"You're going to have to find out what's going on," says Bad Lindy. "He's started on the voice messages now. Listen."
She puts her phone on loudspeaker and an unearthly wail issues from it.
"That's the fourth one he's sent me. Pathetic, or what?"
"I think an early medieval classic called 'I'm a w****r," I say. "Though perhaps Sasha wouldn't agree. And if he really is going out with her, why bother hassling you?"
"Revenge, I'd have thought," says Vicky. "After all, we rescued Ra from a lifetime in overblown prose style in the nick of time."
"What's wrong with direct action?" asks Lindy. "Just lend me your school keys and I'll have the truth from Sasha in no time."
"What are you going to do?" says Vicky. "Conceal yourself in the stationery cupboard disguised as a Venn diagram and shout Fibonnaci numbers at her until her mind crumbles?"
"As it happens, I do a very good impression of a giant gluestick. You'd be amazed at how many hours people spend working out which bit unscrews."
"You're not going anywhere near the school," I say.
"Suit yourself. Then you're on your own."
"You just have to get closer to her," says Vicky.
"The only way I'm going to do that is by having my DNA melted down and recast in titanium. I'm convinced that woman can withstand anything. Come nuclear anhilation, I bet she'll be out there in the nuclear winter, building radioactive snowmen with the cockroaches."
"Not if me and my lead-stored firemen see her first," says Lindy.
"Ask Francis," suggests Vicky. "He must be an expert on getting on with people."
"He's only really good with fish," I say, "which is fine if Sasha happens to have kissing cousins who are haddock. But not otherwise. Though, now I come to think of it, he does speak fluent headhunter."
"Bob's your management consultant, then," says Vicky. "Ask him this evening, or if he's gone that fish mad, wiggle your gills provocatively. I'm sure he'll get the gist."
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
6 comments:
The plot not only thickens, but becomes more confused. Never mind, Omega Mum, I am hanging in there with you still. It does take me several readings, but I think I get the gist of it. You do have an awfully wide ranging imagination and as you leap and bound through the story, I leap and bound with you, sometimes at terrifying heights. It's good to know Bad Lindy's character, otherwise a lot of things would not make sense at all. She does add all of the confusing ingredients to the soup and completely throws you off kilter. As long as you don't get addled by her, you are fine.
OM-
Please, no gill wiggling. Like smoke signals, if you miscommunicate your request or intentions you may get whisked off to Iceland, or some such fish-y place, for an extended jaunt with your sardine-obsessed spouse.
And then Sasha would have the opportunity to wreck untold havoc in the London suburban lives of all those recorder-playing children and mischief-making friends of yours -- all of whom you'd have to help rehabilitate when you returned.
Sweet I: Thank you for hurdling the blog with me - I really appreciate it. I will try to rein things in a bit......
Molly G: Blimey - does opening and shutting my mouth a lot count, too - or have I just been staring at the goldfish for too long?
I think it would be cruel to inflict Sasha on Francis - he doesn't deserve that. She'd turn his beautiful brain into bouillabaisse in an instant.
But if you think the piscatorial theme is one to follow, perhaps launching kippers up Sasha's recorder/down Colin's crumhorn might help keep them quiet. At least for a bit.
Failing that - Bad Lindy.
Mya x
Mya: Blimey - bouillabaisse and piscatorial in one comment. You wordsmith, you. Like the suggestions, very much. Thank you. Will tell Francis he has a stay of execution.
Post a Comment