Here we go again, stepping into that narrative convention of being plopped into the middle of what the heck is going on, wondering whether to laugh or to cry. We wonder about the provenance of this Aviator, in a blog increasingly committed to water; and how it was that he should have been rescued without his flame-retardant suit, yet still with enough camouflage to pass security on either side of the internal Irish border. (But is he, as many have cause to fear, with orange pantaloons, Dutch?) He’s in cell with his iPhone, so plainly this is neither of the North American coasts. Yet this is a culture with an amiable racial mix, which rules out Europe, and suggests Brazil, where it can be chilly, these days. The good news, if any, is that his valet has managed to salvage his flight bag of spare shirts and gabardines for lunch, always assuming someone might have him.
One wonders where the guy will land. Unfortunately his valet did not find him quickly enough.He may have better luck finding someone to have him TO lunch not FOR lunch with the clothes, or not.
ReplyDeleteThe having part, LA, is in the hearing of that phrase, and I promise not to say not another thing about it. But here I thought you might upbraid me for serving him his clothes for lunch!
ReplyDeleteFresh meat indeed...no need for wrapping !
ReplyDeleteA Table !
...before it's (c)old ...
ReplyDeleteoh please-I follow where you lead. It just perplexes me where that just might be. (very Suessian of me, don't you agree?) I dont think I can stop- or top,or otherwise,IT,No indeed. No. A feast for the eyes only-for someone, not me?
ReplyDeleteNow, we'll not hear any talk of "visual feasts" in this space, when all who convene here know perfectly well how supremely extractive the eye really is, and cruelly efficient. I think on this point this amiable query might rest, at least as between you two?
ReplyDelete