There are very few things that make me feel physically sick (or naw-shuss, as our American friends would say). Cucumber, 'seared' fish (i.e. cooked on the outside, cold on the inside), cheap coconut body oil, Elaine Paige. Those sorts of things. But the bile-inducer par excellence as far as I'm concerned is snot. Or phlegm. But mainly phlegm. Even the word's disgusting. That 'ph' and that 'gm'. Urgh. It is also quite obviously onomatopoeic, as I can't say it without gobbing on something. (Usually, to be fair, the enormously stupid cat, but he's too stupid to notice, so it doesn't count.)Today has been a festival of snot.
In The Car
I pull up at some lights in Putney (don't ask), and a 50 year old man driving a white van and smoking (no doubt) gold Lambert and Butler gobs a greeny out of the window. I feel a bit faint and forget where I am. The man behind hoots me. I drive off.
In The Street
I am going to the Post Office. I cross the road. Two 'youths' eject 12lbs of mucus from their mouths as they pass me. I stumble, and clutch the traffic light.
In The Gym
What's your view of peeing in the shower? I don't care that much, but I wouldn't do it in the gym. Apparently, however, it is acceptable to sing along to Daniel Bedingfield (the gym's playlist is a WHOLE other story), and blow your nose without the help of a clean starched handkerchief. Over and over again. It is also apparently acceptable in polite society to clear your throat and then shoot the contents of your lungs down the communal drain. Past my feet, which are in the shower, being washed.
In The Petshop
Urgh, not her again: the Edinburgh la-di-dah lady now running The Best Pet Shop In Britain. We didn't get on too well last time; she asked me if I lived in Streatham and pronounced the name of the cat tucker I was buying in an over-elaborate French way, as it was a French brand of cat food. (That's like people who say "I am going to Eeekeyah", instead of Ikea, like the rest of us; or tell their friends they are going to Paree and Bar-theh-lonna for the weekend.)
Me: Hello. I need your help. I need a cat bed for a cat who is mad, the size of a medium-sized dog, and likes sleeping on cardboard boxes.
Her: (assume accent of Miss Jean Brodie) Ett the beck, just by the Royy-ale Cann-nin. Mek SHOORRE it is the LENGTH of yourrr EN-IMAL, and in a design you find APP-ealing.
Me: Thank you.
Enter MAN with three brown stains on his t-shirt.
Man: HaveyougotaPARROT.
Her: I'm verreh sorry? Did you say a PERR-OTT?
Man: Yeah. Parrot. Big one.
Her: No perr-otts, I'm afraid.
Man: DoyouhavePARROTFEATHERS?
Her: Noo. Noo feath-urrrs eyether. Hev you tried the INTERRR-nett?
Man: You are TELLINGme youhavenoPARROTS?
Her: No, NO perr-otts, I'm afraid.
The man then starts coughing, and some gob falls from his mouth into the suedette catbed I am holding in my arms.
Man: OK. I tryanothershop.
The lady and I look at each other, and then the catbasket.
Her (Very kindly): Would you mebbeh laike to take ANOTH-URR cet besket from the shelf?
Me (Pale, speaking in a tiny voice): Yes please.
The cat hates his new bed, by the way, and is asleep in my handbag. And I think I've got a cold coming on.
5 comments:
Oh, and I was the Duke of York the other day. I couldn't think of anything else.
Re phlegm: suggest you lobby Ken Livingstone to reinstate those "No spitting" signs which were around when I was a gel. Could also ask spitters, in a caring tone of voice, how their TB is, and whether the antibiotics are working.
Re thet cet food: suggest you ask brightly: "Why is it so expensive here? It's one of the cheapest brands in France because it is mostly kangaroo lips."
Re cet bed: suggest put your most expensive piece of clothing (must have been worn recently) and a piece of old cod in the corner and the Big M will defintely move in.
Re. 'no spitting'. Genius. I have sent email. I await reply.
re. cet food: is it? Tres amusant, ca.
Re. cet bed: Big M has moved in because have smeared said suedette monstrosity in cat nip and moved it next to warm radiator. He rolled around it mewling like he hasn't been fed for 12 years and fell into a deep sleep, and is now snoring louder than anyone I've been out with ever, which is saying something. x
Kav - thanks doll. Was highly amused by Duke of York as it goes and actually flicked through 'his' site with rictus grin on face drinking Harvey's Bristol Cream straight out of the bottle.
re cet food - don't know whether that is the verite or not - will check, but good for a laugh anyway, n'est-ce pas?
re: the Edinburgh la-di-dah lady
the old joke goes 'in morningside sex is what they put their coal in'
boom boom
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