Written just for The Sunday Whirl
Time you dragged your lazy ass out your stinkin’ pit you lazy ole bugger.
I’m getting up you miserable old mare, can’t you see?
Well hurry up cos I’m doin’ breakfast. Hurry!
I am I am. What you cooking anyway?
Toast and porridge
Charcoal and slurry more like.
About time, now sit down
Alright alright. I want a drink
There’s a pot of tea right in front of your eyes. Are you blind as well as stupid?
No a drink, a drink, a proper drink.
You wish! If you think you are having a beer this time of the morning you can whistle for it. If you have one you’ll end up downing six, I know what you’re like you drunken sop. ‘Spose you want a ciggy too. Well you know what you can do.
You can talk, you smoke like a chimney. You’ve lots of filthy habits, you.
Yea, but not at the breakfast table. I had good manners drilled into me when I was a kid.
At least I’ve never been in trouble for smoking a split.
A split? What’s that when it’s at ‘ome?
A split woman, a split. You know - weed or whatever they call it these days
A splif you mean not a split. Anyway that was years ago. It helped when I was tellin’ peoples fortunes up the labour club. You remember?
You didn’t predict how we’d end up did you?
If I had I wouldn’t have married you. Look at you, you’re a wreck.
You can bleedin’ talk! You used to have skin like porcelain before you smoked. Like bloody leather now, wrinkled leather. The only thing like porcelain now is ya' bones. Always crackin'. When you getting that plaster off your leg anyway?
I dunno. I can’t wait to start going for walks again so I don’t have to listen to you moanin’ all day.
Yea, well next time you do, walk up on the cliff. You never know you might fall over the edge. Then with your bones you’ll fall apart when you hit the ground. And on your gravestone I’ll put RIP, rest in pieces!
Another borin’ day nearly over. What’s on the telly? Rubbish as usual I ‘spose.
Actually no. On the arts channel they’re showing Puccini’s La Boheme followed by the London Philharmonic playing a selection of pieces by Mozart and Brahms.
Bleedin’ wonderful! How about we pop that bottle of ’89 Bolly while we watch.
Why not. I’m bungin some caviar and smoked salmon on rye bread as an amuse-bouche before dinner.
Brilliant!You’re not so bad you know luv.
Nor you, you silly ole fart. Come here and give us a jolly big kiss!