the diary of a london 70s singer-songwriter and eurovision song contest entrant.
jeudi 14th juillet
C. calls while I'm in the middle of undercoating the spare bedroom. Can he come 'round? Camilla's in a strop and he needs someone to play the tampon game with while he perfects his Neddy Seagoon. Am I free? Well, I say, your timing isn't exactly perfect your Royal Highness, but just give me half a jiffy to de-overall and apply a new beauty spot, and I'll see what I can do...
Half an hour later he's at the door with a box of non-applicator and a jeraboam of Krug on ice. I wince as his ears scrape through the door frame taking a good coating of 'Midnight Blue' Vymura with them. He plonks out two glasses of champers muttering "he's fallen in the water" and sprawls out on the bean bags in the corner - I wish he'd leave that polo mallet at home once in a while...
Play that one I like first, he demands as I'm halfway through removing his putties. How many times do I have to tell you, I respond rather testily, I didn't sodding well do Alone again, naturally! Bloody Gilbert O'Sullivan! I brace myself for the one millionth rendition of No, honestly and cover up the old beauty spot with an elastoplast as he prepares himself for the "painful duty".... (mental note to self - must stock up on embrocation cream...) Still, he leaves a fifty note tip, so I mustn't grumble. Should keep me in kohl pencil for another week or two....
// posted by lynsey @ 2:45 PM
No comments:
Post a Comment