Valley of the Trolley Dollies

So. Very. Tired.
This week, I have clients in from South Africa and Spain, and it’s my job to make their stay as productive and enjoyable as possible.

So yesterday, in between exaining some of the finer points of English contract law (Just call me Lionel Hutz) and sorting out access to email for one of the two SA people (the other one’s profile is still lost in the ether, I managed to completely redraft a service agreement between the offices, take them on a meet and greet (which was good for me, since I got to m+g some London guys I’d not previously met) and enjoy a leisurely sunshiney River Cruise to the House of Commons and back.

Then last night was dinner, at which I ate too much and the conversation ranged from Life under Franco to career paths at Feng Shui Bank, New world wines,the Eurovision Song Contest (dumping Ireland’s Turkey - like Brendan Behan does Euro. On Acid - was a disgrace) and, of course the Champions league final, or whatever kickabout was going on in Moscow.

What? I am a homosexual; almost all of the above are topics on which I can freely discourse. The last, however? I’m. So. Tired…

Bit blue at the moment.
Theresa’s funeral last week was attended by more people that we’ve ever seen at a funeral, and there were so many people paying their last respects that the crematorium couldn’t hold them all.

A terribly sad day, balanced by awe at how wonderfully her husband and kids acquitted themselves: They spoke about her with love and never let anyone forget that the day was a celebration of her life , from the mass release of baloons into a bright blue cloudless spring sky, to the party (not a wake, they insisted) with which they celebrated her life.

Then I read of his sadness at the arguments within his family, hear about the changes to his relationship, get some terrible news from a dear friend, and catch wind of rumours that suggest my boss is moving on within the comapny, and I’ll have to deal with change again. And I’m instinctively averse to all of it: Confrontation, change, emotional upset.

And I wish I could be an island, but I can’t be. It’s just not in my nature.

So I sit with D and thank whatever part of the universe gave him to me.

 Is this wrong?

 “My heart belongs to daddy”

 I haven’t seen

The bright sunlight

For twenty-four years;

Lost like Maddy.

My Kids have fur

They twitch and they whir

But mein herz belongs mit mein daddy

 

If I should think

To make mein escape

He’ll switch on

The Zyklon B Caddy

So here I sit

And I put up with Rape

‘Cos mein herz belongs mit mein daddy

 

chorus:

Yes!

Mein herz belongs mit mein daddy

So I spent half my life in a hole

Oh!

Mein herz belongs to daddy

And my haircut is done mit ein bowl.

Tho’ his eyes are mad and stary

And he’s partial to some incest

Still  mein herz belongs mit mein daddy

‘Cos mein Daddy he knows what is best.

 

He leaves out notes

Of what to do.

Those cheap Post-it things

They call ‘Stick-its.’

It’s not the damp

The smell or the cramp

It’s the constant fear of Rickets…

 

That makes me dream

Of breaking free

And showing the world

He’s a Baddy.

But then he puts

His arms around me

…….

Und! Mein herz belongs mit mein daddy!

 

chorus:

Ach!

Mein herz belongs mit mein daddy

Tho’ he’s madder than Hitler on dope

Cos!

Mein herz belongs to daddy

We’ve abandoned all prospect of hope.

Yes my heart belons to daddy

Tho’ he’s put this family through hell

Still mein herz belongs to daddy

‘Cos my daddy

He treats me so welllllll………..