Thursday, November 09, 2006

Silent Night 

The public address system crackled and sparked and Charlotte, Bill Surname CEO’s loyal PA, bing bonged that she had an important announcement.
All eating stopped and we gathered round the loudspeaker like it was 1939.

“Following reduced circumstances,” she fizzed breathlessly, panic and alarm in every consonant, “Bill Surname’s retired army chums are two baritones short of a full chorus.”
There was a rustling of papers and a clanging of pipes.
“Consequently, the Christmas show for the old folks has never seemed less likely. If interested, please sign up in the foyer at lunchtime, but remember they may be collecting for poppies. Bing bong.”

Nobody said a word, and we all returned to our desks and whatever we weren’t doing.

Poor Charlotte, it’s a difficult time for her, what with the rising interest rate and the falling sky - “In every sandwich a bomb scare; if it’s not that, it’s the bird-flu; the end of the world and not a child washed; my goodness, oh dear, oh my!” - and now this: Bill Surname, the only man she has ever loved, says there has been Silent Night in four part harmony since time immaterial, and she’ll have him to answer to if the endangered souls of the Final Countdown Retirement Home don’t get it this year.

Meanwhile, Creepy Keith from Accounts’ blind date was a big flop - “They were like roofers’ nail bags,” we heard him whinging to Jeanette from the agency this afternoon, which we’re assuming was a bad thing - and Stella, my eighties style yuppie witch of a team leader, has been so busy it hurts.

“Busy? I haven’t got time to be busy!” she panted above the unsteady drone of her walking machine when I popped my head round the door to ask if she was busy, and whether it would be alright to take some time out tomorrow to see about audition pieces.

They were gritting the roads when I went for a run this evening, and still the leaves on the trees cling on. It was see your own breath cold, and across the Ribble Estuary, you could hardly tell the lights of Southport from their reflections, and those reflections from the stars. All was calm, all was bright.

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?

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.

Slightly daft MP3 disclaimer: All MP3's are posted here for a limited time only. Music is not posted here with the intention to profit or violate copyright. In the unlikely event that you are the creator or copyright owner of a song published on this site and you want it to be removed, let me know.