…..But you in that dress, destination Burlesque, I’ve got all my cards in one shoe….
To Edinburgh, fairest of towns, on Monday, to bestow greetings and gifts upon our finance director on the occasion of his second born. I took two bottles of top notch Champagne and a heart shaped box of chocs for the mother, and a handshake and a cigar I got on holiday in Cuba for him.
They are totally mismatched. He is an ill-favoured Goth of a man while she is the quintessential English Rose with just a hint of Earth Mother (a combination totally irresistible). I hadn’t planned to stay, preferring the casual handover then the heroic dash back up the motorway while they celebrate to the tune of “for he’s a jolly good fellow. That Maroon, what a first rate chap he is”
It wasn’t to be. In the manner of people deprived of intelligent company for too long, I was physically restrained, and forced to drink the baby’s health with a series of strong drinks. During dinner I was treated to an intimate account of the birth, by the FATHER.
This covered the lot. Getting shaved, epidurals, gas, pain, regrets, tears, tears, stitches, you name it. At every turn, my efforts to change the subject were rebuffed.. At one point he said:
“Well if you think about it Ack*, it’s like having a football up your fanny.”
I looked over, smiling my sympathy at the girl, but far from being embarrassed by this uncouth remark, she was nodding enthusiastically in agreement;
“that’s just what it’s like.”
Then she joined in, telling me how pleasurable it was to be allowed to use a bidet after all the hullabaloo; mental images that I will take to my grave.
Anyway, that’s where I’ve been. I thought you should know.
As for Jet Engines 101, all of you except GB, are looking Fs in the face.
*It’s a lousy contraction.
That pure Cane Spirit since 1848.
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