my life as a artist
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dreaming of a white easter
Wednesday 26th March 2008 12:03 AM
On Good Friday the Corinthians celebrated, and at the same time illustrated the reasons behind, Vic's imminent departure to Australia, by playing a game of football in outrageous arctic conditions. Our hail-stung flesh singing, eyes creased against the icy blast, we trudged across the endless frozen wastes of that polar nightmare. The last I saw of Derek was when he said he was going up for a corner, and that he might be some time.
On Wholly Saturday I did a gig at the Winning Post with the fabulous Travelling Libraries. The as-advertised 'free raffle with disappointing prizes' went much better than I expected, with the prizes turning out to be surprisingly exciting and desirable. Fourth prize was a battery-operated, three-inch diameter disco ball and a bar of Swiss chocolate.
'If that's fourth prize, what the hell's going to be first prize?' I could hear the audience thinking. Third prize was a book called 'Psychic Warrior', the true story of the CIA's paranormal espionage programme, and a swede, which I claimed was the head of the programme. Second prize was a cafetiere, courtesy of my mum's magic cupboard, complete with a small sachet of 'Dewy Egbert' coffee, and another bar of silky smooth, seventy per cent, mm, it's really lovely, Swiss chocolate.
After presenting the second prize to a nice man, who I honestly felt would honour the chocolate and cherish the cafetiere, I showed the audience the first prize, which was twelve of my mum's biscuits, six almond and lemon, six chocolate chip, presented in a daringly see-through, crush-proof plastic carton. The tension in the room was palpable, but unfortunately, I didn't have a palp. As arranged, my sister, Rachael, won the biscuits, and we met up later at a motorway service station, and she gave me them back.
On Sunday I got Mark the farmer to put a huge boulder in front of the caravan door, and stayed in bed all day, doing crosswords. On Monday morning he rolled away the stone, and I rose again, and went unto the newsagent, to buy a Guardian. Although the mystery of Golgotha hung in the air, Greg-behind-the-counter was still keen to know if I'd had sex the previous night.
Comments
Tell Greg to mind his own business, and then attack him with a machete,'tis the done thing these days.
Posted by Les Miserable , on Saturday 5th April 2008, 8:17 PM
And, with it's usual uncanny accuracy the validation word today is "jump".
Posted by Tom , on Friday 28th March 2008, 8:39 AM
Christ on a bike! If I'd known that 12 of your mums legendary biccies were up for grabs, I'd have left my sick bed for a chance of winning them even if it was rigged.
Posted by John (aka jonault aka Jono) , on Wednesday 26th March 2008, 8:00 PM
I expect one of the Guardian clues on Monday was "Proceed in front of confused hot gal to get crucified (8)". Can you tell I've not got a job yet ?
Posted by Bunthorne , on Wednesday 26th March 2008, 2:36 PM
You can't blame Greg for being curious about your sex life - passion plays an important part in York's Easter celebrations.
Posted by Steve , on Wednesday 26th March 2008, 6:56 AM
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