekend came to pass. Floating like a pineapple doth an apple grove, we looked into each other's eyes and smiled as if we were flatulating like rhinos on the bad fruit.
Lydia scowled; she knew I'd been on the sauce and didn't approve. Last time I'LL be touching the Heinz 57, and no mistake.
Especially so far as ketchups are concerned.
I noticed the pattern on the tarmac. Slightly mottled, it put me in mind of the racing circuit around Monaco. Although with less rubber.
Lydia disapproves of rubber, at least when I'm threatening to leave strips of it across T-junctions. So I left it at that, and decelerated to a moot point in the distance.
I float; no -- tell a lie -- I flaut. I am the James Galway of happenstance, and pied-piper my way through life as if I were a disorientated rodent on valium.
London. Londinium. The pit at the fruit of England. Wrinkled, passive; a cautionary tale to all who trail in its wake.
We make plans, Lydia and I. We are gravel. And racing lines.
I gasp again. And suck into a corner.
(with apologies to the Stray Taoist. And also, the couple who feature in the above photograph -- I really have no idea who they are.)
