So what was the first thing (that) you did
when you got home?
Took off my socks, my feet were boiling;
summer’s started since I was away!
Really?
Well, ok, I got off the plane, walked into
the terminal, showed my passport, picked up my bag, paid for the car, bought a
bottle of cold fizzy water – my throat was boiling – waited for the Police to
leave the roundabout, drove home, hugged the cat, carried my bags in, stuck my
washing into the washing machine, turned aforementioned washing machine on,
cooked scrambled eggs in Harissa, searched high and low for chocolate and THEN
took my socks off. But you know what I mean.
Talking of Harissa, have you heard this? Lately,
or even ever? (editorial note x)
The other night as it happens, around
midnight as I was driving back from Stratford in the East of London to Maida
Vale in the West after a day in which I had travelled from Maida Vale (w) to
Clapham (s) to get the car to drive to Straford (e) to drive back to Clapham(s)
to drive to Bromely (more s) to drive to Maida Vale(w) to drive to Stratford(e)
so that I could eventually drive back to Maida Vale(w) as I was doing when you
started to read this sentence.
London is a big city isn’t it?
Stanley, it is. (editorial note t)
Did you stop at THE zebra crossing and let
people go past? (editorial note t)
Yeah, Yeah, Yeah.
So where in all that did Slim Gailard fit
in?
A programme on Radio 2, I think, that was
playing cool jazz – I had finally wrestled the radio tuner back from my
daughter’s vice like grip; she was by then fast asleep back in the East.
Sweet dreams.
And Harissa.
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