An Outbreak of Common Sense.
Bobby & a day of Common Sense.
Bertie: “Gordon Bennett Bobby! Are we really going to Flying Legends on Saturday and the Watercress Line Gala on Sunday. In a heatwave? Have you no common sense?”
Bobby: “You’re not invited to Flying Legends. You’ve been before, and it’s too hot to cart you around.”
But a relief. So he went off with Anne. Didn’t get home until 01.00. Said something about too hot, having a meal and forgetting to come home.
Bertie: “There he is. Starkers. Lying on the bed. Pink white and brown stripes. Him, not the bed. Window wide open, listening to Classic FM:”
Music… Claire de Lune… Debussy.
Bertie: “So are we going to the Watercress Line?”
Bobby: “Please go away. I am having an Outbreak of Common Sense!”
Bertie: “Suits me.”
I’d send you a picture, but it might put off the ladies he thinks fancy him! Particularly now he has nodded off and clearly dreaming about the nurse who looked after his every need following his hernia operation. Ahahaha.
Unlike Stanley Spencer. Famous artist. Who stitched up the bitch purporting to love him by getting his own back by painting her in all her glory.
Bertie: “BOBBY… What are we doing?”
Bobby: “Please, Bertie. I have had a trying week, and am now looking forward to my “Outbreak of Common Sense.”
Bertie: “Or Lucien Freud, who had a penchant for gruesome women like the “Benefits Supervisor” who disproved the description by going for £35 million quid. And he has nodded off again.”
When he wakes up, the first thing he will see is this. That should quell his ardour.
Bobby: “Phwoarr … she’s nice. Diddley loved Lucien Freud. The model for the painting is a lovely lady and beauty is in the eye of the beholder after all.”
Music… Girl with the Flaxen Hair… Debussy.
Bertie: “Ummmmmm… For you, dear reader, the washing machine blew up. Big blue flash. The engineer came and declared it was ten years old, with a projected life of ten years. A bit like Logan’s Run, I suggested. Sex, drugs and rock and roll until you are thirty, when the microchip embedded in your bonce calls you in to be melted down. Only young beautiful people allowed. No saggy bits or incontinence pads. Just young, firm and thrusting. Except Logan… who did a runner.”
“He bought a new machine in Dorking. When asked if he wanted to see it, said no. All the same. Boring white box. Except the one that was delivered and wouldn’t go through the kitchen door. Even sideways with the lid off! Come Friday, in the heatwave, he hacked off an inch of the door frame. 150 year old wood was a challenge. As was the panic of getting a sodden polo shirt off in a heatwave. Solved by cutting it off with kitchen scissors. Plenty more polo shirts. All freebie Fathers Day presents from Andrew’s job.”
“And there he is. Like a beached whale. Snoring. No Watercress line this time but an Outbreak of Common Sense instead. And here is a whale song that is just right for such an outbreak. Beautifully sung by Judy Collins, accompanied by whales.”
I Don’t Believe It!
Andrew, Bobby’s son, was driving through Milton Keynes. Over the car radio came the local radio station… BOB FM. Catchphrase… Ha ha ha ha… Catchphrase…
Lighting an Irreverent Candle to Diddley.
Bertie: “Ere, ere, ere, what’s all this then? Another bear called Bertie?”
Bobby: “I know! He is Brooklands Bertie, where you had such a great time at the Museum. There are lots of Bobs you know. Anyway, there is a great blog coming from Brooklands, in which you are the star. Remember? Concorde. Racing cars. You were in your element.”
Bertie: “Who’s Brian?”
Bobby: “No idea, but it seems that Diddley had some reason to take the Mick out of him. Personally, most of the Brians I have met have been complete bastards. Other than Brian Cousins…”
Bobby had two hernias. Henry and Horace.
Horace was looked after by Nurse Lascivity … seen here.