It’s Time… Pt13

Written by Prim on 10/06/2022

But it’s gonna be… Conflicting

The Great Leveller

‘Let them eat petrol’ As Mary Antoinette once famously said. Aye, it’s a tricky moral high ground that questions a pro-Golfer’s participation in Saudi Arabia… or is it?

A man on stilts looking for the righteous way

You talking golf fool? Yes, and the double-bubble purse being splashed for half the graft to play golf in a country where, well, you may not return in one piece. But that’s their bag, right.

A righteous divide is causing a kerfuffle in some sporting circles. Be it golf, footy, tiddley-winks or camel humping. It doesn’t matter, they’re all lured by greenbacks. As far as I can remember folk are still chasing a ball in racist Yankland aren’t they! ‘Turn it in’ Pipes Cherry, ‘politics schmollatics’.

Aye, for crikey-sake, bust my beefy wile, before we get bunged up on whether it’s ok to chop off people’s heads with a golf club in public, let’s see how much they’re paying first in this land of-black-gold-dripping-sand. I’m not sure twice would come into the thinking equation… would it?

In the meantime, I’m putting left over Jubilee cake in my car and am now able to run it till 2024.

In other shit

New flip-flops arrived in the post this week. I took them for a walk to the pub, to meet folk. Argh the meet, and the meat, don’t forget the meat, it’s good to meat, the meat n greet, and the music, after all RadioPrimco is all about the meat n music… What about the greet!?… Live streaming coming back soon… maybe… hopefully… wannabe, buzz-a-bee… buzz buzz buzz. Would be nice to greet-meat you, hmmm, that didn’t sound right.

Me and Cherry met an old lady in the alley the other day. (Stop it!) She stomped towards us carrying a stern disposition, I thought, ‘Crikey Cherry, what have you done now?’ Cherry snarled. The old lady snarled back then switched to me, ‘Well this isn’t much of a summer is it’ she indignantly proclaimed. Cherry and I sighed a duel silent fart. ‘No’, I replied matching the lady’s consternation, ‘Someone’s stolen it haven’t they’ I mused, ‘can’t trust anyone these days. But nae fear, me and Cherry here are gonna get it back’, ‘Oh, good for you’ she readily applauded, ‘Well done, well don’t waste any more time here gassing with me, off you go then’.

And off we did trot, into the alley of flies. Blighty’s staple diet of weather conversation firmly ticked. ‘I’m glad those flies aren’t mozzies’, I thought. ‘Where’s the fox shit?’ Thought Cherry.

Rounding the corner we met a black dog, a beige dog and a parrot on a man’s knee. Not all of them, just the parrot. ‘What’s that?’ I asked, as the excited menagerie wagged their bits. ‘It’s a knee.’ Came the reply. ‘Not you, you squawking swine, him, what is you are sitting on. ‘It’s an African Grey.’ Replied the knee. ‘Ooh, argh, eh’ encircled the air. Bum-sniffing exchanges, is a habit I should really give up, but revealed they were globe-trotting hounds and a bird. Just like Cherry; they’d come recently hither from tither, in their case fresh from a life in the Western Cape, ‘which is miles away from Durban’s Bread’ I said, ‘I know’ Replied the knee. We left.

Talking of hounds, I notice Kate Bush has now been discovered by the undiscoverers or yore. She went to my school, but I don’t talk about that.

I got my haircut from a mad Turk, a top bloke. He was all beard and no tash, heaps of banter, music up, Popeye arms out and he cut with the speed of Edward Scissorhands. We talked scars, Thailand, Vietnam, lady boys, lady girls, which were they? Both, I confirmed. He, stared blankly for a second then set light to my ears with a stick.

Firelighter – check out his cutting shop in Seal, Sevenoaks, Blighty

I clipped my water bottle to my belt loop by the caribou which I’d just found after 10 weeks, the caribou that is, which I’ve also just realized is called a carabiner, and set off to let Cherry roll around the park in fox shit – that’s her spruce-on. Each to their own, I get my haircut, she… hang on a minute, 14quid for a bleeding haircut. ‘And don’t forget the fox shit sir’, ‘Oh yeah, thanks.’

Later that night bloke in the pub, buoyantly pointed out the nights will be drawing in after 21^st – ‘kill Cherry, kill’

Cherry smokes a fag after her fox shit roll. I roll back to a piece I did on smoking around Jan ’22 – you can find it here if you’re really that nosey..

Just a sec, a job has just ‘pinged’ for a Penetration Tester in Lancashire…

Till next time…

Pip pip, ding-dong and ticketyboo

Keep the world turning, keep it wheel

Prim

More It’s Time…