johnny9fingers: (Default)
I have to be at Geoffrey's at noon. Uncle John reckons he'll get back from his hospital check-up at 3.30pm. I then have to pootle across town to the RA for 5.30 or thereabouts, as I have a date.

Today could either be amusing or difficult, or both. But such are all days in the Ninefingers world.

May you all find some fun in your day.
johnny9fingers: (Default)

I've got a second date with the lawyer woman whom I like very much next Friday. Call her Milady for now. We arranged it by text the day before yesterday.
Today, I was in a chum's studio and Uncle John rang my cell-phone: he has to go into hospital for a check-up and can I possibly sit with Geoffrey on Friday.


We were going to be doing some art during the day and then supper. I fear it shall have to be short on the art as Uncle John won't get out from his check-up until 3.30pm odd.

Duty first, dammit: duty first.

I hope Milady understands. I'd introduce her to G & J if she were able to deal with old posh disabled gay folk: but it's not something I've asked as yet, and it seems a bit unmannerly springing it on a person. Faits accompli (if that's the plural) aren't really second-date behaviour.

Oh well. Fingers crossed that I don't step on Milady's toes.
johnny9fingers: (Default)
The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning
his little home.  First with brooms, then with dusters; then on
ladders and steps and chairs, with a brush and a pail of whitewash;
till he had dust in his throat and eyes, and splashes of whitewash all
over his black fur, and an aching back and weary arms.  Spring was
moving in the air above and in the earth below and around him,
penetrating even his dark and lowly little house with its spirit of
divine discontent and longing.  It was small wonder, then, that he
suddenly flung down his brush on the floor, said 'Bother!' and 'O
blow!' and also 'Hang spring-cleaning!' and bolted out of the house
without even waiting to put on his coat.  Something up above was
calling him imperiously, and he made for the steep little tunnel which
answered in his case to the gravelled carriage-drive owned by animals
whose residences are nearer to the sun and air.  So he scraped and
scratched and scrabbled and scrooged and then he scrooged again and
scrabbled and scratched and scraped, working busily with his little
paws and muttering to himself, 'Up we go!  Up we go!' till at last,
pop! his snout came out into the sunlight, and he found himself
rolling in the warm grass of a great meadow.

Easter weekend seems to have its own program this year. Given that next Friday I have a second date I'd better clean the flat.
[Puts head in hands contemplating the task ahead.]

There are things worth rejoining the world for, but I never knew spring cleaning was one of them.
Anyway, I always wanted to be Ratty: and for a time I suppose folk thought of me as Toad, but I never thought I'd turn into Badger, who lives in the country and doesn't go into society much anymore.

Mole will do.
johnny9fingers: (Default)
It turned into a proper first date.
She bought me supper. We argued about the bill and she browbeat me....uncertain of how to take that.
Also she isn't too keen on having poetry quoted at her....doesn't know her Shakespeare that well and has a distinct dislike to being called "m'dear" which is alas one of my default usages.
She is very clever (whew, some relief there then) and v. cute.
She also thinks I'm too posh. Tried to disabuse her: "it's just my voice" didn't really convince.

The Pub was too loud, and I was still slightly hearing impaired after the flight back from Nice. 

Escorted her to London Bridge Railway station where she took the train. I took the tube back to Balham and overland from there. When I got out of the underground I found I had a txt message on my mobile:

"tks for fun evening. Can't believe I spent at least 5 mins queuing for a ticket and could have got a free ride! Give me a bell if u feel like getting out of the bath and need more than a book for company....I might turn up. S."

I think that probably counts as a win. Will txt her back today, without bath related comments. I wish I'd never mentioned the two-novel-bath as proof of sybaritic tendencies. I wonder if company extends to.....shall speculate no longer.

Also got another txt message almost simultaneously from Em, which was much ruder. And if you're reading this Em, the answer is no. I do understand how first dates go. I am a gentleman. I am no longer the young man for whom women were prepared to do that sort of thing on a first date, really. Just because you don't mess about, doesn't mean the rest of the female population are as....practical as you.
johnny9fingers: (Default) seems I have a 'date' tonight (for a given definition of 'date', that is).
The lawyer woman I met whilst hungover on Friday afternoon has agreed to go for a drink and moreover has threatened me with wit, forsooth. This is a challenge not to be taken lightly and I look forward to crossing blades with a sensible lass of adult years. I don't know anyone from 'Cats' so can't ask about possible bunny-boiling tendencies: besides which she's nine years younger than me, so.....half a generation ain't much but....
Uncertain as to the omens. A solitary Harlequinned messenger (ergo, Melpomene's) plonked itself in my path, and I warded the little fucker off, but really....Why not two for joy, my dears, why not two for joy?
It always ends in tragedy anyway, but this rather begs the question. Perhaps I should just go back to bed and forget about it all.
Of course, I'll go and make a complete fool of myself, so the omens will be proven right, unless that is there's worse than that to come. Those whom the Gods wish to destroy, they first make happy.
It would be nice to get to the happy bit, even fleetingly.
Accomplished rumpy-pumpy wouldn't go amiss, either.


johnny9fingers: (Default)

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