Growling at Badgers

Blog action day was yesterday, apparently, and it completely passed me by, but suffice to say: trees and other green things are good, chainsaws and other shiny things are bad. Look Mum, I'm saving the world (and the cheerleader).

Moving along in the same vein; drivers are an infuriating breed, aren't they? Oh yes. As well as destroying the green things that are good with their gas-pumping shiny things that are bad, they are thieving, car park space-stealers, and they smell. Especially when you are in a hurry to get a pre-Billy Connelly fruit juice and to gear your rear-end up for an interval-less bought of hilarity at the BIC (Bournemouth's rubbish biro, compared to the condemned, not-rubbish fountain pen of the Wintergardens), feeling like a globule of gunked up ink trying to escape from its congealed nib. Ftftftftft... BOOM!

On the way back to our vehicle I was confronted by the distinct whiff of nitronium-disulphatron wafting from the broken down carcasses of the beastly drivers, but I comforted myself with the warm feeling of genius. After skim-reading the many thousands of prescribed questions in a matter of blinking whore biscuits, and a squirmy, banquet-of-tepid-prawn-cocktail-on-a-boat style tummy, I aced my theory test. Yes, I am coming to join your evil breed, infuriating the dwindling colony of shivering pedestrians will be my life's new mission.

But I have to pass the other test first, so for the moment, if you want me, I shall be on the streets with Bibby & the Merry Merrymakers, sustainably paper 'crafting' for the environment


Currently listening: The Flying Cup Club by Beirut

Hessian Heaven

Saturday night, I feel the air is getting lukewarm... Something about babies... It's party time and not one minute we can lose... More Babies... Da ba da dah, dee dee dee da nee na na na, etc.

Hurry. The coolest soirée in town is already under way. A short dash across the Lambrini-wielding child's lair, wearing surprisingly ordinary clothes, and it's time for a balloon-melting, paper-ripping frenzy of fun.

The Queen of the window seat is firmly in place, regally surveying her boozed-up serflings while dogs fart at her feet. Controversial glitter is released to devastating effect, covering everything that moves with itchy colour. Peasants with unwanted gifts are duly flogged and dragged, heelwise & screaming as the all powerful monarch dismisses them with an 'orf with their heads' flourish. Those with whom she is most pleased escort the fair lady into the milky cold, carrying her excessive train and mammoth ruff behind her, to indulge in a puff of the New World.

As the clock strikes the hour of bewitchment the royal court moves south a few paces to Her Majesty's ballroom for a spot of stately dancing. Court Jesters, 'The Fizz' make a lengthy appearance, entertaining the masses with their pumping, comedy stylings; until, with Sir Tacky Tape of Wacky Tack beckoning, no more grapes for her loyal & exhausted subjects to dangle, and the thought of scrapbooking The Aston ringing in her mind, The Queen pony prances to bed to enjoy a fitful, glittery sleep.


Currently listening: Fur and Gold by Bat For Lashes