No, I’m not telling you. Get lost! You don’t ask an Englishman questions like that. Look, it’s my business. Go away, or I’ll tell my Queen. No. Uh uh. No way, José. Boo-hoo-hoo, “babyyyy don’t cry baby don’t crryyyy”. Why should I? I don’t ask you stuff like that. Nope. Ne parlez pas anglais amigo. What’s that over there? Haha, got you. Oh change the subject mate. No. No. No. Look, I’m not telling you, just build a bridge and get over it. I caaan’t hear you. Do de do. You’re boring me now. Why do you want to know? Nosey Parker. OW-A! Stop it, what are you doing? Nononono, oww! Not the Chinese burn, owwww get off, you’re an animal! Hahaha, not the, hahaha, not the, hahahaaa, not the feet! Not the feet! Hahaha, ok, OK! I’ll tell you, hahaha! Stop it! Stop it! I’ll tell you! STOP! Please, please just STOP! Continue reading ‘One plus Two = Free’
Monthly Archive for August, 2008
Ever get the impression that you’re standing still, while the world rolls past like the fantastic backdrops of a euphoric pantomime? Try it. Stand still – or just sit, as you like. Now close your eyes, and imagine multi-storey backdrops of neatly trimmed parks; wide tram-lined streets with mismatched facades; market stalls and quirky pedlars fizzing with punters; a floodlit stadium fused with dashes of red, white and blue; a cosy lit bar with top hats and guitars; a room cornered by a bed and a bookcase; or a crowd of jubilant tourists applauding a swanky unicyclist. The vibrancy of life, being whisked passed you faster, brighter and more fluently than you ever imagined life could be. Day after day a new backdrop is sketched, and then daubed with pizazz before the frame is hoisted upright and marched passed your overawed body. “Today I saw some pretty hats, tomorrow, I’ll come and buy one – from stall C36”. Who said that! You? It was the quirky girl at the market stall. It’s. It’s all. It’s all, you’re real? Continue reading ‘Bulldog & Roo’
Some years ago now, I was in my bedroom doing what any eight year old would do. I can’t remember exactly what that was. My guess is I was diving into the trench between my bed and wardrobe to wrestle a time-travelling German soldier, but I can’t be sure. I can’t even be sure I was eight. What I do remember was a young Australian boy, of similar age walking into my room and giving me a shiny gold coin with a picture of a kangaroo on it, for which I gave him a dull silver heptagon (a fair exchange rate). That day, his dad (but I can’t be sure it wasn’t his uncle, or even the German soldier) gave me a yellow plastic boomerang. For weeks to come I was found in a nearby field hurling that foreign Frisbee around. I sent it into the parallel universe and watched it weave its way across the Cambridgeshire Sahara, slashing a Martian’s middle ankle as it went, but I never did catch it. In the years that passed, a small koala bear appeared and grabbed hold of my lampshade and I received some airmail (very exciting for my age), it was two more boomerangs, made from wood and engraved with wondrous depictions of Australia, The Southern Land. The boomerangs hung to my wall overlooking my adolescent years and the koala, well, he’s probably still gripping that lampshade and blinded by dust. And me? Well, I defeated the German before bedtime, and now I’ve made it to Australia. Continue reading ‘Home and Away’
