Esther is convinced that the besieged President of Syria is actually the Lemur King of Madagascar. Every time he comes on TV she giggles, and even when the revolution reaches its climax and he faces a firing squad of rebels, she’ll still giggle and say “Zee Fooosa is coming”.
Jumble sale haul: one pair of black leather gloves; one mustard suit jacket; one blue marl Cotton Traders shirt; one 1960s copy of Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World, complete with 1980s Halifax Building Society bookmark on page 100.
Experience gained: jumble sales require more than one free hand, and more logic than a hangover allows.
(1) I am scared of Christians. As I waited in line for my decaff coffee at the jumble sale, I glanced sideways and noticed with horror a primary school wall full of posters asking “WHAT DO YOU WANT TO THANK GOD FOR?”
I would have liked to have though it was meant in the sense of “Oh no, what did you have to go and do that for!?”, but sadly not. Each diligent tweenie had answered with the same unimaginative combo of parents, pets and Playstations. I have the same feeling for god botherers as I do for spiders- If I know one is in the same room as me, one of us has to leave.
(2) People are stupid. Like when you want to overtake someone and they do a big song and dance about stopping, oh so helpful, so you are forced to say thankyou despite the fact that you were about to just walk past them. Yeah, thanks for making life harder for both of us, and demanding that I congratulate you for the privilege. Fuck you and your feeble logic.
(3) Be careful what you wish for. Following last week’s revelations about my desire for animal molestation, I nearly got shat on by a heron. There I was stood in Endcliffe Park minding my own, when a gallon of shit rained down from the trees-
…and I looked up to see a feathery grey arse and an oversized beak 50 feet above me, the smug bastard. If only I had stood a bit to the side, I would have been showered in the stuff. Dammit, I always miss out.