01 June 2013
672
R. Linda:
Let's hear it, say it, "Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit!" It be the first day of the month and I said that upon rising for luck and woke up to excessively hot weather! What is up with the white rabbit? Where did he go? That's a story for a cooler day I'm sure, just thinking of all that fur makes me perspire.
I will say all this talk of Brown Betty's and tea cosies got me poor brain in a teatime tizzy it did yesterday evening. It was 93 degrees Fahrenheit at midnight last, and there I was sipping extremely hot tea! My followers must not send me comments so late at night I don't get these stupid, foolish ideas into me addled brain that a hot cuppa sounded like the right thing to do. It decidedly was not the right thing to do, because I managed to up me body temp about 20 degrees more, throwing me into a sweaty mess. And yes, I finished off the whole pot, I just could not let that Darjeeling go to waste. And yes, I did try to get any passing family member to join me, but none would! So you know the result don't you? SIGH.
Finally, after a sweaty time of tossing and turning, and thinking the hot buttered toast wasn't a good idea either, I fell into Darjeeling dreams I did. And the first one up was the only one, thank the tea gods for that. I was sitting in Buckingham Palace with David Beckham, doing what else? Sipping tea of course! I tell ya, I can't cut a break.
Becks and I were sitting in a rather posh room awaiting Her Highness. We were shooting the breeze about bending backwards but more about Posh Spice doing that, I know don't ask, when we were mercifully interrupted by Prince Harry jogging in. Yes, he was jogging! No, I do not know why he was, just know he was. And he was there to grab a hot cup of tea! One would think a cold bottle of the finest blue bottled spring water would be more in keeping with jogging, but no, he jogged in place pouring the tea and talking to us about a memorable night dressed as a Nazi at a party of a friend of his. Becks looked a little stunned and poured himself another cuppa as Harry went on to regale us about a strip billiard game he hosted in Vegas. Then he jogged off as I unconsciously looked around for something to spike me tea with.
Becks and I sat there wide-eyed, wondering what just happened when the Queen walked in looking for Harry. Uh oh, we both knew Harry must be in trouble and Becks even whispered to me, "Wot he do this time?" I shrugged as the Queen's mobile rang and she stopped, her looking to answer it.
"WHO is this?" She demanded. "Oh, it's YOU! No, the Falklands are NOT for sale!" she listened and then shouted, "WHAT?" We exchanged looks, she seemed to forget we were sitting there, or rather standing there, yes we had risen in honour of her royalness. "You put your toy soldiers away OR I will send my grandson down there to open a can of whoop-arse!" And she hung up mumbling to herself about a buyer's market. She left the room as if neither of us was there. We sat back down to our tea.
"Should we have curtsied?" Beck asked looking like a deer caught in headlights.
"Bowed you mean?" I said thinking of me head being ordered off me shoulders.
"Whatever . . . but should we have?" He said rather alarmed, downing his tea and pouring another cup.
I didn't get to answer because in came pretty Kate Middleton with a silver and diamond-encrusted hand mirror looking at herself and pulling at her skin to bring it up. This got Becks and I attention immediately.
"Mirror, mirror, who's the fairest of them all? Oh, and don't you dare say, Pippa!" Well, the good for us AND Kate the mirror did not answer. Kate looked up from her image in the looking glass to see her new National Portrait hanging on the wall in front of her. Her eyes got very big and the expression on her face was not one of a happy princess.
"That's what I need another bleeding portrait of me looking like a tired-out rendition of Camilla looking like a hausfrau. Why can't these artists stick to something like finger paints? Ugh, maybe a nip and tuck will help." She said looking back in the mirror and pulling her face this way and that. And out she went never seeing us.
Beck's eyebrows were raised to his hairline as he gulped down his hot tea and poured yet another cup. I had to look at the teapot, it seemed to hold a never-ending amount of the Darjeeling delight. I topped me own cup off and was about to pour a bit of milk when Prince Charles came waltzing in looking all upset, and as he was so in that mode of preoccupation, he did not see us.
