Saturday, April 10, 2004

You’d Better Pray To The Lord When You See Those Flying Saucers, It May Be The Coming Of The Judgement Day 

It’s a year since we bought our house, so yesterday Girlfriend and I held a small party to celebrate. I removed my barbecue tongs from their velvet lined box, adopted the barbecue stance (“legs apart, knees slightly bent, beer in one hand and tongs, slightly raised and at the ready, in the other,” according to my textbook) and then watched helplessly as everybody shot straight back into the house as soon as I‘d fed them.

Midway through the proceedings, I took a phone call from Dave, my music publisher.
“Hey Tim, I can’t talk for long. I’m at a really wild party.”
I hadn’t invited Dave to our own party because he always disgraces himself, tries to cop off with everyone and anyone, and then vomits in the flowerbeds. It’s embarrassing.
“Where have you been Dave? I’ve been trying to get hold of you for weeks. About the song you wanted, remember?”
“What song?”
“The Pulp-a-like one. You’d met somebody…”
“Babe, I’m always meeting somebody. Are you sure you’re not imagining it?”
“So you don’t want it then?”
“Want what?”
“The Pulp-a-like song.”
“Good, because I didn’t write it. So why did you ring me?”
“Why did I ring you? You rang me didn’t you? What do you want? I can get you anything Tim, anything you like, mate.”
“Look Dave, I’ve got to go.” I hesitated to tell him that I was at a really wild party. “I’ll speak to you later, alright Dave?”

Later on, when everyone had left, Girlfriend and I lay wrapped in blankets on the lawn and gazed at the stars.
“Look, there’s a UFO!”
“No Tim, that’s the Northern Star.”
“Well what about that one then?”
“That’s still the Northern Star. Who was that on the phone earlier?”
“Oh, nobody.”

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Copyright(c) 2004-2010 by Tim, A Free Man In Preston.
It kind of goes without saying, but this is my blog. I own it.

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