More Nonsense From _Paul_And_Land_

Month: February, 2014

Lesta and Beyond….

So, yes, Lesta. What a lovely place you have got Lestans, with nice uses of Alcan on your John and Lewis shop. The coffee and servers in your Coffee Shoppes are also rather tasty on the taste-buds and eyes equally. And in your Next next, jackets and Sales Persons are also rather attractive. Big smiles and big attractive personalities. Does our Lothario resent 75 squids for a dapper jacket? Not one penny when the Sales Person smiles so genuinely and chats like a human. Smile. Sell stuff. She ain’t like that, a queue builds.

And in your Waterstone’s (with an apostrophe, let it be noted), a tome as recommended by a connoisseur of Bourbon is spotted. Without a moments thought, it’s in the bag ready for the journey home. An opinion trusted.

Your £1.99 is something of a let-down though. Your selection of corduroy lacking but, hurrah, M&S hoves into view and Black Corduroy is taken. No need for a trial, they will fit like the proverbial glove. A nifty complement to the next Next’s attractive jacket. But, your Lothario lies, data cables for a single squid and a couple of DVDs for the same ridiculous amount (Pt II of the Alfreton Pt III purchase, a cold shiver, and Being John Malkovich, which not one of the associates know of, their pleasure will be in the postie’s hands).

Trainers, shoes, stationery and shoes follow in quick succession for our happy band and, in spite of poor recollection, the Scenic Wendell Chariot is refound. A sleepy journey, for some, is calling for our return to Peter Brough and Archie Andrews. A dream for our Lothario, should he have turned up at the back door of the Coffee Shoppe Doorre at 4.00, my apologies to an attractive Barista. Your outlet is worthy, as are you, of better reward.

One cannot turn this charm off, as several young, well younger than the majority at least, ladies will find later in’t evenin’ but fost a tasty bit of EyeTalyan. Heavy on the Chilli, as tried and wafted by Wendell. Lorenzo, it seems, enjoys eating his evening meals from a roof slate. Or so the Management would assume. But free, yes free, Prosecco and our youngest member happy with Dye It Cuka Cula, we step out to enjoy an evenin’ (all) of tasty vocal renditions. Forgettable. Never. Fontella Bass, an all-time personal favourite.

Returning to our place of kippage, Siri let’s us down, but not personal memory. And writing of memory, a lovely chat with a young Baltic, living in Stamford. Blonde-esque, formerly of Edge. Where? A friend in the home city. A visit in two short weeks, she takes my number. I dream. Her friend lives on a hill, so does I. It would be a nice development, Latvian sounds beautiful. Sophia Loren with a sniff of Bridget Bardot and blonde-esque hair. A heady mix with Merlot from the garage.

Tomorrow, Pete’s Borough with young fella-me-lad and the curious tale of “The Return of the Undersized Shirt”. Take notes, Watson, it will appear in The Strand Magazine.

Peetabara Sauce

Well the Corduroy Appreciation Society (UK) convened in a suitable hostelry in the fine village of Peetabara, East Midlands. They were there, from the East, the South and the North. The gentleman driving the motor-taxi had struggled to understand the one from the North. Understandable, for this is the most East Midland’s most East Midlandish bit of the East Midlands. Cheeese is the central part of the diet. And Pork Pies.

Fish and chips and mushy bees were consumed. And Mexican stuff. And stakes, given that this is the neck of the woods where Vincent Price was The Witch Finder generally. Wine was quaffed (or beer or agua (I’m a Barbie Girl. In a Barbie World. It’s Tangfastic even with elastic) or Red Grape Shluuuh for the young ‘un) and then back to watch “Road Wars”. And something about Weather. More Wining. G’night Gran’ma. G’night John-Boy. Et cetera.

And then the morning. Two statuesque ladies, possibly of easy virtue, arguing with a diminutive chap over the payment of their fees for an evening of entertainment. An interesting aside. And said diminutive looking somewhat vexed as he, one assumes, had expected a little more of what he fancied whilst the statuesque ladies were having none of it.

Leicester is flexing her finger. Journey on Corduroyists.