This is what I was like in my dream. Everyone hated me because all I did was cuss all over the shop. Not like me at all. I was visiting some country mansion with a load of silver haired tourists.
In fact, the only person who liked me was this really cute young cleaner who worked for English Heritage. She followed me when I stormed out and we eloped.
But then as soon as she showed an interest, I stopped being an ice cold bad boy and became my usual room temp. self- needy and demanding: “you’re really beautiful”, “I love you”, and passion killer numero uno “do you really like me?”
I turned from a handsome, upright cactus into a saggy week old lettuce, pathetically dripping on the floor.
At least I’m not The Man with the Cold Meat Hands. Probably an urban myth, but I heard about this guy whose microwave had a hole in the door and for some reason he had to hold his food up through the hole while it was on. After a while, his hands started to feel funny, and he went to the doctors only to be told-
“You’ve cooked your hands. There’s nothing we can do”
Imagine having 2 cold dead lumps of meat where your hands should be. I imagine when you touch your own face it’s like being caressed by a dead man. It is the most disturbing thing I have ever heard, because it makes me realise that yes we are just lumps of flesh like the ones we fry and gobble down and that a simple cooking procedure would turn us from human to animal, from warm body to tepid meat.
Whenever I feel tired in the afternoon, Esther chirrups “you should be horizontal between the hours of 2 and 4 in the afternoon and 1 and 2 in the morning. This triggers the liver’s downtime”. This is the excuse she uses whenever there is a hard task to do after 2pm “I can’t, it’s liver down time”.
Apparently, Esther learned all her wisdom from Carol Kaplan, Cherie Blair’s “style guru”. Thanks Carol.
Last night I couldn’t get to sleep because I was trying to work out a joke.
As Esther is dropping to sleep, I stifle a giggle but end up snorting with laughter.
“What’s so funny?” she demands
“One guy overhears his friend on the phone.
He’s saying “three ohhh…ten, ten, ten…two fifteens…” in a breathy voice.
“What the hell are you doing?” the friend asks.
“Oh, my wife loves it when I talk thirty” he admits”
I can barely get the punchline out because I’m sniggering so much.
As I chortle away, Esther rolls her eyes.
“That’s not even funny” she says and turns over.