wendy house

The snow is disappearing to the sound of modern English’s optimistic little ditty.  This song came to my attention on a compilation audio tape cassette that Bambi used as part of his courting ritual. 

Modern English sang I melt with you

6am Heathrow Terminal 1 is quiet.  A young couple myself eating breakfast in the ‘Ristorante pizzeria cafe bar’.  I choose the vegetarian breakfast omelette,  testing the viability of a possible new years resolution, it tastes good

My day has already involved an exploding movement-sensitive light as I left the Wendy house. It rained glass upon me.  Luckily I had my hood-up against the rain and didn’t get sprayed with glass.   In the Reading rail-air bus terminal I met an elderly Australian gent.  He looked at my fake Australian zebra skin hat with no comment while he bemoaned the rain outside and having to visit Britain (Wales) to see his terminally ill mother. 

No queues at checkin or security clearance.  SWEET

The customs officer said ‘Cairo is too far north for that hat’  We laughed

In a mock Bavarian village nestling in the Cascade mountains there is an store that specialises in selling Australian goods.  I purchased a fake Zebra skin cowboy hat that kept the sun from my neck in the Nevada desert and New York.  The Australian Zebra skin hat will be joining Eric and I in the Egyptian desert next week. 

Todays texts:

Friend in Cairo: How do you fancy camping overnight in the Desert next Thursday? Tents and drinks provided.

Wendy: YES PLEASE!

continue reading “desert holiday hat”

Before metro-sexual, with the aide of Niel Innes,  people like me imagined urban spacemen.  I grew-up with a crush on Niel Innes.  He wears hats, plays the piano, and has eyebrowse that raise towards the centre of his brow.  Excellent.

Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band sang I’m The Urban Spaceman

The lines ‘hey you, you’re such a pedant, you’ve got as much brains as a dead ant, as much imagination as a caravan site…  …but I still love you’  have a touching brilliance that appealed to me as a child and are still poignantly pertinent

Niel Innes sang how sweet to be an idiot

Term of endearment or insult?  Sometimes it can be difficult to tell. 

The first time my college roomate from Sheffield called me a ‘Mardy cow’,  apart from having to ask her what ‘mardy’ was, I was a tad offended.  No-one had ever called me a  ’cow’ , to my face, before.  Clearly I’d had a sheltered youth.  My Sheffield room-mate quickly put my right on this one,  cow is a term of endearment.   Apparantly ‘Mardy Cow’ was an affectionate expression to convey her extreme disappointment that I wasn’t going to be joining her for an evening of heavy metal music appreciation.  Not really my bag. 

I’d rather be a crazy sheep listening to the likes of curiosity killed the cat,  I can’t help admiring the lyrics and behatted lankey body movements of the rather charming Ben.  But not my room-mates cup of tea.  I called her a mardy cow and she replied by demonstrating how her long hair accentuated the head-banging experience.  Excellent.

Curiosity killed the cat sang Misfit