Nothing to do with Charlize Theron or Bob Dylan.

Location: Norwich, United Kingdom

Keep on Truckin'.

Monday, May 01, 2006

Chomping At The Bit

Let it be known, people, that this post is a miniature miracle. For the last two months I've been living off internet so basic that to even read e-mails was to copy and to paste, and to read between all the random colons that crept in between each letter. Oh, colons as in the literary kind I mean.

Life in The Shire has been fairly good to me these last few holiday weeks, to the point where I feel fairly certain that to leave, as I will do tomorrow, will incur doom. Doom, doom, death, doom, death and doom.

I spent three days at my Dad's house in Hampshire and looked after it solo for only one, during which I had the misfortune of encounterng their octogenarian neighbour, Brian, who is in the habit of bringing radishes and various brasiccas to the back door. Brian's parents were first cousins, and this could go some way to explaining why he speaks in an incomprehensible mix of snorts, grunts, and what sounds suspiciously like St. Lucian patois, often for hours at a time. I managed to hear out 45 minutes of his rambling tirrade (the only sentence of which I understood was, 'Arr, they pulled that littl' nipperr outta the 'umber yesterrdayyyy') before running inside to bury my head under a cushion.

I had also been instructed that day to mow the field (on the exciting Forrest Gump tractor-mower) and incurred further doom by allowing the dog outside with me. Rummaging through the bushes she found a deflated football, a large branch and a crow-bar (which my Dad assures me he knows nothing about) and put all three items continually in my path so that to save myself and the machine I had to engage with some proper swerves. When the parents returned, the field did not resemble the straightly-striped football-pitch-style job I'd evisaged, but looked like something someone with wall eyes would have done.

Today is Bank Holiday Monday and rather dark-clouded, as is the tradition. Last week we reached rocketed heights of 18 C which, as some of you might know, is almost room temperature! It was all getting quite sweaty, I know I was. I saw not one, but two women wearing bikinis. There they were on the Village Green, besunglassed and beshorted, huddling together for warmth on a small towel which blew about underneath their trembling limbs. The English Summer mentality. That's the kind of thing that could make a girl homesick for her Fatherland.

I am now twelve days from starting AND finishing my exams. Which means that I'm almost a graduate. Oh Lordy.


Anonymous Jo said...

A Forrest Gu- wait, this needs capitals- A FORREST GUMP FIELD MOWER??! Girl, you gotta get me a ride on that thing. While wearing my bikini!

4:35 AM  

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