Sunday, August 21, 2005

Holidaying with Lunatics.

Well, 'tis the night of the 21st of August, and on the morrow I leave for two weeks of sun, sea, sand, and sangria.
No, sorry, I tell a lie. I leave for a fortnight of drizzle, England, and The Family.
This should be... interesting.

There's a lot of us going this year.
My parents, my older sister and her husband, me and Matt, my younger brother, and my youngest brother, who's bringing his girlfriend.

Nine people who are quiet and well-behaved would be quite a handful, but us lot?
Hoo boy.

Updates when I can beg, borrow, rent or steal some internet time, and pictures when I get back.

See you later, alligator(s)!
I'll miss you guys. And my tenuous grasp on sanity.

6 Comments:

At 10:49 pm, Anonymous accipiter said...

I'll be sure to keep an eye on BBC for any word of you and your family. And have fun with the biscuits and tea. We'll miss you!
. . .
So, are you back yet? Huh?

 
At 3:54 pm, Blogger Charybdis said...

Goodbye Hieronymus.

*sniff*

 
At 4:35 pm, Anonymous LaMa said...

Bye Honey-Boo. Come back in one piece....

 
At 9:21 pm, Blogger Camille Moriarty said...

Radio 4?

 
At 4:31 am, Anonymous winona said...

Come home, Booooooooooooo.

 
At 8:34 am, Anonymous Mango And Chutney Ice Cream said...

Spring is here, a-suh-puh-ring is here.
Life is skittles and life is beer.
I think the loveliest time of the year is the spring.
I do, don't you? 'Course you do.
But there's one thing that makes spring complete for me,
And makes every Sunday a treat for me.

All the world seems in tune
On a spring afternoon,
When we're poisoning pigeons in the park.
Every Sunday you'll see
My sweetheart and me,
As we poison the pigeons in the park.

When they see us coming, the birdies all try an' hide,
But they still go for peanuts when coated with cyanide.
The sun's shining bright,
Everything seems all right,
When we're poisoning pigeons in the park.

We've gained notoriety,
And caused much anxiety
In the Audubon Society
With our games.
They call it impiety
And lack of propriety,
And quite a variety
Of unpleasant names.
But it's not against any religion
To want to dispose of a pigeon.

So if Sunday you're free,
Why don't you come with me,
And we'll poison the pigeons in the park.
And maybe we'll do
In a squirrel* or two,
While we're poisoning pigeons in the park.

We'll murder them all amid laughter and merriment,
Except for the few we take home to experiment.
My pulse will be quickenin'
With each drop of strych'nine
We feed to a pigeon.
(It just takes a smidgin!)
To poison a pigeon in the park.

 

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