Post by Frenchie on Jul 7, 2009 12:36:43 GMT 1
If you look at the time-stamp on this post you will notice it’s a bit late in the day.
There’s a good reason for this; the two screens, along with the two keyboards in my
pokey little office have only just morphed back together so that I
can now type on the one keyboard while looking at the one screen that my brain
knew for certain were the only ones in here yesterday.
The dodgy second set of kit sprang into existence this morning as I popped my head
around the door to the office on the way to the bathroom.
This was after I had, for some inexplicable reason, woken up on next
door’s settee, which surprised me no end let me tell you.
After an uncomfortable session with my head inspecting the inside of the toilet
pan and then a good half hour under a stinging shower, strange images began to
appear, like some sort of perverted magic, in my rapidly clearing brain.
It seems that my neighbour, who is a Polish immigrant, invited me in
for a drink last night.
For convenience I will introduce him into this short monologue as Thomas – which
is how it is roughly pronounced, though his name seems to have a preponderance of
‘c’s and ‘z’s in the spelling.
Thomas is a hard working husband and father and is really making a go of things in this country.
He has chosen to integrate rather than enclave since his arrival in the UK.
I digress, sorry.
Back to the memories which are by now queuing up for my perusal behind still bloodshot eyes.
It seems that, although neither Thomas or I can understand more than six words of meaningful
communication between us, we spent the night in deep conversation – well, between
overlarge glasses of Jack Daniels that is, which Thomas produced very early on in the evening.
At around midnight it appears that we both had this crazy conviction that we
were the best singers in the country…no, in the world, so on went the music, loudly.
I do seem to remember going out into the early morning sunlight to carry on our stunted
conversation.
That was about the end of it until I awoke on Thomas’s settee trying hard to figure out how
I ended up there with his three kids jostling for position around me while watching
cartoon network.
I should have known better than to get into a drinking competition with a Pole.
There’s a good reason for this; the two screens, along with the two keyboards in my
pokey little office have only just morphed back together so that I
can now type on the one keyboard while looking at the one screen that my brain
knew for certain were the only ones in here yesterday.
The dodgy second set of kit sprang into existence this morning as I popped my head
around the door to the office on the way to the bathroom.
This was after I had, for some inexplicable reason, woken up on next
door’s settee, which surprised me no end let me tell you.
After an uncomfortable session with my head inspecting the inside of the toilet
pan and then a good half hour under a stinging shower, strange images began to
appear, like some sort of perverted magic, in my rapidly clearing brain.
It seems that my neighbour, who is a Polish immigrant, invited me in
for a drink last night.
For convenience I will introduce him into this short monologue as Thomas – which
is how it is roughly pronounced, though his name seems to have a preponderance of
‘c’s and ‘z’s in the spelling.
Thomas is a hard working husband and father and is really making a go of things in this country.
He has chosen to integrate rather than enclave since his arrival in the UK.
I digress, sorry.
Back to the memories which are by now queuing up for my perusal behind still bloodshot eyes.
It seems that, although neither Thomas or I can understand more than six words of meaningful
communication between us, we spent the night in deep conversation – well, between
overlarge glasses of Jack Daniels that is, which Thomas produced very early on in the evening.
At around midnight it appears that we both had this crazy conviction that we
were the best singers in the country…no, in the world, so on went the music, loudly.
I do seem to remember going out into the early morning sunlight to carry on our stunted
conversation.
That was about the end of it until I awoke on Thomas’s settee trying hard to figure out how
I ended up there with his three kids jostling for position around me while watching
cartoon network.
I should have known better than to get into a drinking competition with a Pole.