I am happy de facto inter alias very content that Sebastian should be culled.
However, I have a very soft spot for Sebbie - Can you guess where it is?
I myself am somewhat slaughtered this evening having arrived in Bath from West Ken somewhat later than envisaged.
Having had trouble with the satnav finding Queen'ss' Square as you demos insist on calling it (Christ! It's almost as though none of you have actually been there!). *rolls eyes rather than royce*
Anyhoo, I ended up in freakin' Queens's' Drive in Fox Hill, aaand just as I was deciding whether to pitch my "throw away" Dewaald or inflatable Karsten tent in the dark was met by a small bulging eyed creature, rather like a gecko (but not at all our hunk Gordon), with a reeediculous fake French accent (I know I went to the Sorbonne.....once), who identified himself only as "J-P".
He took me and my new RR Evoque (well we've got to go eco these days esp. in West Ken) to some grotty little ouzo cafe called something like Beau-Jolly and foisted upon me a totally rustic and peasanty main course and wait for it....
Roasted Chump of Lamb “Bordelaise”, with Peas, Broad Beans & Baby Onions washed down with lashings of Picpoul De Pinet Cotes Flamenc 2009 Cap D’Ague.
Have you been to the the Cap D'Ague? Atmospherically it's like Grimsby on a wet evening in November but the weather's a bit more clement. And you'd never get an OCCUPY in Grimsby.
J-P thus is signified by his cooking and is, but not, the only dried up chump in town.
Eventually fortified I come out of J-Ps and realise that I am but yards from my destiny in Queens's's Square. All those years of pent up anger. The tears at the injustice of it all. Can I approach and will I be welcome?
No! The freakin' Open Top bus tour that my evil tight fisted Yorkshire father Frank Lee Wright-Farquar wouldn't take me on doesn't run after 6pm!!!
Nevertheless I join a slightly confused but glammo silvered haired lady with dare I dare it? Gallic Garlic Death Breath!!! Who has been waiting for 4 years for the Lansdown park 'n ride to turn up.
We make small conversation and I learn she is called Christine Lagarde *but not the Christine Lagarde ya'll all know - the one on series three of the X-Factor*
We have nowhere to turn to. The IBIS Francis Hotel has rooms at "Reasonable Rates" but is a little too French for our own tastes (horsehair matresses probably), so where can we turn?
Luckily, I have a couple of pop-up-ish tents in my handbag. And a stretch of green (though it is now black) across the road.
But, something is nagging me and it's not my mother. Something is wrong. Very wrong.
Then Christine barks......
....it's not your bloody blog you idio!
Noone reads your facile comments!
I retort .......
A bit like the bible then!
Christine shrugs her shoulders in a typically gallic way and pushes up her pashmina to her jowls.
We are now in Ground Zero.....
.....or a totally and utterly lifeless Queen's's''' Square!
Amelia! So many words! Are you dictating? I think the pseudo frenchie you met was a chap from Radstock who likes to call himself Jean-Phillipe. He was thrown out of the camp on Thursday for having sex with a tree. Hope you didn't give him your number? Remember the Nigerian chap (turned out to be from Cardiff) and the lobster incident? You promised never again. *concerned face*
I am happy de facto inter alias very content that Sebastian should be culled.
ReplyDeleteHowever, I have a very soft spot for Sebbie - Can you guess where it is?
I myself am somewhat slaughtered this evening having arrived in Bath from West Ken somewhat later than envisaged.
Having had trouble with the satnav finding Queen'ss' Square as you demos insist on calling it (Christ! It's almost as though none of you have actually been there!). *rolls eyes rather than royce*
Anyhoo, I ended up in freakin' Queens's' Drive in Fox Hill, aaand just as I was deciding whether to pitch my "throw away" Dewaald or inflatable Karsten tent in the dark was met by a small bulging eyed creature, rather like a gecko (but not at all our hunk Gordon), with a reeediculous fake French accent (I know I went to the Sorbonne.....once), who identified himself only as "J-P".
He took me and my new RR Evoque (well we've got to go eco these days esp. in West Ken) to some grotty little ouzo cafe called something like Beau-Jolly and foisted upon me a totally rustic and peasanty main course and wait for it....
Roasted Chump of Lamb “Bordelaise”, with Peas, Broad Beans & Baby Onions washed down with lashings of Picpoul De Pinet Cotes Flamenc 2009 Cap D’Ague.
Have you been to the the Cap D'Ague? Atmospherically it's like Grimsby on a wet evening in November but the weather's a bit more clement. And you'd never get an OCCUPY in Grimsby.
J-P thus is signified by his cooking and is, but not, the only dried up chump in town.
Eventually fortified I come out of J-Ps and realise that I am but yards from my destiny in Queens's's Square. All those years of pent up anger. The tears at the injustice of it all. Can I approach and will I be welcome?
No! The freakin' Open Top bus tour that my evil tight fisted Yorkshire father Frank Lee Wright-Farquar wouldn't take me on doesn't run after 6pm!!!
Nevertheless I join a slightly confused but glammo silvered haired lady with dare I dare it? Gallic Garlic Death Breath!!! Who has been waiting for 4 years for the Lansdown park 'n ride to turn up.
We make small conversation and I learn she is called Christine Lagarde *but not the Christine Lagarde ya'll all know - the one on series three of the X-Factor*
We have nowhere to turn to. The IBIS Francis Hotel has rooms at "Reasonable Rates" but is a little too French for our own tastes (horsehair matresses probably), so where can we turn?
Luckily, I have a couple of pop-up-ish tents in my handbag. And a stretch of green (though it is now black) across the road.
But, something is nagging me and it's not my mother. Something is wrong. Very wrong.
Then Christine barks......
....it's not your bloody blog you idio!
Noone reads your facile comments!
I retort .......
A bit like the bible then!
Christine shrugs her shoulders in a typically gallic way and pushes up her pashmina to her jowls.
We are now in Ground Zero.....
.....or a totally and utterly lifeless Queen's's''' Square!
What now?
Amelia
Blimey!!! Waht alot too read!! Well drunk, hpapy days :-)
ReplyDeleteAmelia! So many words! Are you dictating? I think the pseudo frenchie you met was a chap from Radstock who likes to call himself Jean-Phillipe. He was thrown out of the camp on Thursday for having sex with a tree. Hope you didn't give him your number? Remember the Nigerian chap (turned out to be from Cardiff) and the lobster incident? You promised never again. *concerned face*
ReplyDelete