Ian rang me from his car this morning after he’d dropped one of his kids off at school cricket. Now he’s doing it. I now feel extra special.
He said one of the little kids at cricket only had central vision, nothing peripheral, but still seemed to be able to join in OK. I said that must be terrible to be able to see only what was directly in front of you, and he said it probably wasn’t that bad, as you would still be able to see cleavage. He thought in fact you could probably get away with looking at it for longer without getting sprung. I told him that I thought that was so wrong on so many levels, and that it was certainly politically incorrect. Then he started going on about something can only be correct or incorrect, and it was an oxymoron to use an adjective with the word correct. He said maybe it was a little bit correct. I said I disagreed, and he said that was because I was slightly unique in that way.
To try to change the subject I said it looked like being a beautiful day, and that the wind wasn’t blowing for once, and he said that is all the wind does — if it isn’t blowing, there isn’t any. He said what I meant to say was that the air wasn’t blowing, so I said it could blow up his bum for all I cared, and if you go through life with a stick up your bum like he does, all that means is that at the end of your life you’ll find you’ve had a stick up your bum the whole time. So, he said in that case how could the wind blow up his bum, because the stick would stop it, so I told him not to ring me again and hit the little red phone on my mobile really hard. Then I blocked his number.
He’s so anal, always going on about how little electricity he uses. When he dies, they should engrave his tombstone with his average daily kilowatt consumption. That will be his life’s big achievement. I’m sure he’d be happy with that. I know no man is an island, but he’s got to at least be an isthmus.
Bad timing, though, I just realised. Tomorrow’s Valentines Day.