That right, Clicky, on Saturday you posted a photo of my Thunderbirds Virgil doll. Quite why you decided to arrange it like a cock and balls is beyond me…
That’s me online, my avatar, a dog called Roobeedoo2. And, Click, Rain sounds like reign sounds like rein sounds likeREGN… and that’s MRS to you…
Shall we move on…?
Dolphin
Came with the Library. Now wears trousers.
That’s you, Clicky, helpful assistant. Now that’s 3 syncs with Hugo’s story. but I’d really like 4 for acondor…
Condor means scoring four under par (−4). This is the lowest individual hole score ever made. A condor would be a hole-in-one on a par-five (typically by cutting over a dogleg corner).
come on, Clicky, think…
Weiwei
MyAi WeiWeisunflower seeds! Clicky, how clever… OMG! Is that the time? Clickstar, have a Song…
*Alright, okay. Look now I’ve got one for you. I came across a site today that analyses your writing and describes your personality. This is me apparently…*
The IBM Watson Personality Insights service uses linguistic analytics to extract a spectrum of cognitive and social characteristics from the text data that a person generates through blogs, tweets, forum posts, and more.
*Oh Clicky-Doo that’s wonderful … photography is not my forte …*
*******
“I suppose you can always jazz it up.” Thoughtful Man handed the camera back to me, perfectly timed to his zooming squint. “What’s the connection between the two?”
“Whitehouse…” My eyes signaled which way I would turn my head before I did. Left in this instance.
“That’s extremely tenuous and nobody will understand the connection, except me”. Laser squint dissolved into rapid blinking. “One. Newman and Baddiel were only half of the ‘Mary Whitehouse Experience‘.” He shook his head. “And number two. We only met Paul Whitehouse at Roy’s play.”
It’s true. At half time in the bar Roy, Thoughtful Man’s best friend from school, and basis of one of the play’s two main characters, introduced us to the great man. We said “Hi”.
“You were too shy to even talk to him, for goodness sake!”
*Marc Warren, Clicky? Oh he was very shy when I told how brilliant he was at playing Thoughtful Man …*
“Hello. Seriously, are you not listening to me?” He was wearing his ‘You’re not listening to me’ expression.
“Of course I was listening.” I thought fast. “You said, ‘You can connect anything to anything else if you look hard enough. It’s just coincidence. Everybody has them’.” I turned the camera back and took his photo *Click*.
The squint was back. “Lucky guess”.
“Of course. I’m the luckiest woman in the world. I married you.” Unfortunately the deadpan delivery only served intensified the squint.
“True.” He rubbed his chin. “But you do spend far too much time on the internet.” Again true …
“I’ll be as flexible as I can with your synchronicity malarky but I’ll be glad when your holiday is over and you get back to real work.” His face was set …
*I said ‘set’, Clicky.*
Gently, he took the camera back, laid it on the table and took my hand. “Why are you spending all day chatting to great unwashed, listening to rubbish and chasing old laughs?” He looked at me thoughtfully. “I’m on holiday, too. We could connect”.
*Not fair and not true, Clicky… /rolls eyes… So jealous…*
Earlier this week, coinciding neatly with a just-in-time delivery of memories into the LoL – a faux-leather case, bulging at the seams with promising content, Mrs Reign opened Parliament and recited the new government’s proposed legislative programme for the coming year.
“Have you seen this?” Thoughtful Man said, passing the case over for inspection. It was surprisingly heavy, requiring both hands to guide it to the floor and prevent flattened toes. “That should keep you occupied for a bit”. He was right. A glance at the protruding spines produced a squeal …
*squint*
… and the urge to break out plastic opera glasses. “Programmes! These are all our programmes”. I grabbed a handful and got comfortable …
“Shows, concerts, places of interest.” I looked up beaming, “All the places we went together. I’d forgotten all about these”.
“Of course.” Thoughtful Man managed to keep the ‘harumph’ out of his voice but not off his face. “I keep everything.” He’s not called ‘Thoughtful Man’ for nothing. “I don’t think that’s all of them, but it’s enough to get you started. Why don’t you take some photos and then pick one to focus on.” He handed me a camera and retired to a safe distance.
I’d bought the concert tickets for Thoughtful Man, as his gift the first Christmas after we were married. But as luck would have it, he was travelling that night so I ended up taking Sister Juju. Afterward, as we left the theatre, the sweat rapidly cooling on our hot and tired bodies, we hoarsely agreed “OMG! He has to see it!”
The next day I set about trying to find more tickets, no mean feat considering this was pre-internet days …
Not quite that desolate, Clicky, but I can see why you might think that.
It was the giant, Pip, from work at Big Shop, who unexpectedly came to my rescue …
These tickets were even better than the first, right at the front, but even better than that, we got to have the phantasmagorical experience together …
Jealous much, Clicky?
“Have you finished that yet?” Thoughtful Man reappeared, looking anxious; he knows what a terrible shot I am. He spotted the shiny programme. “Erasure! Bloody brilliant!.” He turned away, leafing through the pages. “I’ll tell you what, have a song.”
It’s my birthday today. I got cake for breakfast from Google …
*I know! What a scrummy surprise …*
… and Thoughtful Man took me shopping …
*Hardly, Clicky … the local Asbo …*
He takes me shopping once a year, mostly to remind himself why he doesn’t go shopping with me more regularly …
*No, not quite …*
I rather like food shopping, looking at all the product laden shelves … studying the exciting ingredients … riding the trolley … I get rather google-eyed at it all …
“Calm down or I’ll Mary Lincoln you” Thoughtful Man sighed heavily, placing a steading hand on the handlebar as it wobbled closer to a 2 for 1 special on Pot Noodles.
“Ab Lincoln’s wife? I was taken aback and slightly flattered … the wife of a President.
“She went mental and was committed by her son after she fell in with a spiritualist” he replied as we skirted past a group of lads looking for the barbecue and beer aisle. “He invented double exposure photography, though he didn’t get the credit for it”.
I skidded to a stop … good job too, I hadn’t seen the mobility scooters conveniently parked at the entrance to the cat food aisle. “Do you mean like Photoshop?”
*Unfortunately Clicky, I don’t think that’s photoshopped …*
*No, not that one either …*
“I suppose … Do we really need this much cheese?” He eyed the trolley contents suspiciously, “toothpicks, pineapple chucks … tin foil … Hang on, I thought you didn’t want a birthday party”.
“I don’t. It’s in case the neighbour’s child comes over to play with the boys”. His icy squint burned. “Sorry, I invited him. He’s just lost his mother”.
“He ate her”.
“I don’t think he had a choice.” I pushed on toward the frozen pizzas. “I think it was like one of those Donner Party situations”.
He caught up by the time we’d reached the check out. “So you [blip] think he’d prefer eating cheese and pineapple [blip] kebabs instead?!” He fluffed open a plastic bag and started filling it. “You are a [blip] mad [blip]“.
