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R. Linda:
I found meself on assignment to London. I was excited to be going not only because it meant a bloody holiday of sorts for meself, but it made me look like quite the guy in the eyes of me co-workers. Here it was me selected out of the masses for an overseas assignment. Wasn't I something though?
Off I put meself on an uneventful flight across the pond (the best kind you know). Then to a lovely stay in a friends place thus saving me newspaper money (a brown nosing thing to do) and making me look the grand one (influential friend and all that rubbish - he had digs on Wilton Crescent no less!).
Once I was settled I made me phone calls to the people I was to interview and set up all the appointments in one fell swoop. I was liking this, everything was going smoothly, maybe too smoothly. I took off for me first interview the next day to find meself all turned round, the clock ticking and no clue if I was even at the correct address. I stood there with paper in hand looking puzzled. Was it 106A or 106B? Me paper said only 106 Staffordshire. But there were two and nothing to do but to knock at the first one, and if that was incorrect, knock on the other.
Up I went and rang the bell. I could hear shuffling noises inside. After what seemed like an hour, the door opened a crack and an elderly white-haired mum peaked out and said, "Yes?" Instantly I knew it was next door I wanted.
"Sorry Missus, I be looking for a Ms. Redmond," I said slightly bowing like she was the queen or some high dignitary. I have no clue why me body posture took on the subservient pose, but it did in spite of me brain saying to stop it, stop that right now! I think it be learned behaviour of me bowing to me grandmammy before she could hit me for some indiscretion.
"Stand up straight sonny, I can hear you from down here," the lady said, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. "I think you need to turn slightly to your right and ring that bell for Miss Redmond."
"Oh, sorry I be." I stuttered and tried to pull me reluctant body heavenward.
She shut the door and I shuffled two paces to me right, rang the bell and yes, there in seconds was Ms. Redmond, me interview. She was a woman in her early thirties with dark hair pulled back in a pony tail and large brown eyes. She smiled after all the proper greetings and invited me in.
The interview was on the subject of England's new Prime Minister, Gordon Brown and what the British press thought of his first days in office and what the future of his administration might bring based on those first days. I should say that Ms. Redmond is a friend of the man who's home I was staying in, and it was through him Ms. Redmond became me media contact for the interview. Yes, another coup on me part.
She was very professional, very astute minded, and extremely informed. I liked that the interview went smoothly. At the end she asked me if I had plans for dinner (I did not) and if I would like, she'd take me to a place where we might see the Prime Minister (her treat). Well, why not?
We went to a place near Trafalgar and while the PM didn't show, we had a lovely and expensive dinner. I be sure she wrote it off as a business expense. Afterwards, she suggested we drive on over to Downing Street and see if the PM was out for the evening elsewhere and perhaps if he were returning, we'd catch a glimpse and better, get to ask a few questions of him.
I was all for it. Off we went, her driving her Mini-Cooper on down to Downing Street. Now I should tell you, you cannot drive on that street, nor can you park there unless you happen to be the PM or government or security personnel. So we parked on another street where anyone going to Downing would drive on passed. It was cold, but she kept the engine off so we could hear any shouts down the road that the PM was approaching. Quietly we talked of this and that and there would be periods of silence, not uncomfortable, but pauses as we each thought about what the other had said.
I thought I heard someone calling. I couldn't distinguish the words, but after a minute or two I was dead certain, the PM was probably coming. I spoke up and said, "Do you hear all that? Brown must be on the approach they are getting ready up there."
She crammed her neck and looked up the road and then settled back.
I was like well? Then I heard it again, the same calling but words I couldn't make out. Sounded like two words, but still I had no clue, but sounded urgent. I looked at her, "That, do you hear that?" I asked rather excited.
"Oh THAT," said she with a slight smile, "THAT is my stomach. It always talks after a heavy meal."
Well, I sat there stunned, her stomach has that novelty of sounding like a human uttering a call from afar.
"Really?" I said in disbelief as it happened again. "That?"
"Um that." She smiled.
"How can that be? It sounds like someone calling out "here now," is that truly your gut?"
She turned slightly and put a finger to her lips to shush me as her stomach called out, "here now" and me eyes got big because now it sounded like she had someone in her stomach calling out. Oh my. Once I got over that, we started talking to drown her gut out. At least I was talking up a storm and loudly so as not to hear the bizarre gut speak which was getting as loud as I was.
I talked of everything including me recent pirate party. That got her attention and the conversation turned to the flick Pirates of the Caribbean and authenticity of me guests costumes at me party. I remarked how everyone looked like real pirates, like they belonged to the SCA. She turned and looked at yours truly aghast and moved over a bit and said, "OH MY GOD."
I be like WHAT?
She said, "Tell me SCA isn't Sexual Compulsives Anonymous."
Now it be me turn to look aghast and say, "OH MY GOD."
"My best friend suffered from such an addiction," says she to me shocked look.
"No, you misunderstand," I say, "SCA stands for Society for Creative Anachronism."
"OHHH," she said relieved, her gut hollering up a storm now.
The PM drove by us as we had this shocking conversation with each other and her gut, so we missed the opportunity to jump out and run up the street like two morons with microphones and probably get arrested in the process. Can you imagine the security men looking around as her gut shouted as they pushed us against the wall for frisking? What an embarrassing way to start off me great overseas assignment!
