Altrincham Adventures


Okay, Boomerrissey.
We welcome suggestions from esteemed literary colleagues ^ , unfortunately, there are only two characters in this thing, and a third couldn’t get a word of psychobabble in edgewise. However, we will now introduce a guest star, to prevent unlikely readers from falling asleep on New Yawn’s Eve.

Altrincham "last club before the end of the world" Adventures/ part 11

Emily B: Yo! Season’s greetings, revellers.

I have tiredly come hither,

to teach a couple of fûckers

What an octosyllable is.

M : Go away, fleabag, we’re not interested.

Emily B.: Pray spell my surname correctly

When quoting me on your website

What have I done, Monstrosity,

To incur your illit’rate spite ?

M : WHAT is she oooooon abouuuuut ?

S.E.R : My bad, Uncle. I put a bit of pottry on Sammy Central, because folks always want something fancy for the new year, but I couldn’t find how to do the two dots.

M : Say that again very quickly.

SER : Howtodothetwodots.

M : Now touch your nose. Yes, wipe it if you want. Good, you’re not drunk. It’s called a diaeresis, by the way.

S.E.R : No, I’m okay Uncle, I am blessed with good digestion. Glory to the Lord ! Although I’m sure the loo is very nice here, it’s so near the castle. I love luxury loos.

M : Foreigners would probably say you fart higher than your arse, but thank God for Brexit, they’re not around.

S.E.R : Sadly, I think there’s a relative in the vicinity, Uncle.

M : Yes, I know you’re here.

S.E.R : Is it me or is it unseasonably hot, Uncle ?

M : It’s not you. At least there’s no sun. I’m not in the mood.

S.E.R : What are we doing tonight ? I forgot.

M : We’re spending New Year’s Eve in a Tel Aviv disco. Wheels up in twenty. Have you got your glitter vest ?

S.E.R : Always at the ready, Unc ! Wait a minute : where’s me jumper ?

(later that night, in a nightclub in Israel)

M : Vey is mir, what is this racket ?!

S.E.R : I believe it’s techno music, Sir.

M : I thought that had died with the nineties ?

S.E.R : I didn’t dress right for this place, Uncle. I had a fluorescent yellow top at home.

M : You have a yellow vest ? Remind me to borrow it.

S.E.R : Speaking of wrong clothes, people were surprised to see Unc Jess playing in pyjama bottoms...

M : When ?

S.E.R : A while ago. On stage.

M : Oh, that. It’s nothing. It’s code between us, means he fancies a sleepover in my suite.

S.E.R : T.M.I, Unc.

M : Well don’t ask, then.

S.E.R : Where’s Aunt Damona, Uncle ?

M : I think he went to another club. He’ll come and pick us up later. Maybe.

S.E.R : I don’t think we’re in the right club for you to get propositioned, Uncle.

M : That’s fine. I’m taking a day off.

S.E.R : And you’re faithful to your partner.

M : My what ? Oh yeah, sure.

S.E.R : Uncle, Poti say you picked Aunt Damona because he went with the colour scheme. What do they mean ?

M : Never you mind, it’s a film reference.

S.E.R :Oh I wouldn’t know, I only watch the films I make and cat videos on youtube.

M : Yes, it’s a very small world, isn’t it.

S.E.R : But what colour would that be, Uncle ?

M : Dunno. Greige ?

S.E.R : Well anyway it’s a long romance. People like that. And two very different people, nothing in common, being each other’s forever person. It’s like « Bob and Rose ».

M : ...With a distinct lack of Roses. But I’ve had longer relationships.

S.E.R : Really, Uncle ?

M : You know it’s always been Bob and Boz.

S.E.R : Of course it has ! Do you know, Uncle, Poti appreciate Uncle Boz more now that he’s gone.

M : It’s always like that.

S.E.R : Then again, every relationship has its ups and downs…

M : He never promised them a Hoegaarden.

S.E.R : They can see that he « finally got his priorities right and that he was harmless, really. Sure, he was always trying to make a bob or two out of terror-stricken foreigners with the worst songs imaginable, but that was in keeping with his belonging to a nation of shopkeepers... Plus he must be fun to binge-drink with. »

M : Yes he is. That will be his epitaph. We’re going to have matching headstones.

S.E.R : Poti think graves suck, Uncle.

M : ...or maybe « Here lies Boz Boorer : he knew when to stop. »

S.E.R. They want to be cremated. Leave the land to the living, they say.

M : Well, they can go , we don’t need them. Go ! Go ! We don’t need you !

S.E.R : Hey, it’s almost midnight ! Okay : trick question : you got slapped down a lot this year. what’s your favourite slap down ?

M : Well, I must say I enjoyed « Well at least me I don’t grieve like a drag-queen. »

S.E.R: People deal with death differently. But what’s wrong with drag queens ?

M : Nothing is wrong with them. People love drag queens. The dramatic make up. The tight outfits. The tearjerkers that make them laugh because they’re jerks. It’s because they love it that they think it ought to be left to pros.

S.E.R : Uncle Boz looked good in a dress though.

D.A : Okay. Time to go.

S.E.R : Hi Auntie !

D.A. : Hurry up old fart, some of us are getting dynasty.

M : See, Nephew ? Damona is not just a pretty resting bitch face…

S.E.R : He also makes a mean cup of tea !

D.A : ...He’s also hilarious. When he wants to be.


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