"If music is the food of love, play on", or something like that. You however decide that food is the music of love and fall head over heels for a tart or a double chocolate sponge or a lovely beef stew or something. WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME I'M AN ASTROLOGER NOT A CHEF! Either that or you'll try to play Beethoven's 5th on a shepards pie
Bobby Peru
Tuesday 15 January 2008
Sunday 6 January 2008
Wednesday 2 January 2008
Not so New Year
I hate New Year’s Eve. I just don’t like it at all. I’m not sure when this developed, but it is there now. It may have something to do with Panther’s idea of ringing in the new year, permanent and unchangeable like the stains on the his favourite pub’s upholstery: dissonant music and bad drink surrounded by pissed strangers singing “aul’ something or other” holding hands and planting slobbery kisses on my unwilling good self.
This last one was pretty bad, even by bad standards. Not only did I have my New-year puss on me, I also had a runny nose and intermittent fits of spluttering cough. In a masochistic moment I even decided to wear a skirt. Got to the hole of a pub still half empty at 9.30. We found a seat at the bar and an old bloke offered Panther his seat saying he was better off standing ‘beware of Greeks bearing gifts’ I thought, but said nothing. We both assumed (desperately hoped, actually) that the man would finish his vodka and red and go home. It was not to be. I could see him angling for conversation. Due to my New Year’s Eve puss and cold, there wasn’t much coming from me and the oul’fella soon found an opening. So it was that I spent the next four hours watching the telly above the bar drowned by karaoke music, drinking orange juice and blowing my nose at regular intervals. As regular as the vodka and reds your man was drinking. Panther looked at me for sympathy a couple of times and bleated the man was driving him mad ‘sorry’ I said. ‘Good!’ I thought, and went back to watching the telly.
As it turned out the man (dressed in his suit and tie for the night out) was living in a hostel and when he left he was very drunk but maybe happier than when he came in, courtesy of Panther (that’s why I love him). I was promised a dinner out to make up for it. And like magic a free curry appeared on the bar: the owners of the premises treated their regulars to a bit of food and a free drink for the New Year.
Pinzimonio
This last one was pretty bad, even by bad standards. Not only did I have my New-year puss on me, I also had a runny nose and intermittent fits of spluttering cough. In a masochistic moment I even decided to wear a skirt. Got to the hole of a pub still half empty at 9.30. We found a seat at the bar and an old bloke offered Panther his seat saying he was better off standing ‘beware of Greeks bearing gifts’ I thought, but said nothing. We both assumed (desperately hoped, actually) that the man would finish his vodka and red and go home. It was not to be. I could see him angling for conversation. Due to my New Year’s Eve puss and cold, there wasn’t much coming from me and the oul’fella soon found an opening. So it was that I spent the next four hours watching the telly above the bar drowned by karaoke music, drinking orange juice and blowing my nose at regular intervals. As regular as the vodka and reds your man was drinking. Panther looked at me for sympathy a couple of times and bleated the man was driving him mad ‘sorry’ I said. ‘Good!’ I thought, and went back to watching the telly.
As it turned out the man (dressed in his suit and tie for the night out) was living in a hostel and when he left he was very drunk but maybe happier than when he came in, courtesy of Panther (that’s why I love him). I was promised a dinner out to make up for it. And like magic a free curry appeared on the bar: the owners of the premises treated their regulars to a bit of food and a free drink for the New Year.
Pinzimonio
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