Poor Harry A great friend came to stay overnight. Arrived early and we all went out to lunch, we are at that stage where people have nanna naps. So H went to bed and Mark had a rest, shock'n awful headache. H came upstairs and we were chatting, next thing my mobile rings and it's from Home. I'm thinking "Why on God's earth is Mark ringing me from the bedroom?" I pick up the phone, Mark is whispering saying "Are you alright?" Response "Yes!" "I can hear a strange gay, male voice, are you safe?" "It's H you idiot, and if you think I'm in trouble why didn't you come out and save me?" "I thought it was better to call, then I would ring the police and charge out with my gun?" We don't have a gun. We then go to dinner, run into several friends, say g'day, sit down, eat, Mark shoots up like he's been electrocuted and H and I think he says, "My headache is awful am going for a walk". After 20 minutes and we've had those stupid conversations when you both talk rubbish pretending everything is fine. Finally I say to H, where the fuck's Mark? H then leaves to find him. I'm now sitting in a very small restaurant surrounded by old friends looking seriously desperate and dateless. H returns having found Mark in the car nursing a headache. We go home. Mark goes to bed, H has a cigar outside, I take the dog out. Come back lock up the house, forget about H and lock him out. After a while I'm thinking, oops where's H? He's outside and very cold. H is let in and we do serious damage to a lovely bottle of Dewars. Forgot to say H hates cats. We have a serious cat. Now we come to breakfast. H prepares a delicious sandwich with some left over fillet steak. Leaves it for a bit. (Are you with me?) Comes back to the kitchen, Thomas, the cat, has eaten his sandwich and vomited it back up on H's plate with a fabulous little bit of saliva as a garnish. What a night. Poor H. | draft | 3:01:00 AM | by Jan de Teliga | |||
Friday, September 30, 2011
Poor Harry
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