| The Warky Report: Might as well (h) 21:30 - Jul 25 with 584 views | Warkystache |
"Ah've always loved a'eee's pop music" said Tel as he slopped soapy water over the grimy floor where his Coke fridge had stood. The fridge, still plugged in and gently whirring, ignored the motley collections of 'Let's Talk' and 'Woman's Realms' that it shared temporary occupancy with. One of them had Pam Ayres on the front, looking like Darth Sidious. I couldn't quite believe she wasn't already dead, as though the shop was doing a Stephen King number on me and, at any moment, Tel would turn round from applying sudsy water and cackle insanely with evil eyes and fangs.
He has finally treated himself to a DAB radio for the shop. The model, a Pure, is his latest fad. The radio, as though grateful for a home amongst the paper ties and screwed-up paper bags that once held a sausage sarnie, repaid him instantly by finding him Absolute 80's. So now every moment in the shop is punctuated by distantly remembered musak from the likes of Haircut 100 and Bros. You know you're getting old when you remember what you were doing when 'Prince Charming' came out. Me, I was in Junior School, learning new ways of torture with a recorder. I never got the hang of it. I was only made to learn 'cos they didn't have enough boys.......
So last Monday I entered to the dying strains of 'I ran' and exited in the middle of "Stuck with You" by Huey Lewis. I timed Tuesday a bit better and heard all of "You take me Up" by The Thompson Twins, although I left before "Headlong " by Queen had got into stride. Terry even listens to the stuff he'd have turned off quick had it come on in normal circumstances; he was throwing a few self-conscious moves to "I'd Rather Jack" by the Reynolds Sisters and, for a man who once told me his nightmare person to be stuck in a lift with was Sonia, he didn't even flinch when they played one of hers.
I've tried varying his diet by putting him onto Absolute '90's but my first attempt was as doomed as the maiden voyage of the Titanic when I tuned in and the strains of B'Witched polluted the air. "Turn tha' off fer a kickoff" grimaced Tel, as though I'd attempted to fart a Jason Donovan number. I sighed and tuned back to Absolute 80's, just in time for the last few bars of Broken Wings by Mister Mr. "Bleedin' joodus yew are" spat Tel, disgruntled. It didn't help that they followed it with Yazz and the Plastic Population. So we had a break from it.
The season is nearly upon us. The hope, the pride, the hope again, all burn undiminished by the past. Terry has us down for bottom half, but then he said that this time last season. I'm grievously upset I can't make West Ham on Saturday (wedding) or Blackburn the following Saturday (friend's fiftieth in London) so my new season ticket, when it eventually comes, will still be as virginal as Rommy until the visit of Villa on the 18th.
I've lost a bit of weight; it's a bit worrying 'cos I've not been trying to. I keep looking at my poo, half expecting the bog pan to look like I've been slaughtering pigs in it. This all stems directly from an article Terry read me in some Health magazine he's been sent some free samples of, one which said "Have YOU got bowel cancer? Take our test today". "D'yer pass blood?" asked Tel, his reading glasses perched on his nose, an expression of curiosity and distaste mingled on his face as he read the options. "Do yer get unaccountable changes in yer bowel 'abits?". "'Ave yer lost weight?". I said no to all, but I lied. I had to. It'd be common knowledge with Mickey and probably two thirds of his regulars if I'd said yes to a few.
He then read out one that asked if I had a secret STD. I lied on that as well. He's now convinced I'm riddled with the clap. Which is rich, 'cos he's the last one out of both of us to have sought the aid of his local GUM clinic.
So life shifts, like the sand in the Gobi, swirling patterns and swallowing the unedifying. We had a good dinner at the local last Friday, the pub calmer now the World Cup's finished, the Tour De France not being as big a catch with the locals round here. We've started doing this more often and it's good to catch up with each other when Tel's otherwise away from the shop or I can't stop and chat one morning. Our local seems to have recruited an excellent female chef called Geeta, an Indian from Mumbai who does a truly special lamb biryani. She's responsible for 'Frezi Friday', a curry night where a main curry, a pilau rice, two poppadoms and a veggy side dish and a pint is a tenner. We're regulars. It's better than the local takeaways. Her Chicken Vindaloo is hot, vinegary and deliciously authentic. Her stuffed paratha with chicken madras is going to be my go to dish when it starts getting nippy.
So that's me done for the summer. Bring on the footy and the Hurst revolution. They played "We don't need another hero" this morning. We need at least eleven for the next 9 months. Depending on ME, possibly a few more? |  |
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| The Warky Report: Might as well (h) on 22:11 - Jul 25 with 493 views | ZedRodgers |
Yeah I know |  |
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