Bev Spicer's Blog, page 40
August 28, 2012
The Towel/Sunlounger dilemma.
Let's see. Either I get up at the crack of dawn and fling a towel on a vacant plastic recliner or I arrive too late and have to mask my venom with a radiant smile as I wander round enquiring whether there might be a chance of nabbing one that isn't actually occupied. If you don't mind. Shame on you.
'Excuse me. Do you need these six loungers?'
'Yes. You should have come earlier.'
'And you should be boiled in oil.'
Of course I don't say anything like this. Not out loud, anyway. But I would like to have the nerve to just take off the towel and plonk myself down. Can you imagine the seconds of satisfaction?
As it is, I generally find a normal chair, borrowed from a lifeguard, and pretend to enjoy myself until someone leaves. Then, I jump up and race for the lounger, trampling small children and slow movers to get there first.
I drag my lounger back towards the shade of my palm tree and tan safely, marvelling at the amount of chorizo coloured flesh oozing in its various forms all around me.
The pool is full of people. There is nowhere to swim. I read my book and swig my warm drink, wishing that my sunglasses were not so heavy on my nose. Should I have paid more for some better ones? I wonder whether I would rather not be here at all. But I am on holiday and I must make the most of the pool. It's free and set in acres of beautiful pine forest.
I am hot and uncomfortable. Perhaps I should go for a quick dip. Just to cool off. I stand, stretch and move gracefully towards the pool. The lifeguard blows a whistle and people swim or lumber to the sides, climbing out as fast as they can.
A turd has been found and the pool will close for twelve hours.
Next morning the alarm rings and I think about reserving a lounger. Then I go back to sleep. After all, it's not fair to reserve a lounger if you're not actually using it, is it? And I reason that the muscles I will use to glare at the smug lounger-baggers after a leisurely breakfast, will do wonders for wrinkle prevention. I think briefly about where I might purchase a plastic turd. So, where do you stand on the towel/sunlounger issue. And don't lie, because I'll know.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Bunny-on-a-Bike-ebook/dp/B0089FB71O/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1346142984&sr=1-1
August 7, 2012
South of France dream goddess bikini
We were shown into a curtained changing room and told to put on our swimwear. There were girls everywhere, exposing various parts of their generally perfect bodies. I wished I hadn’t eaten so much at breakfast and wondered whether I too should have topped up with some fungal-smelling Quicktan. Carol got a Bic razor out of her bag and did a tidy up of her bikini line much to the horror of a tall Italian-looking girl who was stuffing paper into her bikini top.
‘Did you bring the yellow one?’ Carol asked.
‘Of course.’ It was my South of France dream goddess bikini, which had won general acclaim at ‘La Sirene Camping’ the previous summer. Guaranteed to get you noticed, although not yet tested in an interview situation.
‘Bitch!’
‘Now, now. No seething in public. Did you bring your space-girl bikini?’
‘No.’
‘She did.’ I nodded towards a girl wearing a silver two-piece with an intricate choker arrangement around her neck. Very Barbarella.
‘God, look at my blotches! These mirrors must be wrong.’ Carol was examining the fronts of her thighs, which looked as though they had been tie-died.
I pondered the idea of wrong mirrors.
‘Viviana, please!’ The Italian-looking girl was in fact Italian and she was next. She turned and gave us what can only be described as a deprecating sneer, stepped gracefully through the curtains and disappeared with her perfect ass in tow.
‘Did you see her cellulite?’ Carol scowled.
‘No?’ I said.
‘Neither did I.’
Thanks for looking! Bunny on a Bike is on Amazon if you'd like to read more: http://tinyurl.com/8odp3rd
‘Did you bring the yellow one?’ Carol asked.
‘Of course.’ It was my South of France dream goddess bikini, which had won general acclaim at ‘La Sirene Camping’ the previous summer. Guaranteed to get you noticed, although not yet tested in an interview situation.
‘Bitch!’
‘Now, now. No seething in public. Did you bring your space-girl bikini?’
‘No.’
‘She did.’ I nodded towards a girl wearing a silver two-piece with an intricate choker arrangement around her neck. Very Barbarella.
‘God, look at my blotches! These mirrors must be wrong.’ Carol was examining the fronts of her thighs, which looked as though they had been tie-died.
I pondered the idea of wrong mirrors.
‘Viviana, please!’ The Italian-looking girl was in fact Italian and she was next. She turned and gave us what can only be described as a deprecating sneer, stepped gracefully through the curtains and disappeared with her perfect ass in tow.
‘Did you see her cellulite?’ Carol scowled.
‘No?’ I said.
‘Neither did I.’
Thanks for looking! Bunny on a Bike is on Amazon if you'd like to read more: http://tinyurl.com/8odp3rd
Short excerpt from Bunny on a Bike
South of France dream goddess bikini
We were shown into a curtained changing room and told to put on our swimwear. There were girls everywhere, exposing various parts of their generally perfect bodies. I wished I hadn’t eaten so much at breakfast and wondered whether I too should have topped up with some fungal-smelling Quicktan. Carol got a Bic razor out of her bag and did a tidy up of her bikini line much to the horror of a tall Italian-looking girl who was stuffing paper into her bikini top.
‘Did you bring the yellow one?’ Carol asked.
‘Of course.’ It was my South of France dream goddess bikini, which had won general acclaim at ‘La Sirene Camping’ the previous summer. Guaranteed to get you noticed, although not yet tested in an interview situation.
‘Bitch!’
