That sign should be a condom advert
The sweeeeeet twins are a horrible warning and thus passion killer
Just as good as any bucket of cold water
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The Ma always used to tell me that if I had been twins, she would have left home. Used to offend me a bit as a small and horrible Gus. (I understand, though, that I was a truly appalling baby, of the kind that gets thrown at walls by those with less self-control than the Ma. My grandmama was horrified to come round and discover me screaming my head off in my bedroom and Ma right at the bottom of the garden, sobbing into a cup of tea.)
It was only when I was pregnant that she divulged a considerable incidence of twins in a branch of the family we didn’t see (them being transplanted to Furrin Parts). Later, I came totally to appreciate her point.
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Oh, I dunno.
Put the house on these horses at the Grand Nationals.
… & none of yer each-way nonsesense.
1929 Gregalach
1928 Tipperary Tim
1927 SprigTed
1926 Jack Horner
1925 Double Chance
1924 Master Robert
1923 Sergeant Murphy
1922 Music Hall
1921 Shaun Spadah
1920 Troytown
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It worries me that those names seem very familiar, Armers. I am not a serious student of the turf. Osmosis or reincarnation?
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In a Dornford Yates book?
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Could very well be something of the sort. Tipperary Tim rings a particularly loud bell, also Sgt Murphy and Troytown.
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Or possibly…
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Oh dear.
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Wasn’t that the year where every other horse fell? Came in at 100-1 IIRC
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That was an even greater upset than Foinavon (same odds). I backed Red Alligator that year, on my brother’s advice, and so did he; then he put a tenner on Foinavon while he was at the bookie’s, just because he liked the name. But that was his bet, not mine. Mutter mutter.
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It was. In the year of my father’s birth, as it happens.
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I have only been to the races once. It was a corporate event - big marquee, canapés and champagne. I found it terminally boring, but managed to win sufficient dosh to take my companions to the plebs’ end, where I treated us all to chips and a mugga tea.
Off to bed. Good nights, Cellarites,
Soo xx
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Gin, Soo
Don’t ferget it
Bitovvan strange day today -felt queasy & ‘off’ late afternoon, but dozed on & orff for a couple of hours & feel abit better now
Things should improve by tomorrow
Mr C & his mother were mad keen on horse racing . Late MiL used to go to a Bookie who would take 20p each way…
At her funeral, we got an Hot Tip from a friend, & Mr C put a fiver onnit
It won, & he collected £80
Carinthia.xx
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Ah yes, one of those. On my arse in a gutter in Chelsea, in the rain, way after chucking out time. That’s how it ends when you start with champagne at 9:30 in the morning to take clients to Goodwood… Not my proudest moment, but bigod, I had sunk some booze. I forgot all about the Japanese conference call scheduled for 07:30 the following morning. That wasn’t my finest hour either. Then the God our Rxxx phoned. dearie me, but that was a long Friday and hardly good at all. Some of the horses were magnificently beautiful, and I lost money on every one of the fuckers.
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I do love you, Gus…
Carinthia.xx
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I was in three-and-a-half inch heels, ffs. If you can’t fall on yer arse in a gutter in them, when can you? I did, however, and you will be glad to hear it, have a very splendid Hat on. Sort of nude linen & straw swathed construction. A little black dress and a lovely gold jacket. And unfeasibly high, kid leather mary janes. And a damp backside. It was raining in Chelsea.
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That’s the opening of a novel, Gus…
Orf to me nest.
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yeah, but probably by Patrick Hamilton in the end.
Oaf has just inadvertently savaged me. I think he must have been fighting, or shaping for it, outside. Those were not Indoor Claws. And he is now hiding under a bed, terrified, because I shouted at him.
Oh, for the deep, deep peace of a goldfish after the hurly-burly of the cat-flap and Local Feline Politics. But no, not GBS ever, one does draw the line somewhere. HG Wells is on the other side too: Rebecca, what were you thinking?
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Bravo. Bravo. Encore !!
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Dunno about a novel, but it’s crying out for the ISIHAC Limerick treatment…
As I later related to Twellsy
Over to you!
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