Oh dear, yesterday was a giggle a minute wasn’t it? No, you’re right - it wasn’t. So today there will be no mention at all of stupid CPS. Nothing. Not a word. Zero. Zilch. Zip. My lips are sealed.
So what else has been happening? Well, first up my eldest daughter decided to have (another) tattoo. She already has 3 small stars on one wrist and wanted a butterfly on the other; so off she goes to the tattooist. Now, the story here is not actually of my daughter, but of a lady who was also having a tattoo done at the same time and was lying on a couch on the other side of the room. This lady was....um, shall we say....rather well endowed if you know
what I mean, and apparently wanted the tattoo on her boobs. She had brought in a picture and the poor tattooist was painstakingly reproducing (in full colour as well, would you mind) a 6 ” high picture of “Where’s Wally?” poking out from her client’s cleavage. Now, this probably seemed like a good idea at the time, and I suppose is even quite amusing upon the first viewing. Still, I couldn't help but wonder what it was going to look like in say 15-20 years time, especially when Wally becomes a bit old fashioned and tired – and, more importantly, what happens once her skin begins it's inevitable sag down south? Would Wally become all leathery and stretchy and more of a horror movie zombie than the fun and cutesy cartoon character we all know and love? Plus of course, once you’ve found him that’s it. Game over. Even if she had the whole crowd scene thing tattooed all over the top half of her body, you would know exactly where to look – it’s a bit of a one-trick pony - personally, I don’t think she’s thought it through enough..
Secondly, my youngest daughter is a member of the junior girls’ choir at the Cathedral in Bury St Edmunds and once a term they get to sing Evensong. Actually, this is a very beautiful occasion, even if the spiritual side is not your thing; the acoustics of the Cathedral and the simplicity of the girls' voices is really quite something. So I go along to listen and take my place near the end of the pew next to an old lady who is sitting with her head down, obviously deep in prayer. It doesn’t take long however, to discover why my particular seat had been left empty by the rest of the congregation. Sniff, sniff. What is that smell? Sniff, sniff. Oh, gawd, it’s the little old lady. She doesn’t smell too fresh at all! Definitely a touch of urine if I’m not very much mistaken, and ......yep....I do believe that other distinct odour is one of Scotch....oh dear, now what?....just carry on politely like you haven’t noticed. Oh, but it’s getting stronger and now she is leaning towards me – no, cancel that – she is leaning on me. Oh crap! She’s fallen asleep! So here I am, sitting in a beautiful cathedral, surrounded by stained glass windows, candles, flowers, haunting music rising up to the painted eaves that have looked down on generations of people over hundreds of years - and a drunken bag-lady is sleeping it off against my arm. So here's a bit of a pickle; what should I do? Should I push her away? Should I get up and let her fall face down in the pew? No, I do none of this. In a characteristically British way, I remain stock still so as not to disturb her, but then, as if by some incredible magic button, just as the children are singing AMEN at the end of the Creed – up she pops, wide awake and shuffles out into the cold night air, leaving only the smell of her sad situation on the sleeve of my coat. And there but for the grace of God.....TODAY’S LEMON RATING Unclassified because we are not mentioning you-know-what-today
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