verisimilitude
Sitting in the window seat of the Grafton Street book store while the warm light of evening fills up the universe.
Enter young lady stage right.
She looks around, poses a little, then strolls to a bookshelf directly adjoining the window.
Presently she sits at my feet in order to better examine the books nearby.
With a brief sidelong glance she removes her anorak.
Perhaps it is the effect of evening light on lissom girl at close range, but I could have sworn she imbued the gesture of removing her coat with a strange mystic significance.
Some girls can you know.
Why it was as if she was performing a highly erotic temple dance in praise of Eros.
(One of mine - Mel Brooks note.)
Now she glanced up and fixed me with a pair of passingly mesmeric eyes.
"What time does this shop close?" she whispered huskily.
I muttered a guess and pretended to continue reading my Noam Chomsky.
At my feet la gioconda unleashed her hair while simultaneously performing a little unselfconscious arm stretching exercise.
I could take no more.
I had to know.
"Would you like to go for coffee?" I blurted brilliantly.
"You're too old for me," she replied without hesitation.
And from somewhere not to far away the ghost of soul singer George Chandler began to sing the theme tune to a 1970s Joan Collins soft porn film.
George sang:
"There are good girls.
And there's bad.
The bad are all I've ever had.
That's why they call her the bitch.
She's a wicked wicked witch.
That's why they call her the bitch."
Exit Heelers stage left wearing his famous sheepish grin.
You know folks, if I will insist on being attracted to women who look vaguely like they're in league with the forces of darkness, I suppose I need not be too surprised if they don't turn out to be Polly of Primrose Hill.
Now Polly of Primrose Hill.
There's a cracking bird.
Arf, arf.
Boo hoo.
Enter young lady stage right.
She looks around, poses a little, then strolls to a bookshelf directly adjoining the window.
Presently she sits at my feet in order to better examine the books nearby.
With a brief sidelong glance she removes her anorak.
Perhaps it is the effect of evening light on lissom girl at close range, but I could have sworn she imbued the gesture of removing her coat with a strange mystic significance.
Some girls can you know.
Why it was as if she was performing a highly erotic temple dance in praise of Eros.
(One of mine - Mel Brooks note.)
Now she glanced up and fixed me with a pair of passingly mesmeric eyes.
"What time does this shop close?" she whispered huskily.
I muttered a guess and pretended to continue reading my Noam Chomsky.
At my feet la gioconda unleashed her hair while simultaneously performing a little unselfconscious arm stretching exercise.
I could take no more.
I had to know.
"Would you like to go for coffee?" I blurted brilliantly.
"You're too old for me," she replied without hesitation.
And from somewhere not to far away the ghost of soul singer George Chandler began to sing the theme tune to a 1970s Joan Collins soft porn film.
George sang:
"There are good girls.
And there's bad.
The bad are all I've ever had.
That's why they call her the bitch.
She's a wicked wicked witch.
That's why they call her the bitch."
Exit Heelers stage left wearing his famous sheepish grin.
You know folks, if I will insist on being attracted to women who look vaguely like they're in league with the forces of darkness, I suppose I need not be too surprised if they don't turn out to be Polly of Primrose Hill.
Now Polly of Primrose Hill.
There's a cracking bird.
Arf, arf.
Boo hoo.
posted by heelers | 1:14 AM
1 Comments:
Good Lord Heelers! I can't believe you were reading that fathead Chomsky - unless of course it was one of his works on Linguistics, which he did know something about. The political stuff, he needs to kep his nose out of.
Although, now I've talked myself round, of course it's important for the right-minded (us) to read the wrong-headed, so we know what idiocy they're about to come out with next.
Well done Good Lord Heelers !
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