"Darn it! Bloody sods!" He shouted as if he was a one-man show in Hamlet. "What is it we cannot go one day without an American getting in the mix? We need to revoke their independence as soon as I am king. It's the first thing I'll do," he shouted throwing a finger in the air for emphasis. "How dare that Perez person call my Cammie a horse face chimney breast when everyone knows she looks like an old used tampon!" And he paced back and forth, fists clenched as he spoke of this through his teeth and out the door he went to wreak havoc on America I suppose.
"Well, there is that," I said to Becks taking a sip of tea. He nodded in response.
We sat in silence for a whole two seconds before the door swung open and there was Prince Philip dressed in ribbons and medals looking the toy soldier come to life. He looked around the room as if looking for something or someone, never really seeing us, I suppose because we were nothing special and he announced to the air, "Why can't I be asked just once for an opinion on national affairs? Why can't I be asked just ONCE what I think of Parliamentary proceedings? Oh, WHY WHY WHY?" And holding what little hair he had left on his head, he came over to us and without a word poured himself a cuppa and strode out.
Both of us burst out laughing. I know WE BAD. But it could not be helped. The poor old guy has never been anything but that "bloke married the queen" and "Philip who?" and lastly and most disastrously, "Mr. Queen Elizabeth 2." Oh my.
"Well, I don't think we are going to be "seen" by the Queen today," I said putting my cup in the royal saucer.
"No, neither of us are blue bloods," Becks lamented, "entitled to even a nod."
"Harry spoke with us," I pointed out, "I suppose that should count."
"Oh yes, he did, didn't he? But he's the black sheep of the family 'innie?" Becks observed.
"I guess that makes him more like us?" I asked wondering.
"I suppose," Becks said looking around.
We started to get up when the door opened one final time and there holding on to the handles of the double doors was Pippa! She was smiling directly AT us! We got all the way up and smiled back and did a slight bow, not knowing if we should or not. She came forward, extending a hand to each of us. Becks knelt down and kissed it, I stood in shock and wondered if it was expected I should do the same, but being Irish the IRA might decide to blow me up next time in Newry for such, so I politely smiled and shook the two digits that were offered in me direction. No, it wasn't the whole hand, Becks got THAT, I got two fingers. Yup. So I did not feel strange not kneeling and kissing. Decidedly NOT.
"I am here to show you both how to party with Harry." She gushed withdrawing her hand and fingers.
She went to a table across the room and we two were elbowing each other at the famous tight little arse that was jiggling in front of us. Yes, we did, we are after all male pigs and it was expected I'm sure. So once at the table, we saw an array of party things.
Pippa picked up one of those paper hats you get in a cracker and placed it gingerly on her head.
"Come on now, pick yours up and place it as I have on your heads." She smiled with partygoer enthusiasm.
And of course, we did it all wrong and she tsked at us.
"Now gentlemen, when one blows a noise-maker one must not get the tip of the blower wet. Like this," and she demonstrated one of those noise-makers where the end flips out like a blue or pink tongue. And sure enough, the gold paper mouthpiece was not wet (though there was a hint of lipstick).
This is where we fell into low-class imbecility. Neither of us could keep the mouthpiece dry. We tried, for the realm, the people, the politics, the parliament, and the Queen. We did try our best, but we failed miserably.
"Must be the tea," Becks offered as an excuse.
"Must be," I concurred.
"Oh well, this is not going to happen then," Pippa said looking at the oriental carpet and stamping a well-shod designer toe. "No, I am very afraid neither of you will be able to attend my roping Prince Harry to the altar . . . I mean my surprise party for Prince Harry . . . " her voice trailed off as she looked off into space like neither of us was there and she was having a private moment of conjecture.
I looked at Becks and with a motion of my head I indicated the open door behind us. He gave a slight nod and both of us, our eyes never leaving the daydreaming of Prince Harry at the altar that Miss Pippa had on her mind, backed out the open door and slowly shut it on her image, where the last we saw of Miss Pippa, she had heaved a great sigh and then she was gone, blotted out by the polished wood of the doors.
But, as we let out our own sighs, in our case not of longing, but relief we realised we went out the wrong door.
To be continued.
