A quiet start to the day and then, in the midst of browsing through the new Squinty Fuckers catalogue while Olga ladles me out a bowl of her delicious cold, grey flannel soup (*hold* the parmesan....), a bombshell. A hurried telegram arrives from Ziggy Woodblum - you'll recall that he's my agent, solicitor and all round greaser of palms/scrubber of backs etc. Never one to compromise clarity when there's a charge attached, Zig's message is brief and to the point:
cll m - z
(I do wish Western Union would reverse their decision to charge double for vowels - Ziggy can be almost incephirable at the best of times, let alone without recourse to one fifth of the alphabet. Mind you, to be fair, with his vast array of speech impediments - it can take him several hours, not to mention emergency medics, to order a bowl of soup - a truncated text message can be the safer bet.)
I finally get through to him on his landline. "Bob? No, there's no one here of that name - why don't you leave us in peace? Why, why why? Nazis!" "Hang on, It's *me* Zig. *I'm* Bob..." "Oh, my lovely Boy! Glad tidings, my life! The goyim wants you for Strictly! Brucie....Brucie..."[sound of a pretend pound coin being rammed into a call box repeatedly accompanied by a high pitched moan followed by a dead telephone line...]
So, it's all very exciting - I check the Ceefax and, no word of a lie, I've been confirmed by the BBC as one of the contestants on this year's Strictly Come Dancing! Fantabulous news, isn't it! So this means not only do I get to lock horns (amongst other parts of the anatomy) with the delightful Camilla Giddyup...
...but I'll also get to meet Brucie! ("Shut that doo-er!!")
So, ready the super trouper, loose the dry ice, skip the light fandango! Now, where did I leave me red shoes....??
L.U.V. on ya,
Bob
I'm putting on my top hat,
ReplyDeletetying up my white tie, brushing off my tails.
I'm duding up my shirt front,
putting in shirt studs, polishing my nails.
And I'm stepping out, my dear,
To breathe an atmosphere that simply reeks with class,
And I trust that you'll excuse my dust when I step on the gas,
For I'll be there putting down my top hat,
Mussing up my white tie, dancing in my tails.
Oh Bob, glorious Bob. xx
ReplyDeleteTone - thank you. Knew I could rely on you for a touch of class!
ReplyDeleteRo-ster
Hello there = long time no hear. Hope all's well with you and yours.
I read that Rat Scabies and the Holy Grail book - hope you had more luck finding it this time...
;)
Speak soon,
Bob
When it comes to reincarnations Bowie has nothing on you Robert.
ReplyDeleteHello Dickster! Hope all's well with you. I was going to leave a comment at your place, but you seem to have disabled them...Oh well, l.u.v.ly to hear from you again squire..
ReplyDeleteYes, I like to keep the punters on their points, as you know. I'm thinking of reinventing myself as a crossbow next...
;)
L.U.V. on ya,
Bob