Mrs. Toad & Why I Love Her So.
People fall in love for lots of reasons, some good and some bad. I don’t know why I fell in love with my midget companion, but I did and now I’m stuck with her.
What is the reason for this post then? I’m not entirely sure, but it’s late and I am pished and I am feeling a rush of elated giddiness about my sheer good fortune in ending up with this lass. Happiness is an elusive thing too, so I think you have to note the occasions when life is good to you, if just out of gratitude. A doff of the cap to the fates, if you will, because bad luck is always ready to make things shit the minute you take anything for granted.
People who are miserable fuckers, I am always tempted to conclude, don’t recognise the happy times when they have them. I never want to be someone who doesn’t acknowledge his enormous and entirely undeserved slices of luck when they materialise. I hate people who don’t know how lucky they are.
Anyhow, the point, yes of course. Well we have just come back from a friend’s house having had a delicious meal (grey sole and queen scallops on a bed of spaghetti with lemon, parsley and purple sprouting broccoli – what a cunt I’ve turned into!) and watched an amazing film. It was Death Watch with Harvey Keitel, Romy Schneider and Harry Dean Stanton and is shot in Glasgow in 1980. Try finding it anywhere – I bet you can’t. French Amazon is where we eventually tracked it down.
Anyhow, after all this grown-up middle class bollocks what does my darling girl want to do when we get home? Turn the stereo up fucking loud and plough through the vinyl. Play music, play it fucking loud, get mashed and act like idiots. Like I needed any encouragement. So the gins are poured, the amp is bursting at the seams and the neighbours are praying for the SAS. God I love this girl!
The Builders & the Butchers – Black Dresses Play this really, really fucking loud. Really fucking loud. Break something, you played it that loud.
The Sequins – Patients
Billy Bragg & Wilco – Hesitating Beauty This is just a love song. I make no apologies. I am besotted. Fuck you too.
White Rabbits – Kid on My Shoulders
The Shaky Hands – Whales Sing
You sweet fucker. A lovely post.
Fuck off. No one saw this. It never happened. Move along. Nothing to see here…
heh heh. fellah, i have been doing sort of the same tonight with the woman of the house (hence being frighteningly awake & interwebbing at this fucking ungodly hour): twatting 3 bottles of Boschendal Cabernet like its a blood transfusion; knocking up home made chestnut mushroom, leek & potato pies, parsley buttered baby tats, pan steamed broccoli + whole beans + asparagus + chestnuts in a black pepper & lemon butter sauce, with a cheeky guinness mustard gravy [no, i don't have oliver or ramsey's wank books - i made it up & it's fucking glorious]; then, following a sickeningly sexy banofee chocolate icecream & pastry desert, shagging the speakers at sonic boom levels while going through the choices for the next pre-record & throwing in Get Well Soon‘s effortlessly wonderful debut to a floorboard stamp-dance shaking delirium. Luckily, my neighbours are cunts (i.e. first job ex-students) who seem to think waking me up at 4am EVERY FUCKING MORNING with a post-club ironic music choice parties is sociably acceptable.
we watched a film or three, too. Probably wasn’t as grown up as your choice but it still concreted that moment between two people knowing the other was thoroughly exposed to the utter enjoyment of the other’s company. i have no idea if you indulge in the odd toke, but we have had the most hilarious evening rolling around on the floor, sheer hurting from the laughter chest pains, tugging on a bifter & watching Laurel & Hardy. fucking bliss.
Never smoked at all since I was about twenty. Life still holds enough enjoyment though, and if you’re prepared to be laughed at from time to time then it holds a lot. Really, an awful lot.
I own a pea green Betty Boop T-Shirt & I wear it with pride; flapping as it does, hanging a little short, over my beer gut. I’m no stranger to self-induced mockery
)
I’m not really sure that being a fuckwit has much to be feared. Even the coolest people are overtaken by fashion pretty quickly. Being a clueless twat is not a bad thing. As long as you can manoeuvre yourself from time to time into being the sort of clueless twat who dances around his living room with his wife watching him and not reaching for the divorce papers…
That’s the difference between a kiss & a snog, isn’t it?
gay.
Based on that menu it appears that you have quite recovered from the amoebic dysentery, DC. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time go and kiss the wife.
Awww….
Everything’s warm and fuzzy on here today!
Come on, group hug!
C&B – I have ‘rumblings’ & the odd hot air balloon burn off but, to all intents & purpose, this house is clean.
Good grief. Erm, congratulations? Sounds like it was a romantic evening. The “woman of the house” must be a patient soul.
I had a Glade Plug-In on timer.
See, see! Romance isn’t dead after all!
Did you get some afterwards…or were you too pished to perform??
It’s always about the money shot with you, isn’t it JC?
Let’s just say, based on present medical history, we avoided the Gary…
Here’s to love – living and breathing and shouting and and screaming and dancing and sleeping and every damn thing. Here’s to love.
And here’s to Mrs. Toad being away for a week so I can get mack to the coke & whores!
Oh, um, sorry. Yes, true love and all that sort of thing…
STRIP CLUB!!!!!
wonderful.
i didn’t say this at the time although i meant to… mrs. toad’s concert review was stellar. i loved it.
hey! i bet you didn’t know i read this blog until right now
No I didn’t Hannah, but it’s lovely to have you on board. Ignore the rest of those comments – those people are barbarians.