"Facing my interrogator and stuck for an excuse, dreamt up fifteen variations on pastry abuse"
Thus sayeth Mr Thomas Dolby some years ago, well here it's onion abuse, and it's pretty nasty. Could have been worse though. So far on this beer extravaganza, I've managed to avoid the Doctors Dog who paid me many visits after nights out when I lived here. If you didn't know, he's the hairy lad who comes around when you're sleeping it off and takes a nice big heavy dump in your mouth, which explains why your mouth tastes like shit when you wake up. He's not been here yet, although I fear I may moxy myself by mentioning him. If not the Doctor, then the Man with the Rats. You must know the guy. Sneaks around when you're in your beer induced coma in a red suit with a belt with dead rats hanging off, shoves the rats up your arse while you sleep and that explains the smells and discomfort, it's the rats trying to claw their way out. As it's beer festival time, I confidently expect that at least he will make an appearance.
A bit of an interesting morning, this one.
I'd dropped a cautious letter to my father before coming down, inviting a meet and chat, as I've not seen the fella for a few years... those few that know the particular circumstances of me being here will know why I'm cautious as to how I word these things. Since I left home, direct contact has been absent, although birthdays and such were always remembered, face to face contact hadn't happened, except for once about four years ago, accidentally in town. Been ruminating on this for a while, and in my usual way of worrying about stuff but not actually doing anything about it, I was set to continue until I decided enough was enough. The fella's over seventy now - if anything happened to him and I'd not done anything about meeting up, knowing that I should have done, I wouldn't have been able to forgive myself. Anyways up; just a meet for a cuppa and a chat in between his bus there and the one home, but very nice anyway. He's not in as great as shape as he's ever been and is somewhat deaf, but he's still the old man; if you met him, you could see where I get a lot of it from. Talked about stuff that's never been talked about before, he and my mother, stuff before my time and certainly before my recollection; brought two pictures with him, one of myself and mother when I was just turned three and the scarey one, mum at eighteen. Should have borrowed them to scan actually; maybe that's one for next time. Quite sad actually; but probably not that unusual, expecially if you're fond of trashy romantic fiction... married with kids early, then encounters the big love, and I turn up on the scene. Hey ho. Such chances are the difference between me growing up "normal" with a father on the scene and growing up as I did, raised between mother and grandparents. What I didn't know however was that I had a half brother at the same school when I was there; three years above. Not a name that rings a bell with me to be honest, which is probably a good thing.
Been into town and picked up a couple of bar stools for my kitchen that I found in a sale; ran into a guy I used to work with while wandering up to the Buttermarket and had a yak which was nice. Turns out the bloke I emailed to tell everyone I was coming has been off sick, probably with stress, for the last few months. Hmmmm. That would explain the lack of reply!
Thus sayeth Mr Thomas Dolby some years ago, well here it's onion abuse, and it's pretty nasty. Could have been worse though. So far on this beer extravaganza, I've managed to avoid the Doctors Dog who paid me many visits after nights out when I lived here. If you didn't know, he's the hairy lad who comes around when you're sleeping it off and takes a nice big heavy dump in your mouth, which explains why your mouth tastes like shit when you wake up. He's not been here yet, although I fear I may moxy myself by mentioning him. If not the Doctor, then the Man with the Rats. You must know the guy. Sneaks around when you're in your beer induced coma in a red suit with a belt with dead rats hanging off, shoves the rats up your arse while you sleep and that explains the smells and discomfort, it's the rats trying to claw their way out. As it's beer festival time, I confidently expect that at least he will make an appearance.
A bit of an interesting morning, this one.
I'd dropped a cautious letter to my father before coming down, inviting a meet and chat, as I've not seen the fella for a few years... those few that know the particular circumstances of me being here will know why I'm cautious as to how I word these things. Since I left home, direct contact has been absent, although birthdays and such were always remembered, face to face contact hadn't happened, except for once about four years ago, accidentally in town. Been ruminating on this for a while, and in my usual way of worrying about stuff but not actually doing anything about it, I was set to continue until I decided enough was enough. The fella's over seventy now - if anything happened to him and I'd not done anything about meeting up, knowing that I should have done, I wouldn't have been able to forgive myself. Anyways up; just a meet for a cuppa and a chat in between his bus there and the one home, but very nice anyway. He's not in as great as shape as he's ever been and is somewhat deaf, but he's still the old man; if you met him, you could see where I get a lot of it from. Talked about stuff that's never been talked about before, he and my mother, stuff before my time and certainly before my recollection; brought two pictures with him, one of myself and mother when I was just turned three and the scarey one, mum at eighteen. Should have borrowed them to scan actually; maybe that's one for next time. Quite sad actually; but probably not that unusual, expecially if you're fond of trashy romantic fiction... married with kids early, then encounters the big love, and I turn up on the scene. Hey ho. Such chances are the difference between me growing up "normal" with a father on the scene and growing up as I did, raised between mother and grandparents. What I didn't know however was that I had a half brother at the same school when I was there; three years above. Not a name that rings a bell with me to be honest, which is probably a good thing.
Been into town and picked up a couple of bar stools for my kitchen that I found in a sale; ran into a guy I used to work with while wandering up to the Buttermarket and had a yak which was nice. Turns out the bloke I emailed to tell everyone I was coming has been off sick, probably with stress, for the last few months. Hmmmm. That would explain the lack of reply!
posted by Fred the Singing Bandit at 10:04 am
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