Gabe
Copyright © 2013 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
Let's hear it, say it, "Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit!" It be the first day of the month and I said that upon rising for luck and woke up to excessively hot weather! What is up with the white rabbit? Where did he go? That's a story for a cooler day I'm sure, just thinking of all that fur makes me perspire.
I will say all this talk of Brown Betty's and tea cosies got me poor brain in a teatime tizzy it did yesterday evening. It was 93 degrees Fahrenheit at midnight last, and there I was sipping extremely hot tea! My followers must not send me comments so late at night I don't get these stupid, foolish ideas into me addled brain that a hot cuppa sounded like the right thing to do. It decidedly was not the right thing to do, because I managed to up me body temp about 20 degrees more, throwing me into a sweaty mess. And yes, I finished off the whole pot, I just could not let that Darjeeling go to waste. And yes, I did try to get any passing family member to join me, but none would! So you know the result don't you? SIGH.
Finally, after a sweaty time of tossing and turning, and thinking the hot buttered toast wasn't a good idea either, I fell into Darjeeling dreams I did. And the first one up was the only one, thank the tea gods for that. I was sitting in Buckingham Palace with David Beckham, doing what else? Sipping tea of course! I tell ya, I can't cut a break.
Becks and I were sitting in a rather posh room awaiting Her Highness. We were shooting the breeze about bending backwards but more about Posh Spice doing that, I know don't ask, when we were mercifully interrupted by Prince Harry jogging in. Yes, he was jogging! No, I do not know why he was, just know he was. And he was there to grab a hot cup of tea! One would think a cold bottle of the finest blue bottled spring water would be more in keeping with jogging, but no, he jogged in place pouring the tea and talking to us about a memorable night dressed as a Nazi at a party of a friend of his. Becks looked a little stunned and poured himself another cuppa as Harry went on to regale us about a strip billiard game he hosted in Vegas. Then he jogged off as I unconsciously looked around for something to spike me tea with.
Becks and I sat there wide-eyed, wondering what just happened when the Queen walked in looking for Harry. Uh oh, we both knew Harry must be in trouble and Becks even whispered to me, "Wot he do this time?" I shrugged as the Queen's mobile rang and she stopped, her looking to answer it.
"WHO is this?" She demanded. "Oh, it's YOU! No, the Falklands are NOT for sale!" she listened and then shouted, "WHAT?" We exchanged looks, she seemed to forget we were sitting there, or rather standing there, yes we had risen in honour of her royalness. "You put your toy soldiers away OR I will send my grandson down there to open a can of whoop-arse!" And she hung up mumbling to herself about a buyer's market. She left the room as if neither of us was there. We sat back down to our tea.
"Should we have curtsied?" Beck asked looking like a deer caught in headlights.
"Bowed you mean?" I said thinking of me head being ordered off me shoulders.
"Whatever . . . but should we have?" He said rather alarmed, downing his tea and pouring another cup.
I didn't get to answer because in came pretty Kate Middleton with a silver and diamond-encrusted hand mirror looking at herself and pulling at her skin to bring it up. This got Becks and I attention immediately.
"Mirror, mirror, who's the fairest of them all? Oh, and don't you dare say, Pippa!" Well, the good for us AND Kate the mirror did not answer. Kate looked up from her image in the looking glass to see her new National Portrait hanging on the wall in front of her. Her eyes got very big and the expression on her face was not one of a happy princess.
"That's what I need another bleeding portrait of me looking like a tired-out rendition of Camilla looking like a hausfrau. Why can't these artists stick to something like finger paints? Ugh, maybe a nip and tuck will help." She said looking back in the mirror and pulling her face this way and that. And out she went never seeing us.
Beck's eyebrows were raised to his hairline as he gulped down his hot tea and poured yet another cup. I had to look at the teapot, it seemed to hold a never-ending amount of the Darjeeling delight. I topped me own cup off and was about to pour a bit of milk when Prince Charles came waltzing in looking all upset, and as he was so in that mode of preoccupation, he did not see us.
"Darn it! Bloody sods!" He shouted as if he was a one-man show in Hamlet. "What is it we cannot go one day without an American getting in the mix? We need to revoke their independence as soon as I am king. It's the first thing I'll do," he shouted throwing a finger in the air for emphasis. "How dare that Perez person call my Cammie a horse face chimney breast when everyone knows she looks like an old used tampon!" And he paced back and forth, fists clenched as he spoke of this through his teeth and out the door he went to wreak havoc on America I suppose.
