I bump into Bad Lindy at Tesco. "What's with the window cleaner?" I ask. "Is he your type?" "Well, he's got a p***k. What more do you need?" she asks, a little surprised.
A small fanfare sounds, appropriately at groin level. "My phone," says Bad Lindy, hoiking it out of the back pocket of her jeans and avoiding catching it on the belt of the thong that protrudes a good inch above the waistband. She studies it closely. "It's my oldest. Says she's getting a headache, her tablets are at home and she feels sick. She was off last Wednesday, throwing up. I hate that bitch sometimes. Really cramps my style."
"I don't mean to be unkind," she adds, as an afterthought.
Following last week's meeting with The Man who Makes Things but Can't Get The Shops to Stock Them, Francis arranges to see another man, whose speciality is Persuading Shops to Buy Stuff. When the samples from Man who Makes Things etc arrive 48 hours too late for the meeting, which involved a four hour there and back drive, making the whole thing a total waste of time, Francis begins to have an inkling as to what might be going wrong. He ungrits his teeth long enough to deliver these insights to Man Who....in a few short, sharp sentences.
But the exciting news now is that Francis is getting ready to see Posh Headhunter about the hair job. Then, if he manages to impress her with his experience and his hair - and we've got high hopes of a very nice one that he's been growing specially - he'll be flown to Paris, home of lavish hair tossing. I don't know how far he's going to get with single strand, but he could just sing 'The answer is blowing in the wind' if all else fails, as that's about all it's up to thus far.
I might even suggest he borrows my Hermes scarf, instead, and tries to impress them with his through and through Englishness by wearing it a la Princess Royale. Well, it's got to be worth a try.
"Oh, and on Friday," he says, "I'm going to Windsor to see a man about - "
"- being King?," I ask, hopefully. Well, he can't do worse than the current lot, and at least the pay's good. He looks very slightly pained, prints out the latest version of his CV - now with added adjectives! and, sighing slightly, sets off for his interview, trying, and failing to run his hands through the once luxurious tresses d'autan.
PS
It's always lovely to be the best at something and nobody could be prouder of Deborah than I was when she returned with a little plaque saying she was 'Beaver of the weeek'. She tells me it was her shiny shoes that secured her the accolade. I had wondered whether including girls in the Scouting movement was really that good an idea but now I'm convinced.
Just off to stock up on Kiwi's best Parade Ground Black. Well, if it worked for her....
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2 comments:
yes, l also think girls should be involved in scouting as opposed to guides or brownies. Perhaps if the option had been there years ago l might have been involved. As it was ldidn't want to sit on a toadstool at any cost!
I was a horribly eager Girl Guide - though baffled by my parent's laughter on the proud day I became a subbed-up member of the Bluetit patrol.
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