George Best and Black Dog Day
George Best and Black Dog Day
Saturday....
Grief it's raining...again ....
Poor old George, the worlds greatest football player, buried by the tabloid press this morning....nothing new there then......whilst the nation watched listening to endless platitudes and more journalistic requiem....I know what he would have said.....
Do you know...do you even care there are only 22 days to Christmas.............
During the past week my mood had been worsening; in these few days before Christmas day. I am contantly on edge, scratchy, and in a deep dark depression. Each morning I say to myself,
, ‘There will be no mauldling ways today, you will walk smartly put a spring in your step, bush up my tail
I will endeavour to start the day with a will, run a bath, shave,
and dress.
Something smartish, the sort of thing which will guarantee a response,
Oh aye? And where are you going? All dressed up.
The fact is, you're not ‘all dressed up’ you have just changed from chronically dated casual, thus giving the unaccustomed and inexperienced, the illusion of elegance
Once out of the bath you dress in a clean white, 'A, might have done with an iron', shirt
Have you ever given thought to why men of a certain age grow fatter when it’s a known fact that they eat far less than they used to.
Anyway, you continue to struggle into trousers,
ensuring that the top, comfort only, loosed button is well covered by the belt buckle.
After dressing you go down stairs to meet the morning.
Dear God, the acrid smell of stale tobacco, next door's black dog and 5 sleeping cats. It never ever smells like that during the evening when you’re watching Football, imbibing, relaxing with a paris goblet filled to the brim with Amarone.
Cleanup, open windows feed the cats
What's with this fucking dog!...
Get down!Now! that’s a good girl.
Down you crazy bastard!!
Down!
Down you bitch!
The dog cowers, whilst the cats nervously watch their noses pushed up against the glazed doors from the dining room.
I fill the kettle, boil the water,
‘Lets make coffee that’s a sound idea ...and toast, that’s right start as you mean to go on’.
No milk!
Oh! I don’t believe this.
Neither do the cats.
God, I hate black coffee,
so do the cats!
Starting the day off on a proper footing,
its important to do it with breakfast,
it sets you up.
The toaster refuses to engage,
the slide mechanism having long since disappeared, it was easily overcome, by inserting the blade of a small pointed kitchen knife down into the slide slot.
Alas, it had given up the ghost,
green and blue sparks flashed angrily, black acrid smoke curls.
As the cheery postman, waving, passed by the window, leaving my recent life's meaning lying scattered across the mat.
Bills and spills
and this and that.
Saturday....
Grief it's raining...again ....
Poor old George, the worlds greatest football player, buried by the tabloid press this morning....nothing new there then......whilst the nation watched listening to endless platitudes and more journalistic requiem....I know what he would have said.....
Do you know...do you even care there are only 22 days to Christmas.............
During the past week my mood had been worsening; in these few days before Christmas day. I am contantly on edge, scratchy, and in a deep dark depression. Each morning I say to myself,
, ‘There will be no mauldling ways today, you will walk smartly put a spring in your step, bush up my tail
I will endeavour to start the day with a will, run a bath, shave,
and dress.
Something smartish, the sort of thing which will guarantee a response,
Oh aye? And where are you going? All dressed up.
The fact is, you're not ‘all dressed up’ you have just changed from chronically dated casual, thus giving the unaccustomed and inexperienced, the illusion of elegance
Once out of the bath you dress in a clean white, 'A, might have done with an iron', shirt
Have you ever given thought to why men of a certain age grow fatter when it’s a known fact that they eat far less than they used to.
Anyway, you continue to struggle into trousers,
ensuring that the top, comfort only, loosed button is well covered by the belt buckle.
After dressing you go down stairs to meet the morning.
Dear God, the acrid smell of stale tobacco, next door's black dog and 5 sleeping cats. It never ever smells like that during the evening when you’re watching Football, imbibing, relaxing with a paris goblet filled to the brim with Amarone.
Cleanup, open windows feed the cats
What's with this fucking dog!...
Get down!Now! that’s a good girl.
Down you crazy bastard!!
Down!
Down you bitch!
The dog cowers, whilst the cats nervously watch their noses pushed up against the glazed doors from the dining room.
I fill the kettle, boil the water,
‘Lets make coffee that’s a sound idea ...and toast, that’s right start as you mean to go on’.
No milk!
Oh! I don’t believe this.
Neither do the cats.
God, I hate black coffee,
so do the cats!
Starting the day off on a proper footing,
its important to do it with breakfast,
it sets you up.
The toaster refuses to engage,
the slide mechanism having long since disappeared, it was easily overcome, by inserting the blade of a small pointed kitchen knife down into the slide slot.
Alas, it had given up the ghost,
green and blue sparks flashed angrily, black acrid smoke curls.
As the cheery postman, waving, passed by the window, leaving my recent life's meaning lying scattered across the mat.
Bills and spills
and this and that.
posted by Gus Jonsson at 10:35 pm
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