"What date is it today?" I asked the security man (well into his 50s) who'd given me a lift back to my hotel last night. I was signing in, as I'm not working in my usual office today.
"26th," he correctly asserted. "Two months until Boxing Day." This is wrong. It is three months until Boxing Day. However, this was 7.30 a.m. and I wasn't fully awake yet.
Suddenly remembering a dream from my not-too-distant slumbers, I said, "Oh! I dreamed it was Christmas last night!"
"I shan't tell you what I dreamed," said the security man. "It involved you, me and Gretna Green."
Two things: firstly, what the fuck? And secondly, what sort of weird pervert dreams of getting married? Any normal person would have said, "I dreamed I took you vigorously over the bonnet of your rather rubbish car."
Norwich folk are odd. Later, he patted me on the head as I was leaving. He patted me. On the head.
What. The. Fuck?
3 comments:
Laura and the Security Guard, in a tree.
Getting M-A-R-R-I-E-D.
You may now pat the bride.
As a Norfolk personidge by birth and upbringing I can confidently assert that we are all like that, and we get worse the further you head into the Fens.
Anonymous - your comment made me laugh out loud!
See today's entry for more security guard-related antics.
L x
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