My Boring Friday
Hooray! Bank Holiday Weekend! What a dull day I had yesterday, which I will now share with you to dilute the tedium a little. We'd gone to see 2Henry VI the night before, which was terrific and had us all pepped up, but it made it all the more difficult for me to arouse any interest in writing up my notes from Brazil. To add insult to injury, found I'd left my lovely old black court shoes (ok they were looking a bit scruffy but there was nothing wrong with them that a little vigorous rubbing from the Canary Wharf shoeshine boy couldn't fix) in the back of the wardrobe of room 508 at the Radisson Faria Lima Sao Paulo, so had to wear the toe-pinching shiny black patent leather instead.
Balham was a little moist from last night's rain and I nearly twisted my knee again on the same slippery spot by our front step. Jubilee Line was absolutely stiff with sweaty commuters, discovering belatedly that they no longer need their winter coats, and moaning about their ghastly lives and horrible little concerns. Had my usual end of the week treat, which is fried breakfast in the work canteen: fried egg, fried slice, fried mushroom, fried tomato, washed down with spanking hot sweet milky tea, and accompanied by the TLS. Of course this all leaves me feeling thoroughly engorged and not ready for anything more strenuous then a little snooze. Towards the latter part of the afternoon, I had to tell myself strictly to keep going every time I flagged and thought to divert myself with a little internet browsing to keep myself up-to-date on that awful Austrian house of horrors story. They say the maximum sentence for what he has done is 15 years. 15 years! He should get 24 years for each life that he has ruined, with a selection of jailhouse rapists as cellmates. No punishment really could match his crime. After all he has already lived 73 years doing exactly what he wanted and that can't be taken away from him.
The more astute reader may be wondering why this post reads a little oddly. In fact, I have inserted a few key words to see if they trigger a Pavlovian response in Fumie...
Balham was a little moist from last night's rain and I nearly twisted my knee again on the same slippery spot by our front step. Jubilee Line was absolutely stiff with sweaty commuters, discovering belatedly that they no longer need their winter coats, and moaning about their ghastly lives and horrible little concerns. Had my usual end of the week treat, which is fried breakfast in the work canteen: fried egg, fried slice, fried mushroom, fried tomato, washed down with spanking hot sweet milky tea, and accompanied by the TLS. Of course this all leaves me feeling thoroughly engorged and not ready for anything more strenuous then a little snooze. Towards the latter part of the afternoon, I had to tell myself strictly to keep going every time I flagged and thought to divert myself with a little internet browsing to keep myself up-to-date on that awful Austrian house of horrors story. They say the maximum sentence for what he has done is 15 years. 15 years! He should get 24 years for each life that he has ruined, with a selection of jailhouse rapists as cellmates. No punishment really could match his crime. After all he has already lived 73 years doing exactly what he wanted and that can't be taken away from him.
The more astute reader may be wondering why this post reads a little oddly. In fact, I have inserted a few key words to see if they trigger a Pavlovian response in Fumie...
posted by FBT at 6:39 am
14 Comments:
You shouldn't have explained it to the others, Phiz. I thought it was going to be our little secret right up until the last para.
It looks like it's just you and me on your organ, Phiz. What shall we do?
Oh no, can't possibly have that.
Not that I've got anything to add here (other than a few thoughts on the most appropriate form of punishment for the man in Austria, all of which make a supposed liberal like me blush). But we can't have this turning into a tennis game of back and forth smutty repartee now, can we?
I'd have thought that making sure the punishment fits the crime is a truly liberal aim.
and all those people in that little town just over the border in Austria that we visited, and which I have obviously forgotten the name of, seemed so nice! To think they were probably all harbouring hapless relatives chained up in underground dungeons, while happily going out to work serving tourists like us schnitzel and apfel strudel.
sweaty?
How do you live in a place u need a coat
I just walking outside and dripping or in fumie speak getting really moist
I dont know what to say except 'thats your Krauts for you' they are much more efficient in their perversions than the British equivalent.
Are there such things as shoeshine boys at canary wharf these days? I havent been back to London for at least 20 years much preferring Brecon.
Perhaps it was just a reference to your contracted minions?
After reading your hint, I re-read this post and I finally understood.
I can't read the word moist (or think it or worse, *experience* it) without thinking of Fumie.
I've been watching the house of horrors, too. Reminded me of Flowers in the Attic. I don't see that you can possibly make the punishment fit the crime, so I squeeze my eyes tight and will karma to sort it out.
And does the reverse apply, sweetie - that you can't think of me without experiencing moistness?
oh Fumie, I should be so lucky.
I see I'm in danger of dropping out of the top ten so just popping by to say that you are wasted in banking, Toast.
Ah, Ulaca, that's what she wants you to think. But have you stopped to consider there must be some evil genius behind the current crisis? That her seemingly naive questions about the difference between fiscal and monetary hide a deeper knowledge of how to screw the system than any of us can possibly guess at?
(Just giving you the chance to carry on upping your rating)
uh-oh, they're onto me...
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