The daily illo
For the sake of peace and quiet I am helping Syd mark J’s words. I hope Syd learns a lesson from this. He is truly the author of unimaginable trouble and strife.
After a huge row I managed to settle things down. J said she would put the catapult back in the cupboard provided Syd marked her words. I said I would ensure he complied.
Typical, stupid bird. J’s looking for him and I am desperately trying to unimagine him. If I can banish Syd from my mind then maybe the catapult will follow.
Flee Syd, flee. It seems the best option. He needs to find safe harbour elsewhere. Wait till the dust settles and then come home quietly. I can’t imagine life without him, but it’s best to do just that.
She heard all right and now she is looking for Syd. I said he’s just a figment of my imagination. She said so’s the catapult.
He said it alright. Said J looks like an onion. I told him off till I was blue in the face. He flew off shrieking that Red Beaks are protected.
Calamity, just calamity. I hope he didn’t say it, and if he did, I hope J didn’t hear him. There’s trouble brewing if she did.
From the archive: Park Inn, near Heathrow, the check-in ahead of us had four large matching bags. We had two back packs. The bell-hop identified us as CNHS (clearly not his sort) and didn’t race over with a trolley.
No more space station, back to the Mp3. Have to wear the hat because of the sticking plaster. Sometimes I wish I could unimagine Syd. Life would be easier without him.
Bit of a nightmare last night and the world seems different this morning. Trying to figure out what has changed. Maybe I have been hacked.
It’s amazing at night. Really good reception; every time the space station goes over head, I get Major Tom clear as a bell, and still no batteries. I think J is happy for me.
What a victory. J agreed I could continue with the perm stuff until the end. And that won’t be anytime soon. After all, ‘perm’ is short for permanent. So, take that.
I have been told to stop banging on about the perm. So here from the archive is Arriving in Bayonne in the Pouring Rain. Now I am off to have a ‘discussion’ with the editor. And we all know how that will end up.
I told J that I could hear Major Tom every so often. She said she could fix that. Not sure what she is going to do?
musings and ramblings on the life and gardening exploits of a suburban 40 something!