Friday 14 May

Momentous events – at least for Licky and myself; she has her job in Washington DC. Provided the weather is set fair over there (can you imagine your humble narrator operating while drenched in Americanisms, or getting burnt to a crisp by potato chips?) there should be nothing in our move to stop me furthering the dream of becoming a full-time writer. My better half (there, I’ve said it) will have a more public and prestigious role at the Embassy (no less) so I better get used to the idea of being the lemon outside the limelight. The small apartment you’ve come to know so well (please return the keys before our departure) tonight plays host to one of its famous parties. Dylan is all smiles and plans to visit; Godiva Grappenhall, our running mate, is in a fine state; so it’s left Deidre Darknight and I to o’er balance the Puppet Show machine, in a final act of anarchy (the Americans don’t approve I hear). Fortunately we wake to find no bridges burning – just a few bumps and bruises evident around the flat. We’ll clean them up before a sitter is identified; July the likely month of our escape: but to what? It’s clear to us we have the presence of mind but what if the US President minds us? We’ll be living mere miles away and I bet he has a team of (better) gag writers...

1 comment:

Nelly said...

Oh no - it just doesn't seem right. Batson, the gunslinger? What will the troll do without his pints and pizzas?