I had a dream last night. We were staying round Katy Perry’s house. Russell was out flouncing around somewhere.
It was time to take a shower. Katy lead the way, avoiding the windows in case we were papped. Esther got in the first cubicle then me and Katy went in 2 next to each other. I did try to get some personal hygiene done, but what with Katy’s breasts and the fact that I only had bleach to wash with, it all got a bit too much. I ended up on my knees, scrabbling round for bubbles to lather with, and looking up at the buxom and fully lathered Katy, who threw her head back and laughed. How embarrassing. If I’d had a bar of imperial Leather, I’d have been able to stand proud.
When I woke up, I made a mental note to buy some more shampoo.
Every Wednesday, Esther and Lisa visit their Gromy (“Gran + Mummy” to make her sound younger) in Rotherham.
She has a budgie called Peter and a lovebird called Tay. Tay is a nervous wreck. Today Gromy made Esther and Lisa watch as she demonstrated all of Tay’s toys. She pointed each out in turn, and then went into a strange trance. She grabbed a toy and began pushing it into the cage. After a moment, she says;
“I love tormenting him with his toys” in a deep monotone, her hand thrusting the toy at the scared bird. Esther and Lisa had to bite their lips to stop from laughing hysterically. She sounded like one of the characters from Psychoville.
Gromy thinks she is brilliant with animals. She’s not. She sent her dog crazy by shouting at it as if it was a naughty grandchild. She treats pets as family members, who shouldn’t be acting like animals. When she talks to Tay, he quivers in fear until she goes away.
The girls are there to tidy her house. This involves:
- Hoovering up the skin flakes around the bed.
- Pretending to dust the ornaments. (“Shall I dust the teddy bears?” Lisa asks with a trembling voice).
- Going to the shop for her whisky and fags.
When they get back to safety of Lisa’s house, they huddle round a cup of tea and shudder. Lisa spends her evenings researching ways to avoid getting older. And snoozing.
“Apparently long faces are the worst for ageing” she intones in her ‘morbid newsreader’ voice.
“That’s a funny long face” says Esther to me, as I process Lisa’s doomful comment. I have to think for a moment whether or not I am pulling a face. Thankfully I am.
“You can shut up, you’ll be alright” snarls Lisa. “You’ve got a round face”
Having a long face is a curse. Imagine every time you hear a joke about a horse, you think it’s about you (Q: “Why the long face?” A: “Genetics”).