"NOT A FUCKING CLUE"
This occurred to me some years ago and hasn’t got any better since.
We were on holiday somewhere mooching around some pretty coastal town on the south coast. For Our Gert this means looking in exactly the same shops she looks in at home – the likes of M&S and Primark, ie the same lookalikes that infest every town.
I, on the other hand having more cerebral tastes and will to steal away on my own at every chance opportunity, want to look round bookshops and visit artisan coffee shops.
So, as you’ve guessed we tend to go our separate ways with a time and place contingency to meet up later.
On this particular occasion when our twin souls had parted for the afternoon, an ambulance came nee nah-ing down the main street, causing me to fret a little about my beloved. My mind raced a bit as would yours. Might the dozy ha’peth have got knocked down or had a heart attack?
It occurred to me the police might ask me what she was wearing
“Not a fucking clue!” I’d have to say.
I’ve told her since that when we go out together like this she should wear something distinctive.
Like a gas mask.
Sat 4th Mar 2023 22:22
Sat 4th Mar 2023 18:05
Shows how the mundane can so quickly and easily become infected by tragedy. Nice write JC.
Sat 4th Mar 2023 17:13
Of course it’s a poem, MC. Didn’t you spot the subtle rhymes of “away” and “say”. I just haven’t chopped it into little lines yet.
Sat 4th Mar 2023 13:54
Now that I've stopped chuckling, as a single man can I enquire if this qualifies as a married man's idea of poetry? 😏
Sat 4th Mar 2023 12:06
I thought you meant on this site, Graham. As for Our Gert, you don’t think I let her anywhere near WOL, do you?
And thanks for the Like, Elijah.
Sat 4th Mar 2023 11:06
I'm amazed that you've lasted so long JC! Especially if Gert cooks all your food. I'd chew very carefully if I were you 😉
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