BONOMO NIGHTMARE
Actually, I'm not sure it is a nightmare, albeit inspired by the Bonomo farce and certainly featuring PC Pudding Jowels. It's a recurring dream that I would not be bothering y'all with except a favourite "Aunt" has just called with a very similar story. She's not a real aunt and I fancy her rotten and have told her so. She looks like Eileen Atkins ~ Dame Eileen to you 'n' me, and did you know she was married to Julian Glover RIP? 'S right, the white-haired geezer wivva Sturmey-Archer sulk. She'll look after you, guv." Oh Em Gee. OMG. OMFG. That's Eileen, but I've squinted at early Jess and ... well. Anyway, she phoned up to recount 'an amusing encounter in the metropolis'. She doesnt really talk like that but she does to me because I've been in the colonies and now I'm amid titian-haired temptresses and she's worried I won't want to watch 'Cranford' with her when I get back. Loipon, she had her camera with her and wanted to snap some flower or viney things scrabbling up some mews cottage. Even as she squeezed the shutter, out sprang burly gents squeezing triggers on their Taurus 'Public Defender's. Turned out she'd picked on the très anonyme love-nest of some high-up pol. The Filth made her show them the fotos she'd snapped, Would you believe they were conVINCED it was a back terrace of Scotland Yard?" I did believe it and here is my silly rêve. I'm back in London and I want to snap my old haunts ~ Swiss Cottarje * Baker Street/Marylebone pedestrian subway ('minstrelsy to the gentry') * Clapham (here comes Charlie) * Kennington * Red Lion Square * Poland Street * Carlisle Place (say hello to Tony Rushton et PE pals * Queen Street, et al ... But each time I make to click, there's something wrong with the shot. (I know what it is but I don't 'fess up in the dream) There's nothing but youngsters in the viewfinder and where DID all those tanned faces come from? Oy? I'm walking down Memory Lane, yeah? Not filming some spurious 'multi-cultural' propaganda. So, there I am in the dream going from 'iconic' spot to iconic spot in my past life and natch the Filth pounce and demand to scrutinise every foto I've taken of terrorist-prone sites. Except I haven't, have I? I mean, I raised the camera to my eye and got ready to click but just then some foreign berk swims into view, or a bunch of kindergarten execs on their Blackberries, and I say sod it and lower the camera. But the Terrorism Fuzz don't know that and I'm snapping all sensitive areas so their top lamplighters follow me around and when I've got a ton of pics under my belt they pounce. Like, I am one busted Islamist trouble-maker. So they flip thru my fotos and, my dear, their expressions. I have not actually been tempted to click once, nor did I remember to download the stuff already on the card from Corfu: Verry suspicious, you seen this, Kev? Looks like that new sniper scope Sarge was showing us, very hush hush Ullo ullo, bit of gay porn if you ask me, Sarge, check this pooftah out And so the dream ploughs on - each Ionian snap happening to match an ultra secure 'iconic' address in Londres.
If only I could 'wake up' and realise it was a dream I could have a bit of Fun on the Filth.
No? Well, you could learn a lot from this blogue and Sharon is taking details over by the wee-wee boy fountain. "Nuther one coming over, Shar'.
Yes well 'Auntie' Jess is the spitting image of Dame Eileen and would you look at the young version over there?"And the only one they reahlly got peeved over was a shot I'd taken outside Molly's in Windrush.
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