Slippers. That graceful majesty adorning one’s feet. I like slippers. More importantly, I like my slippers. There’s nothing overly special about them, but they’re always there, providing comfort and protection. But there are instances when one should never wear them. In the garden, for example. But what, I wondered this week, about the bathroom? To wear or not to wear. Now, the issue isn’t wearing them when walking into the actual room, but when inside. When you’re in the bathroom, do you leave them on or take them off? You always take them off when you’re seated in a room. But what about the bathroom? What is the correct protocol? Anyone? No? Ah, damn. Another one of life’s insurmountable problems.
The sheer dullness of my life over the last two weeks has resulted in a state of boredom akin to being at a lecture where the lecturer is explaining Britney Spears’ popularity, long before she repeatedly showed the world such distasteful vulgarity that would give an Elizabethan a stroke and the antonym of lockjaw.
Of course, I’m referring the notion of the whole world seeing such an image in the modern era. What has happened to society? We went from riches to rags. From tea cosy to tea bag. From tartan to tart. It’s nothing new to hear so I shall not carry on this vein of thought. I was just trying to say my life has hit an all time dull shade of grey. Much like one Miss Spears. Ah, we’ve come full circle. The circle of life. As that lion said in that Disney piece of Britney.
Of course, I’m determined to get through this post without mentioning Britney Spears every paragraph – oh, damnation. I’m actually dawdling. It is, in itself, a word so interesting it makes the last two weeks of my life look like a holiday in Jamaica swimming with sharks and skydiving with nuns.
The word ‘dawdling’ derives from the word ‘dally’, which, in itself, has a rather amusing origin. It’s Old French and means ‘to chat’. What? That is interesting, What, I prey thee tell I, is not extremely exciting about the origin of that word? Think about it: the word ‘dawdling’ also means ‘to chat’. I think. Say you’re at work. You’re in some team activity and your boss accusingly says: ‘because of your constant dawdling, there’s simply no communication and the work isn’t getting done – you’re fired’. You could sue the company for millions. It’s unfair dismissal. Your boss fired you on the basis you were chatting because you weren’t chatting. You’ll be freaking rich. Your boss has grammatically hung himself.
Grammar aside, the focus of the week was Queen Lizzy being rained on. Yes, we’ve gone from waves of heat to waves of rain. It’s fun watching the rain. I tell myself that, purely to make me seem more interesting than some dullard who wastes his time by watching the raindrops whilst thinking about B.J. Thomas. He famously sang ‘raindrops keep falling on my head, but that doesn’t mean my eyes will soon be turning red’. No sir, but if you stay outside during a downpour you’ll get hypothermia and you’ll soon be dead. I was wondering if it was symbolism or if he had been let out of his hospital on day release and was singing to weather. Gene Kelly had the same problem.
There was, of course, a huge celebration this week. Our beautiful, elegant and charming Queen of a whopping – 16 nations. Hang on – 16? When did that happen? I thought she ruled half the world. I must say, this is a shocking turn of events. Does she know? Only 16. Big nations? Tuvalu? She’s Queen of Tuvalu? ‘I’m the Tuvalu Queen’ sounds like something a hippy would say in the ‘60s.
I’m, of course, joking. Tuvalu is a very well known – erm, country, I imagine. Yes, it is. It’s the third least populated country on Earth. 10,000 people live there. It’s hardly worth Queen Liz’s time, is it? I bet she looks out of her window in Buckingham Palace thinking: ‘I ruled over half the world, once. All I have now is a place I can barely pronounce’. I’m, of course, joking. It’s a beautiful place, Tuvalu. There’s plenty to see and do in its colossal ten square miles of space.
Of course, the pale south pacific waters are a far cry from the pale faint white mist created by the monsoon that’s descended around here. A perfect metaphor, I felt, for the last two weeks, all wrapped up inside that wonderful smell of actinomycetes. That’s what the after rain smell is. Yes, I fully agree. The smell is far more romantic than the name. Which is one of the few occasions in life where you can actually say that.
“I don’t like defining myself. I just am”, said one of life’s great philosophers, Britney Spears.
Peace Out :|:
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