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Monday, April 03, 2006

waitrose supermarket

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.

wrosePause to admire:

  • Stubby gear, 100mph to Mach 2, 15 secs
  • pine fascia with walnut workings and rosewood inlay
  • Dials + LED, make a F1 look like a Morris Minor
  • Tailored womb-enfolding leather bucket seats, hand-tooled by flashing-eyed virgins of Palermo; cost, more than my maman's flate
  • B&O stereo (see above)

    I'm gazing and admiring and hating when up strolls meter maid (next hated trade to Bainbridge developer).

  • MM: "You move your car in the next 20 secs, I don't need write this ticket
  • Busker: "Uncommon decent of you. (no movement)
  • MM: "But make it fast

    Out of office comes smart young chap, nods thanks to me and leaps in voiture and vrooms off.

    *Mean* look from meter maid.

  • Comments:

    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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