Let me tell you about my Mr Parish. The one you have here in what you call the blogosphere is stunningly sane. Mr Parish has hit hard times and is so tired of reading his own posts, he is not quite begging passersby to contribute – but almost. So almost, that this piece of trivia may make it past his censorial academic eye – not – and have him happily thinking with his cock.
My Mr Ken Parish is basically an endearing geek who has just recently learned how to pay his own bills. You must be aware, the man has been held together body and assets by a woman who would make minced meat of ‘She who must be obeyed’ – I can imagine a supermarket scene, and a fight to the death in front of the ‘red spot special’ frozen peas.
So the escape from marriage took place, the conclusive (as far as he can tell) escape, around last December.( wrong again – November) He knew just where he was headed, home free and running headlong into his next wife -oops life. Alas independence is not his strong suit, almost from the outset Mr Parish had two quite amazing women in mind, after ceding defeat in the the case of the preferred model he was genuinely and quite rightly encouraged by everything below the belt to pursue Model B. He has since convinced both himself and the B model that this was meant to be.
Ken is bright, no doubt about that one either and his mind is where his future will lie after he’s been forced into retirement – Eternally optimistic, I think he believes he will simply continue to point everywhere until all of him goes down. Back to the matters of mind, Ken realised after a few months of presiding over sharehouse hell from a Jason Recliner Rocker as big as my whole house that 20 years of marriage does not equip you for the rigors of the share household – no matter how good you once found it to be there is, regrettably – no going back.
Fortunately, the canny wife was watching his back and developed a bee in her bonnet about the tenants in no 1. So it’s a hop skip and an eviction notice and Ken is conveniently ensconced in his very own bachelor pad. He is as happy there as a pig in shit – ask him about home improvements and he positively beams – full beam.
I am enjoying myself considerably here but I have to stop due to some home improvements that involve a TV aeriel he has swiped from the vandals next door. I have to watch the TV – so it is to this onerous task I go willingly before it gets too dark.
The B model baby.
OK if you lot ever get to read this, just know, concessions were made, words, phrases whole ideas removed holus bolus. It seems to me that I may not be altogether welcome in the rarified Armadillo archive