Wednesday, August 01, 2007

Baroque Biscuit Tins

I'm chilling beside the new biscuit tin I today bought myself for the office (picture to follow). It’s a little thing but it makes me happy.

Otherwise, I spent my afternoon sitting in a cafe in Bangor, chatting on the phone to Ms. Baroque who had emailed me with important news to do with somebody using my name in vain. She’d got herself quite agitated about the whole business and soon had me agitated too. Visiting a cafe alone is a bad enough experience when you’re calm. You have to carry bags, trays, mobile phones, and, if you’re lucky, you get a table that only wobbles along a single axis. It much worse when you’re already upset because people have accused you of stupidity that goes beyond your usual brand of lunacy… Before I knew what I had done, I had knocked a glass over. It shattered around my feet and being barefooted – I often go that way when it’s hot in Bangor – I couldn't move. I was trapped in a corner, listening to Ms. Baroque excitedly explain the predicament and what I should do about it.

I’m home now and I’ve decided that I won't let the world bother me. I have my nice new shiny biscuit tin and that, for a Wednesday, should be enough for any thong wearing man.

3 comments:

Daimyo Higham-Baka-Ohta said...

Chip, I have a confession, I'm afraid. Well, two actually. Firstly, I had the temerity to focus on you this evening. Secondly, my real name is not Daimyo Higham-Baka-Ohta of Straf Okinawa after all. I deliberately misled you.

My real name is Richard Madeley.

Big Chip Dale said...

Oh, don't you start as well. It's been bad enough today and this whole Madeley fiasco has completely ruined the time I should be spent breaking in my new biscuit tin.

Thanks for including me in the focus. It's good to know that I'll now be read when I was at my worst.

Ms Baroque said...

I'm wondering about my image here, Chip: does this post make me look like a caring friend, one who hates to see her favourite stripper get his thong in a twist? or am I coming over as a little, you know, scatty and excitable? And in fact accident-causing?

In short - is Gabby likely to come after me wielding one of her chickens? I'm not sure the mean streets of Hackney are ready for anything like that.