Went on a team dinner last night.
One doesn’t expect to be talking back, sack and crack at such events, but I think it’s fair to say that at least some of these topics were broached in one way or another, thanks to our firm friend Haute Cabriere and a wonderful little something called a 'Lemongrass & Litchi Royale.'
Anyway interestingly, one of my colleagues had the unfortunate experience of having a python on the loose in a house she rented somewhere.
His name was Magnus.
Think about that for a second: a python. On the loose. In a constricted area. In which you sleep and bathe. Openly naked. And his name is Magnus.
They found him under the laundry pile days later.
Then another dude piped up: "That’s nothing."
"My mate had a pet python, and when he died, he froze him."
"For the skin, I guess. But that’s not all. He took him out the freezer one day and swung him around and concussed his friend by hitting him on the head by accident."
With a frozen python.
‘Sorry, yeah, I got concussed, because my mate was swinging around this frozen constrictor, and it whacked me on the head. Not a falling anvil, not dodgeball, a frozen snake.’
Loved that. Anyway.
My piano is in full swing. I got the puppy tuned and belted out that first sonata I’ve been gagging to play since I realised I’d purchased the thing by accident online.
The tuner was this old geezer who didn’t sport much of a sense of humour.
Peas: You’ve arrived! Like a fallen…tuner god guy! You’re here to tune my instrument of joy!
Tuner dude: [deadpan] Excuse me?
Peas: The piano, let me show you ze piano oh righteous herculean hubris of tone!
Tuner dude: Is this a prank?
Peas: Seriously. Can you fix him?
Tuner dude: [looking increasingly haggled and thinking aloud as to his pending retirement in San Lameer] ‘Where’d you get this?’
Peas: Funny story actually. On the Internet.
Tuner dude: Right.
Peas: Take a look under his bonnet and tell me whether I’ve been had. And if I should just whack him back online.
Tuner dude: ‘Him?’
Peas: Oh sorry yes. His name is Leonard; I refer to the machine of instrumental utopia as Leonard. [Said ‘Lennard’]. I name inanimate objects. It’s cool if you think I’m weird.
Tuner dude: Right. OK, give me…3 hours. With…Leonard.
And now, we’re going to paint Leonard all sorts of funky colours and shit.
Oh and I’ve volunteered to join a band.
Perhaps I did have one too many glasses of fermented fruit of the vine, but whatever, Leonard is now the success story he never was.
Everyone thinks he’s haunted because he came from a dead man’s estate.
At 4am I woke up from a ripping pain down my left side, and also because I was dreaming that my house was in the process of being robbed.
So I was terrified and also thought I had appendicitis.
Was almost in the process of pulling on my jeans and driving myself to hospital, but then it went away.