Monday, June 19, 2006

Summer Skin 

Sibling E reaches her half century this week. We all jumped out from behind the chimney breast of a very pleasant pub in the Peak District and shouted “Surprise!” and Saturday night passed swimmingly. She never suspected a thing.

There was the small matter of the jovial landlord giving our room to the wrong people, which meant me and Girlfriend had to spend all afternoon sunning ourselves in the beer garden - shame - but otherwise all was jolly and good.

When we awoke our room was brown. Woodchip is so coming back it hurts, apparently.

Over breakfast Sibling B told us she’d recently killed a client at work, but she’d followed all the correct procedures to the letter and the coroner’s report said everything was in order. So we had a little laugh about that. I said we all have bad days at the office from time to time, and she said she didn’t tell her husband for days because he’s such a worrier. Oh come on, we've all wanted to at some time or other.

On the long way home the brakes went a bit dicky, almost up-ending us into a skip in Marsden, in honour of the poet. Oldham’s bloody drab, mind.

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