And you can stop that for a start! [Beat it, buster. Ermintrude] I never typed that sub-heading! [Because the words were too long. Ermintrude] This bloody computer has a mind of her own! [Whereas you borrowed yours from a three year-old. Ermintrude] Anyway! Bloody buckets! Like Karl Marx’s grave, it all has to be a Communist plot – geddit? [No. Ermintrude] I’m sure it was the blue one! Probably changed it deliberately. I was putting forward my theory about The World v MOI to Valkerie, when, after a few seconds silence down the phone, she asks me, like she was speaking to some slightly backward child, whether the fact that all the other buckets left out for collection were green might have held some kind of meaning for me. Cow! So that got me in a right old bate for the rest of the day. Not helped by the fact that I ran out of loo paper. Blast! Valkerie suggested that if I spoke nicely to the ‘Loo Fairy’ she might wave her magic wand and produce some from nowhere. So I asked her for her views on K D Lang‘s analysis of saxophones and sublimation. I suppose, being a former nurse, it must have given her all sorts of insights into the human condition. I was particularly impressed what she assured me she could achieve with only a pair of sugar tongs and a hot waffle iron. Eeeek! I hung up.
The Thrilla with EdZilla
[Grow up. Ermintrude] I was just musing on how to deal with the latest rantette from EdZ when Valkerie rang back to ask me if I’d remembered to turn off the hot water tap. (Which in fact, I hadn’t.) Not that I told her that. Bah! Probably some form of telekinesis; like action at a distance. You know, when you see a chick at a party, and her toes slowly turn towards you; and she bites her lower lip… Then her bloody boyfriend turns up! [Don’t you mean her guide dog? Ermintrude] Then EdZilla calls up. We are presently in the middle of a ‘Taste War’. I insist that my scenes of sex and violence are all in the best possible taste; and the Bossy Cow thinks otherwise. She tells me that she has arranged with Mac that he should act as a referee. Yeehah! Two blokes v EdZilla? No Contesto. Accordingly, I phoned him on some pretext or other to set out the real agenda, when he starts wittering on about Germaine Greer, for God’s sake! I suggested that he lie down for a while, preferably under some agreeable blonde, to which he replies that that was my problem in a nutshell. Eh? Regardless, the return match is set for that afternoon. Plan accordingly.
Brilliant or what?
[Or what. Ermintrude] Forget it, babe. Step forward Captain who? Step forward Captain Fabulous! Some days I’m soooo smooth, I can slide uphill! Okay; so the shin’s still a bit sore, but, to quote the recently vanquished EdZilla, ‘No pain, no gain’. [Or in your case, ‘no brain’. Ermintrude] Although at the time I was buggered if I could see what Mac found so funny about EdZ putting the boot in, literally. But it wasn’t some cheesy box of Milk Tray; it was an Easter Egg, dark chocolate, leftover since it cost and arm and liver transplant. Yesss! Add some bacon butties; and me being nice about her gingerbread (again), and it was all over bar the squeaking. [And your undertaking not to have any more sex scenes where the female says ‘No’ when she really means ‘Yes’. Ermintrude] Bumfluff!
Out of the Mouths of Babes
And I do mean babes! [Beat it, loser! Ermintrude] EdZilla says I write good sex scenes. I mean, hello? ‘Good’? I think the word she is groping for is ‘brilliantissimo’. [No. Ermintrude] EdZilla suggests that ‘humility’ for me is probably a shower gel. I thought it was an after-shave. But not only are we back on track for some more uber sex and ultraviolence, she also agrees to keep her fat, furry paws off my blog! EdZilla suggests it should be called ‘Behind the Bike Shed’; only then she goes and gets cross when Mac and I think it’s a great idea. Chicks; what can I tell you? [Very little. Ermintrude] And who comes up with the name for Mac and EdZilla’s publishing venture? Modesty forbids. [As if. Ermintrude] ME! Captain Fabulous! ‘Cauldron’. However my books will not be appearing in this imprint; probably too highbrow for it. [Dear God! Ermintrude]
John J McCabe. Copyright.