Tag Archives: tea

Day thirteen: In the shade of idiots

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That’s a big house.

So is that.

That’s a big house.

Ohhhh, look at that garden, that’s a big garden.

That’s a big house. No not that one- that one over there.

(points at big house over there)

We have been out for a walk in the chipper breeze today. We walked wrapped in wool, like two knitted people.  To cheat the cold we carried coffee, frothy coffee to be precise, a drink that takes liquid and turns it to cloud, a lickable but not very drinkable drink.  It was made at home, with a real take-away cup…The world really is changing.   How we smugly pranced past Costa-lotta Coffee, sipping our home-brew and  burning our lips.  We walked past some big houses too, I believe that is clear, and into the park.  There was a lady training her dog- I didn’t know what she was teaching it (and I couldn’t be 70% sure she was a she).  Her ramshackle face enhanced with a  5-o’clock shadow suggested it was best not to ask. It wasn’t 5 o’clock. This figure was also knitted, but it didn’t look as cosy, knitted with medieval wire I think.  She stood there and glared at young love…her eyes bitter, her tongue hanging out and drooling…I’m talking of the dog now, the Alsatian fixated on two scabby pigeons frolicking in the twigs above.

Perhaps this old goat (back to the woman) thought we were mimicking her due to our milky-lathered lips, albino-moose-tache, not imitating her foaming at the mouth pet, just her bristly upper lip (woman again not dog!). I say this as whilst casually observing, she refused to teach the dog new tricks in front of us.  Top secret training  in an open public space, crafty! Was it to juggle apples? To steal handbags? Could this dog do voices?…I would have loved to hear a Nelson Mandella impression, we all like to think we can do that don’t we?  Try:

In my country we go to prison first and then become President.
Nelson Mandela

Most likely  it was to turd on the path and camouflage it with leaves.  One will never know.  Further down our journey there was a Russel in the shade of the trees.  Well, I never actually asked for names, but several pensioners were hibernating having a flask of tea.  At least that’s what I hope they were doing: strange as there was plenty of picnic tables too choose from yet they decided to snuggle under the canopy of brambles and the undergrowth of weeds.

I don’t like that house.

That’s a shit house.

That’s a shit house.

That house is hideous.

We walked back a different way.

A pleasant enough afternoon in Northern England.

The sleet is now washing our cars and dampening the paths… gracefully descending like baby feathers… this will likely cause mass hysteria in the morning, I for one cannot wait, but my mind goes back to the pigeons in the sky. I wonder if they saw what trick the dog was up too?

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Day eight: Cats got a bite

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I was in a flap yesterday, not of the cat variety, how ironic that would have been. It was back to work ultramarine blues.  My full wrath of anger and bellyaching will come over the coming weeks, but not tonight: I am letting it swell into a mightier force, a tsunami of ill temper that I will unleash.  Remember this mid-life crisis comes early and it is planned.  No hasty decisions here.  Things on my agenda will include staffroom protocol… my blood boils.

I see the cat had a go yesterday instead of me, did a fair job too, perhaps we should form a coalition and scrawl together.  What do you think cat?… She’s not paying attention, she’s back on the hard stuff today. Biscuits that is, not heroine or smack but to her it’s probably just as good. Moments earlier the biscuits fell into her band-aid coloured bowl, it was a scene from a parachute drop in third world gratuity land – although with a cat and no helicopter, and due to personal preference as opposed to famine and desperation.

Snaffling and biting her way through the meaty atoms with aplomb she screams like a diva:

I-AMS a GO-CAT!

Yes you are.

***I had aspirations to blog everyday this year, but eight days in and already the cat is passing me a white flag purrrring for me to wave it aloft and have done with it.  The beers are doing exactly the same but so far I have been controlled.

I shall depart for the evening.  I am brewing a decaf tea for the other half, her new thing…

both cat and I will be on the look out for withdrawal symptoms.

What’s that cat? You’re passing her the white flag too?  Give her half a chance, she reads this.

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