All of a flap.

by pauland1707

The old home-town still looks the same, as I step down from the train and there to meet me is _Paul_And_Land_ Senior. Indeed, this may come as something of a shock to seasoned _Paul_And_Landers, the existence of Senior and Senior II, but we are only human after all. Flesh and blood, skin and bone, hands and feet, all the components. And bits and pieces.

The usual conversation ensues: principally involving deaths or impending deaths on the ride to _Paul_And_Land_ Senior Chateau de (one for the use of) and it is, thanks to lack of buses, short. Still, too many deaths or impending deaths to feel comfortable in a short journey. And the back, knee, elbow, ankle troubles which flare up over a winter, have flared up and fill the gaps in the deaths and impending deaths. All somewhat sombre and definitely of a Tom Jones feel: And then I awake and look around me at these four grey walls that surround me. Tomorrow morning at least.

For now though, the welcome continues. We’ve missed you, you look thin, I’ll make you some chips. Chips are lovely, we love chips with any old condiment: salt, vinegar, tomato jollup, brown jollup, pickle, chutney or anything else of a lubricational quality. And we don’t look thin, no we don’t but someone thinks we do and so scuttles off to the scullery to scuttle up chips.

Within minutes, there must have been some pre-planning to this operation, for not even Sir Hoy, Lewis Lamilton, Benjaming Button or Mohamed Farah Slacks could have rattled up a hugely huge and massively massive plate of chips as this without pre-planning and planning in advance. A full scale model of Kilimamjaro made of chips, with tomato jollop. It would have been impossible to consume this amount of chips without the aid of heavy industrial machinery. And then the inevitable question “what would you like for your pudding”. Good garden seeds, there are chips squeezing from every pore, spuddy goodness is overflowing from ears, eyes and nose, and more is expected to be consumed. Love your Mum, she loves you. She’d made pie, special-like. Gaviscon will beckon because we can’t turn down Mum’s love.

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