"Well, there is that," I said to Becks taking a sip of tea. He nodded in response.
We sat in silence for a whole two seconds before the door swung open and there was Prince Philip dressed in ribbons and medals looking the toy soldier come to life. He looked around the room as if looking for something or someone, never really seeing us, I suppose because we were nothing special and he announced to the air, "Why can't I be asked just once for an opinion on national affairs? Why can't I be asked just ONCE what I think of Parliamentary proceedings? Oh, WHY WHY WHY?" And holding what little hair he had left on his head, he came over to us and without a word poured himself a cuppa and strode out.
Both of us burst out laughing. I know WE BAD. But it could not be helped. The poor old guy has never been anything but that "bloke married the queen" and "Philip who?" and lastly and most disastrously, "Mr. Queen Elizabeth 2." Oh my.
"Well, I don't think we are going to be "seen" by the Queen today," I said putting my cup in the royal saucer.
"No, neither of us are blue bloods," Becks lamented, "entitled to even a nod."
"Harry spoke with us," I pointed out, "I suppose that should count."
"Oh yes, he did, didn't he? But he's the black sheep of the family 'innie?" Becks observed.
"I guess that makes him more like us?" I asked wondering.
"I suppose," Becks said looking around.
We started to get up when the door opened one final time and there holding on to the handles of the double doors was Pippa! She was smiling directly AT us! We got all the way up and smiled back and did a slight bow, not knowing if we should or not. She came forward, extending a hand to each of us. Becks knelt down and kissed it, I stood in shock and wondered if it was expected I should do the same, but being Irish the IRA might decide to blow me up next time in Newry for such, so I politely smiled and shook the two digits that were offered in me direction. No, it wasn't the whole hand, Becks got THAT, I got two fingers. Yup. So I did not feel strange not kneeling and kissing. Decidedly NOT.
"I am here to show you both how to party with Harry." She gushed withdrawing her hand and fingers.
She went to a table across the room and we two were elbowing each other at the famous tight little arse that was jiggling in front of us. Yes, we did, we are after all male pigs and it was expected I'm sure. So once at the table, we saw an array of party things.
Pippa picked up one of those paper hats you get in a cracker and placed it gingerly on her head.
"Come on now, pick yours up and place it as I have on your heads." She smiled with partygoer enthusiasm.
And of course, we did it all wrong and she tsked at us.
"The idea gentlemen, is to place the hat without ruining the "do," like this." And she replaced the hat on her head with the utmost care. Well, we got it, we did the same and she clapped her hands together in sheer joy we weren't that low class we couldn't get it right.
"Now gentlemen, when one blows a noise-maker one must not get the tip of the blower wet. Like this," and she demonstrated one of those noise-makers where the end flips out like a blue or pink tongue. And sure enough, the gold paper mouthpiece was not wet (though there was a hint of lipstick).
This is where we fell into low-class imbecility. Neither of us could keep the mouthpiece dry. We tried, for the realm, the people, the politics, the parliament, and the Queen. We did try our best, but we failed miserably.
"Must be the tea," Becks offered as an excuse.
"Must be," I concurred.
"Oh well, this is not going to happen then," Pippa said looking at the oriental carpet and stamping a well-shod designer toe. "No, I am very afraid neither of you will be able to attend my roping Prince Harry to the altar . . . I mean my surprise party for Prince Harry . . . " her voice trailed off as she looked off into space like neither of us was there and she was having a private moment of conjecture.
I looked at Becks and with a motion of my head I indicated the open door behind us. He gave a slight nod and both of us, our eyes never leaving the daydreaming of Prince Harry at the altar that Miss Pippa had on her mind, backed out the open door and slowly shut it on her image, where the last we saw of Miss Pippa, she had heaved a great sigh and then she was gone, blotted out by the polished wood of the doors.
But, as we let out our own sighs, in our case not of longing, but relief we realised we went out the wrong door.
To be continued.
Gabe
Copyright © 2013 All rights reserved
