My best man has been rebuffed by AL Kennedy three times because he is a v=bastardf. His mother was in a coma for three weeks after a road accident and to fill the vacuum I told her I was getting married and promised that her son would be my best man. The machiones didn’t beep she died the following week and I was stuck with the bastard.He was like I am now and I bankrolled him for 31/2 years. I thought nothing of it. I was flush and id known him since way way back. yet now I realise how bloody awful that mustr have been for him. How terrifingly shite that must have been. Too fucking bad. Hes a dreadful alchoholic now and I haven’t spoken to him for twenmty years. My next friend I met at trinity. He was from Dumbarton you couldn’t make it up. On like day two we met said something like, are you scotch? Yeah? Wanna drink? lets go. And that was that. We spent as much time as possible away from the fucking place because we were working class. I ended up eventually taking supervisions, he didn’t. he has a multi billion pond company makinfg umbilicles ifor the north sea oil and gas thing. I went out with him . he showered me this huge unwinding thing. Ti was stultifiingly boring. He has contracts off east anglia . I will not ask him for a job. I think he may have got married and nor asked me to the wedding the cunt. He was at mine and missed being best man by a whuisker. See above. My poor wife , the previous mrs maroon loved him as much as ui did and tried to get me to change it but it was too late. Even I couldn’t break a deathbed promise. I do remember how wanky the whole thing was. There is a maths test at Cambridge it’s a beefed up a level no more and if you get a good mark they call you a wtrangler. Well in the finasl its 5 from 7 and I did the 7 and goty a good mark asnd was called a werang;ler. I was wanky enough toi write “ perm any five from seven” on the bottom of the scrip. Fuck me gently.Max didn’t. and that’s the point,. Undertgraduates doing medieaval French history can do maths at Cambridge. Every cint can do it. anyway there was a surfeit thar year and they all disappeared up yhtere own arses workinf out whjy. Its not a variable bar ill give them that. Tits an absolute anywat its like the debate over a levels now. Are they too easy?. Ironica\lly we examined the statistical correlation ( l;ike that inky?) one of the most dreadful things about an English education is its thoroughness. England is stil even now a country of power and influence and to iknow that one has no part in it is so so cuntish as to be unbearable. We had a post mortem after the event and one of ourgroup a handsome lad called steve asked our supervisor if I really had written that and had I got maximum marks. What a dick. The trouble wqs we could see it was all props. If you pushed the walls they would tip over. Cardboard. His books (doctor loughran) our maths suervisor, if we’d taken them out the selves would have been blank paper we all knew itr but weree too polite to say. the point is I tookm him into my home and family. Max you cuntWhen mrs maroon and I split up he waws there the next day and stayed tewo weeks to make sure I didn’t kill myself. Yeah riught. We had a swell time, pissed constantly and he shaggrd everything going.i have the letter copy of sent to lse saying how wonderful I was. Ill give them that. Neyou know the worst of it? we played on it constantly. Were at Cambridge. We didn’t fit and it was difficult but we played on it. he married a nurse from Cambridge. The town. It was like officer and a genteman. The townies hated us but we ciould stll twist it. fuck.my next friends are the richest people iknow3.
26 comments:
x
Indeed!
Sx
Loved the book but the film was a let down.xox
Appalling. And totally unconvincing. This sort of faux-inebriate drivel doesn't fool me or Jayne-Marie one bit. We intend to perform a pincer movement later on today, which you will be powerless to resist. You will find us at the Mottled Arms, Paignton. Mr Musgrove has joined us, and he and I will be at the Top Ten Ballroom, Babbacombe, for the Tea Dance at 4.00 pm (valeta, military two-step, Sir Roger de Coverley, Ladies excuse me). Jayne's friend Jennifer is here, too. She is known to you as "Hams" Henderson, I believe. Again, not very kosher of you, but I will turn a blind eye. The girls have befriended two inept deckchair attendants who struggle to get it up. Jayne-Marie, in particular, is keen to offer practical assistance.
No more pig puns Mrs P - I beg you.
I was discommoded upon finding Clarissa sat upon a cake stand and doing impersonations of Hutch.
Sarah, x, y and z too.
Scarlet, crumbs, the ravings of a mad old bastard, nothing more, here, have this melon liqueur, I forget the name, it's green. Down the hatch...
Ax.
I dunno Pat, the music was good in the book
Mr Musgrove is a gentleman and a scholar Clarissa, please keep Miss Henderson occupied at a distance from him or Mr Musgrove may need one of those orthopaedic chairs he is hankering after.
