Sweet Dreams, Hot feet and Harissa.

yawning or shouting?

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.