Gabe
Copyright © 2007 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
I found meself on assignment to London. I was excited to be going not only because it meant a bloody holiday of sorts for meself, but it made me look like quite the guy in the eyes of me co-workers. Here it was me selected out of the masses for an overseas assignment. Wasn't I something though?
Off I put meself on an uneventful flight across the pond (the best kind you know). Then to a lovely stay in a friends place thus saving me newspaper money (a brown nosing thing to do) and making me look the grand one (influential friend and all that rubbish - he had digs on Wilton Crescent no less!).
Once I was settled I made me phone calls to the people I was to interview and set up all the appointments in one fell swoop. I was liking this, everything was going smoothly, maybe too smoothly. I took off for me first interview the next day to find meself all turned round, the clock ticking and no clue if I was even at the correct address. I stood there with paper in hand looking puzzled. Was it 106A or 106B? Me paper said only 106 Staffordshire. But there were two and nothing to do but to knock at the first one, and if that was incorrect, knock on the other.
Up I went and rang the bell. I could hear shuffling noises inside. After what seemed like an hour, the door opened a crack and an elderly white-haired mum peaked out and said, "Yes?" Instantly I knew it was next door I wanted.
"Sorry Missus, I be looking for a Ms. Redmond," I said slightly bowing like she was the queen or some high dignitary. I have no clue why me body posture took on the subservient pose, but it did in spite of me brain saying to stop it, stop that right now! I think it be learned behaviour of me bowing to me grandmammy before she could hit me for some indiscretion.
"Stand up straight sonny, I can hear you from down here," the lady said, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. "I think you need to turn slightly to your right and ring that bell for Miss Redmond."
"Oh, sorry I be." I stuttered and tried to pull me reluctant body heavenward.
She shut the door and I shuffled two paces to me right, rang the bell and yes, there in seconds was Ms. Redmond, me interview. She was a woman in her early thirties with dark hair pulled back in a pony tail and large brown eyes. She smiled after all the proper greetings and invited me in.
The interview was on the subject of England's new Prime Minister, Gordon Brown and what the British press thought of his first days in office and what the future of his administration might bring based on those first days. I should say that Ms. Redmond is a friend of the man who's home I was staying in, and it was through him Ms. Redmond became me media contact for the interview. Yes, another coup on me part.
She was very professional, very astute minded, and extremely informed. I liked that the interview went smoothly. At the end she asked me if I had plans for dinner (I did not) and if I would like, she'd take me to a place where we might see the Prime Minister (her treat). Well, why not?
We went to a place near Trafalgar and while the PM didn't show, we had a lovely and expensive dinner. I be sure she wrote it off as a business expense. Afterwards, she suggested we drive on over to Downing Street and see if the PM was out for the evening elsewhere and perhaps if he were returning, we'd catch a glimpse and better, get to ask a few questions of him.
I was all for it. Off we went, her driving her Mini-Cooper on down to Downing Street. Now I should tell you, you cannot drive on that street, nor can you park there unless you happen to be the PM or government or security personnel. So we parked on another street where anyone going to Downing would drive on passed. It was cold, but she kept the engine off so we could hear any shouts down the road that the PM was approaching. Quietly we talked of this and that and there would be periods of silence, not uncomfortable, but pauses as we each thought about what the other had said.
I thought I heard someone calling. I couldn't distinguish the words, but after a minute or two I was dead certain, the PM was probably coming. I spoke up and said, "Do you hear all that? Brown must be on the approach they are getting ready up there."
She crammed her neck and looked up the road and then settled back.
I was like well? Then I heard it again, the same calling but words I couldn't make out. Sounded like two words, but still I had no clue, but sounded urgent. I looked at her, "That, do you hear that?" I asked rather excited.
"Oh THAT," said she with a slight smile, "THAT is my stomach. It always talks after a heavy meal."
Well, I sat there stunned, her stomach has that novelty of sounding like a human uttering a call from afar.
"Really?" I said in disbelief as it happened again. "That?"
"Um that." She smiled.
"How can that be? It sounds like someone calling out "here now," is that truly your gut?"
She turned slightly and put a finger to her lips to shush me as her stomach called out, "here now" and me eyes got big because now it sounded like she had someone in her stomach calling out. Oh my. Once I got over that, we started talking to drown her gut out. At least I was talking up a storm and loudly so as not to hear the bizarre gut speak which was getting as loud as I was.
I talked of everything including me recent pirate party. That got her attention and the conversation turned to the flick Pirates of the Caribbean and authenticity of me guests costumes at me party. I remarked how everyone looked like real pirates, like they belonged to the SCA. She turned and looked at yours truly aghast and moved over a bit and said, "OH MY GOD."
I be like WHAT?
She said, "Tell me SCA isn't Sexual Compulsives Anonymous."
Now it be me turn to look aghast and say, "OH MY GOD."
"My best friend suffered from such an addiction," says she to me shocked look.
"No, you misunderstand," I say, "SCA stands for Society for Creative Anachronism."
"OHHH," she said relieved, her gut hollering up a storm now.
The PM drove by us as we had this shocking conversation with each other and her gut, so we missed the opportunity to jump out and run up the street like two morons with microphones and probably get arrested in the process. Can you imagine the security men looking around as her gut shouted as they pushed us against the wall for frisking? What an embarrassing way to start off me great overseas assignment!
Gabe
Copyright © 2007 All rights reserved
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