I went sailing yesterday. In a blue velvet dress with a man named Equestrian. He is a tall fellow and talks constantly about food and other things that he can put in his mouth. Had I been listening I would be able to repeat some of these here in the typed form for you to have a gander at and marvel at his capacity to burble. As it is I wasn't listening because I was terribly busy. Being terribly busy is very different to being just busy, terribly busy means you are busy with something terrible.
And I was.
I was fighting a yellow armed tyrannosaurus squid with the smallest eyes of any of the limbed marsupials. He was supremely mad at me because I recently borrowed his Pink Floyd album and I haven't finished listening to it yet so I haven't returned it. I did try and explain to him that if he just waited patiently I'd get it to him but he was listening. He's a pissy little git because he loves music and listening to his walkman but he lives under water so he breaks a lot of walkmans and gets a lot of electric shocks.
Equestrian turned round just in time to see the yellow armed tyrannosaurus squid with the smallest eyes of any of the limbed marsupials send a sharpened version of Blonde on Blonde whizzing past my neck. I ducked and sheltered behind the sail of our boat but the yellow armed...his name is Alan, but Alan could see me because although he has very tiny eyes, they are very powerful. Equestrian the boatman screamed like a scared little girl who has just had her my little pony stolen and melted down into a polly pocket.
"Don't panic Equestrian!" I shouted with as much bravery as I could muster. The salty sea spray was splashing into my mouth and face but I just wiped it from my eyes and carried on ducking various CDs. It was ironic that Alan was choosing to fight me using the very medium that he was sorely missing and angry about no longer having. But irony is lost on an Alan that doesn't have Obscured By Clouds ratched up in his soggy walkman.
Equestrian thought the best course of action would be to get professional help so he got on the blower to two of the best Jeremy's we knew - Vine and Kyle. Unfortunately we didn't have a step to squat on so Kyle was out and when Vine heard that we were unlikely to ask narrow minded people to broadcast their opinions to a captive, bored, middle of the afternoon audience, he also bailed.
But suddenly I had an epiphany! Why not invite Alan to be the final team member for our burgeoning Eggheads quiz team? We were still one short and the filming was only a week away. If we were successful we would have enough notoriety and money to buy him a brand new CD and let me keep the salt-water damaged old one. I asked, he agreed.
We paddled back to shore and Equestrian and I high fived with delight at how lucky we'd been and the prospect of kickign the asses of Squirrely, She who sucks a lemon, Guy who tries not to look like he enjoys being there, and Man so clever he is bored by everything.
The day of the contest dawned like any other day. We smooshed Alan into his specially designed tank and got on the number 816 bus to the studio. When we arrived there was absolute pandemonium. Squirrely woman had gone beserk and massacred the other egg heads. She was screaming like a banshee and standing over their mutilated bodies shouting "I JUST WANT TO GO BACK TO MAKING COOKIES. I HATE YOU ALL. DOWN WITH CAPITALISM."
We were all incredibly shocked she'd always seemed so calm in the past and now here she was expressing such anguish and pain that we almost wanted to give her a cuddle and ask her to knit us something. That was it! I looked at Alan and I'm pretty sure he looked at me but it was hard to tell because his eyes are so small. We both knew what we had to do. We reached into Equestrian's handbag and pulled out the scarf he had been making for the last 8 years. He turned round and saw what we were about to do as though in slow motion. Hi eyes filled with tears as he thought about the sacrifice he would have to make in order to calm down squirrelly woman, and he nodded his assent.
Alan and I sidled up to Squirelly woman, we presented the scarf and burbled something about the possibility of a camomile tea. She looked at us with blood shot eyes and seemed to thank us from somewhere within. We nodded quietly and shhd her, she knew she needn't say anymore.
Six hours later she was tucked up in a rocking chair knitting away with delicate china scattered all around her from the tea cups she kept hurling at the 24 hour nurse we had employed to watch over her.
It was a strange day and no one exactly knows why things happened the way they did. But what we learnt was that no good can come from entering a tedious game show with smug people. And that you should always buy your own copy of the Floyd's work and not borrow because it only leads to difficulties later.
This blog was brought to you by the letters W, T, F and is dedicated to Acorn Head.
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