Of course no one is as light on their feet under the glitterball as you. Your Paso Doble is the envy of the south coast and rightly so. Re your neice, I do hope her prying fingers do not become painfully trapped in a collapsing deckchair for two hours or more, that would be appalling, trapped such that she had to be sawn out of the mechanism yelping and sobbing, yes too awful to contemplate, maybe three hours till the firemen arrive and so on. yes ghastly, well here's hoping.
Pat pig puns? Are you insane? It's verbatim. You couldn't make this stuff up. Poor Jennifer. I often call her Hamilton, God help me. Yeah please, God help me.
I am sure Mr Musgrove that upon reflection, you will probably decide that you had mistaken her charming charming niece J-M for the good lady. She is very like her aunt.
Is that one of Mrs Pouncer's predictive text aunts?
Oh, put your post back up, M'roon, I beg you. You leave us looking like a bunch of aunts here.
Yes, Maroon, do put it up!
(I make you the gift of this entendre to use as you will).
Inkspot is PT for shitehawk.
Clarissa your wish...
Sarah of course not.
Clarissa as I say, your wish...
Um an old amiger like me too.
lookitheah, sugar, ah am at a loss! what the hell is going on, babycakes? xoxoxo
Now there's actually some text to comment on, great.
"We didn't fit" yes you did "but we played on it" Exactly! point proved. Look, the whole point of Trinity and wranglers is to manufacture insiders, including those who won't or can't see what they are.
What's this? A stream of consciousness? A scream of consciousness?
You're starting to write as you talk - not a good sign.
I'm getting more worried about you by the post, Ack.
Buy me lunch and I'll give you a new narrative to live by
You are an old amiger, but it's never too late to make some sort of provision.
Kim Ayres offers you succour, and you would be a fool to refuse. Grasp his new narrative in your palsied hand while you can. Mr Ayres, you are a friend indeed to this shattered old inebriate. I mean that shattered old inebriate. I have enough friends and enablers already.
It was all there before you started.
Inkspot my mad old darling, lend an ear.
I met the inestimable Kim Ayres years ago, through this great medium in fact.
I was coming down from a four day roller.
Least said.
Point?...Point.
When we met for the first time, no matter how he tried, and he did, he could not hide his disappointment.
He was bereft. I didn’t meet his expectations.
(Physically? Conversationally? It’s a mystery)
A blind date gone to buggery.
I was angry with him: we were bloggers, not lovers.
I hid it well. Anyway, it came to pass that we got on better than might be supposed and I forgave him his ridiculous precepts. That was that.
I am short on grace; every now and then I get cross with him even though I know I shouldn’t. It’s all this soup and cake thing he has going.
I had ten pages Inky, the very best of essays for you, but let’s meet up and have a few and I’ll tell you how it was in the dark days at T and you can tell me how to bluff at cards.
i still haven't a clue. . .be kind, please to explain via post.
xoxo
I was never disappointed you old fart. Solipsism's all very well, but when you assume other people are as insecure about you as you are, then that's just paranoia. And when you're paranoid and solipsistic, that just mean's you're scared you're going to put one over on yourself without realising until it's too late.
Order a cake from Rogan, then come and share it with us when you pick it up.
His chocolate-chocolate-chocolate is particularly good.
@kim...if maroon doesn't, i will, sugar! ;) xoxo
That was certainly a thing!
I wander off for awhile. When I get back Doc, formerly the most legible amongst us--if not the least scrutible--is reduced to an alarming passage completely bereft of so much as a single carriage return.
Also: I think your spellchecker is broken or somehow has become disengaged. Examine the clutch for damage.
I see you are an adherent of the "stream of unconsciousness" school of writing
Tell everyone where you are. Go on, I dare you. I have exposed you in my glamorous new post as being out of the country, but haven't revealed your whereabouts.
Do a nice travelogue for all these good people. You know the sort of thing: plenty of local colour, and a lapse into the vernacular.
Yeah, where are you Dr Maroon? Mrs P says she's going to share her coconuts if you tell us.
Sx
I've been and gone and come back.
Do you care?
Circus Monkey I wouldn't say but you're right. Here, drink this, it'll keep that nasty east wind out your chest. dundee can be chilly this time o year.
Scarls I'm working for the man in the land of the judicial amputation. If you ask for an MM here, well, one just doesn't, so bottom's up with these refreshing fruit smoothies. ugh!
Ax.
Pat of course I care. very deeply. remind me again.
Clarissa, there is no colour here whatsoever. Everything is black, bible black. A black sticky oleum wrung from the sinful sponge of my soul.
Here's to happier times,
Sante!
Ax.
Chocolate-chocolate-chocolate cake Kim? You reckon? Christ you could be right! What's in it?
Savannah, your guess is as good as mine.;)xoxo
SafeT! You old aunt. How the blazes have you been? Look never mind that, send 3 kilos Swedish fish, no time to explain.
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