Valley of the Trolley Dollies

I don’t remember receiving your postcard
I never got much mail, so it shouldn’t be too hard
You were on holiday
With your school in some French town;
And while you were away, I took Debbie to the Crown
 

I feel as though the past
Is closing in on me
I found a Photograph
Of me and Kimberly
 

 We hardly every used to drink
We didn’t smoke;
We’d walk home from the pub
‘Cos we were always broke
So when your mother called
And told me you were dead
I thought she was talking
Of another Kim instead
 

 I feel as though the past
Is closing in on me
I found a Photograph
Of me and Kimberly
 

She said it seems
You accidentally overdosed
It was so long since I talked to you
And once we were so close
And I am left here
With the things I didn’t say
And a picture of you in my arms
The day you went away
 

I feel as though the past
Is closing in on me
I found a Photograph
Of me and Kimberly

‘the postcard’ by SAJD

 

 

 

I know: Long time, no post!

So what’s been going on? Oh, just life: Drinks with friends, dinner with Mates, a first birthday party that made a lovely Sunday Afternoon.

Clearing out the attic of about ten years accumulated stuff, whilst blaring out the Hits of Stock Aitken & Waterman. Finding things that made us go “What the f…” and stuff that made us laugh like loons (ski-trip photos should never be viewed until at least 5 years have passed; that way, the bizarre outfits have achieved the full comic potential). And stuff that made me cry like a baby (long story for another time).

And reading: Just finished The Time-Traveller’s Wife. Last night, got off the train with eyes swelled up like golfballs, a lump in my throat like a tennis ball, and tears still drying on my face. So. Not. A. Good. Look. But that, also, is a story for another time…

This week: Busy at work, packing for a trip back to Dublin for my Mother’s birthday, and watching D’s birthday pressie to me. Which is also fab.

SO that’s why it’s been a bit quiet here: What have you been up to?

BBC TV is currently showing a piece of televisual gristle (you know gristle - the sort of stuff that is used to fill up meat pies; tasteless, slightly repellant, pointless and of no real value whatsoever) called ‘How do you solve a problem like Maria?’ It’s an attempt to cast the role of Maria in an Andrew Lloyd Weber (you know Andrew Lloyd Weber - the sort of stuff that is used to fill up meat pies; tasteless, slightly repellant, pointless and of no real value whatsoever) financed version of The Sound of Music, and it’s presented by Grahame Norton (You know Grahame Norton - tasteless, slightly repellant… oh, fill in the rest for yourselves).

You know, of course,  TSOM - it’s the one that follows the fortunes of a young nun as she befriends a group of snotty but ultimately, post-redemption, cute, kids, falls for their arrogant smug and really rather bland widowed father, introduces them to bestiality (hello? ‘The lonely goatherd? Pulease!) couture (”Let’s make the outfits from the curtains” (thus predicting some of the more unusual fashion choices Dame Vi Westie has tried over the years) and choral harmonies before they all escape from the Nazis and move to live in Vermont. Frankly, the war itself was shorter, had better tunes, smarter costumes, and  left one feeling less exhausted, but there you go.

The show will sell. For three months or so. But the whole thing has pushed me to dig up an old (and, frankly, very filthy) rewrite I did of the lyrics to “My Favourite Things”. It’s very crude, rude, and not safe for those reading from work, small children, old ladies, those of a nervous disposition, or my parents. If you are any of those things, please stop reading now, go away, and come back when you are no longer any of those things.

Remember, it’s To the tune of ‘My Favourite Things’ by Rogers and Hammerstein, it’s filthy, and I dare you not to find yourself humming along as you read…

 

Wanking a prelate
Who Gyrates and Flashes;
Wiping his Load
Off My nose and eyelashes;
Whipping him Wildly
‘Till he’s in a spin.
These are a few of my favourite things.

Floggin’ your golly
And Bashing the Bishop;
Choking the monkey
And Dumping your Jollop;
Yanking Prince Alberts
And twisting Tit Rings.
These are a few of my favourite things.

Chorus:
When the Law calls.
When your stock falls.
When your lifes a dump.
There’s nothing can beat
Taking hold of your meat.
Unless it’s a dry dry hump.

Pitching a tent
In the park on a Sunday;
Walking bowlegged
Back home on a Monday.
Daddies in Leather,
And Bearcubs in slings.
These are a few of my favourite things.

Cheap Speed and Downers
And Poppers and Uppers;
Nice Jewish Boys
Who turn into
Wild Schtuppers;
Telling a Fashion Designer
He Mings
These are just some of my favourite things

Chorus:
When the rent’s due;
When your Knob’s blue
With some STD;
I just try my best
To Become Doris Day
And Say What will be, will Be….