Monday, April 03, 2006
Baby Can I drive your Car?
Shuffled down to Palazza Waitroza (see foto) for refill of gruel and slightly-used Thames water.
Gaze caught by low-slung Ferraghini 'Testosteronza'-type penis-on-wheels carriages that make DeLoreans look like a wind-buffeting model Ts.
I'm gazing and admiring and hating when up strolls meter maid (next hated trade to Bainbridge developer).
Out of office comes smart young chap, nods thanks to me and leaps in voiture and vrooms off.
*Mean* look from meter maid.
Even though you're way the heck on the other side of the world, your stuff is still as entertaining now as it was when you lived here. I wish we (as in the Kitsap Sun) had been able to showcase your talents while you were here. I've never met anyone who actually referred to offspring as "the spitfire." Since I've never actually met you, I guess my record is still intact. Hope all is well.
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