‘Now, now. No seething in public. Did you bring your space-girl bikini?’
‘No.’
‘She did.’ I nodded towards a girl wearing a silver two-piece with an intricate choker arrangement around her neck. Very Barbarella.
‘God, look at my blotches! These mirrors must be wrong.’ Carol was examining the fronts of her thighs, which looked as though they had been tie-died.
I pondered the idea of wrong mirrors.
‘Viviana, please!’ The Italian-looking girl was in fact Italian and she was next. She turned and gave us what can only be described as a deprecating sneer, stepped gracefully through the curtains and disappeared with her perfect ass in tow.
‘Did you see her cellulite?’ Carol scowled.
‘No?’ I said.
‘Neither did I.’
Thanks for looking! Bunny on a Bike is on Amazon if you'd like to read more: http://tinyurl.com/8odp3rd
August 3, 2012
Short excerpt from Bunny on a Bike
The tube station was not far from the casino and when it came into sight I thought it looked more like an enormous, ungainly office block. It was on pillars, but not the classical kind, and it looked so, so wrong. The windows were high up and masked by long curtains, which presumably hid the bright, luxurious interior. I suppose I thought the building would be grander, more ornate – dripping with wealth.
‘What a dump!’ said Carol.
She wasn’t wrong.
Then, we saw all the people. There were hundreds of them. Girls and some boys too, just standing there, in the longest queue I had ever seen. It went along the side of the building, round the corner and on for at least a hundred yards. On closer inspection I noticed how the young trendies were dressed. Never had I seen so many fashion mistakes in one place. I pushed back my dyed blonde hair and eased up my skin-tight jeans.
‘Do you think they are all here for the croupier jobs?’ I wondered aloud.
‘Of course they are, you silly cow. Let’s get in the bloody queue, shall we?’ Carol shoved me and we walked along the pavement, checking out the competition.
‘They look younger than us. And prettier,’ Carol whispered.
‘Speak for yourself!’ I said.
The advert had specified young, good-looking people between the ages of eighteen and twenty-three. I was twenty-four, Carol was all right, she was twenty-three. We were young enough and certainly attractive, in a brash kind of way. Looking back, I blame Debbie Harry for my lack of sophistication.
‘What a dump!’ said Carol.
She wasn’t wrong.
Then, we saw all the people. There were hundreds of them. Girls and some boys too, just standing there, in the longest queue I had ever seen. It went along the side of the building, round the corner and on for at least a hundred yards. On closer inspection I noticed how the young trendies were dressed. Never had I seen so many fashion mistakes in one place. I pushed back my dyed blonde hair and eased up my skin-tight jeans.
‘Do you think they are all here for the croupier jobs?’ I wondered aloud.
‘Of course they are, you silly cow. Let’s get in the bloody queue, shall we?’ Carol shoved me and we walked along the pavement, checking out the competition.
‘They look younger than us. And prettier,’ Carol whispered.
‘Speak for yourself!’ I said.
The advert had specified young, good-looking people between the ages of eighteen and twenty-three. I was twenty-four, Carol was all right, she was twenty-three. We were young enough and certainly attractive, in a brash kind of way. Looking back, I blame Debbie Harry for my lack of sophistication.
Short excerpt from Bunny on a Bike
The tube station was not far from the casino and when it came into sight I thought it looked more like an enormous, ungainly office block. It was on pillars, but not the classical kind, and it looked so, so wrong. The windows were high up and masked by long curtains, which presumably hid the bright, luxurious interior. I suppose I thought the building would be grander, more ornate – dripping with wealth.
‘What a dump!’ said Carol.
She wasn’t wrong.
Then, we saw all the people. There were hundreds of them. Girls and some boys too, just standing there, in the longest queue I had ever seen. It went along the side of the building, round the corner and on for at least a hundred yards. On closer inspection I noticed how the young trendies were dressed. Never had I seen so many fashion mistakes in one place. I pushed back my dyed blonde hair and eased up my skin-tight jeans.
‘Do you think they are all here for the croupier jobs?’ I wondered aloud.
‘Of course they are, you silly cow. Let’s get in the bloody queue, shall we?’ Carol shoved me and we walked along the pavement, checking out the competition.
‘They look younger than us. And prettier,’ Carol whispered.
‘Speak for yourself!’ I said.
The advert had specified young, good-looking people between the ages of eighteen and twenty-three. I was twenty-four, Carol was all right, she was twenty-three. We were young enough and certainly attractive, in a brash kind of way. Looking back, I blame Debbie Harry for my lack of sophistication.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Bunny-on-a-Bike-ebook/dp/B0089FB71O/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1344003000&sr=1-1
July 24, 2012
The Boxer and the Hoop Hoop.
http://tinyurl.com/bwgovgv
http://tinyurl.com/cjfntn8
More adventures of Carol and Bev
The house is cool and the light curtains move pleasingly in the breeze.
'Look at that!' says Bev, dreamily, from her comfortable bed.
'What's the matter!' Carol pulls the duvet quickly over her head.
'Blue sky!'
'Eh?' Carol relaxes for a moment and then adds, 'What about the incessant barking of the neighbours' brainless bloody boxer?'
A volley of barks sounds nearby.
'All morning, mark you! "Woof, woof, woof...and...woof".'
The dog confirms the pattern of Carol's complaint.
'I suppose-' Bev begins, still contemplating the view.
'Don't say anything nice! I know what you're going to say. "It's not his fault. He's just lonely. He's seen a cat! He just wants a walk." I'm going round there to sort it out, and you can come, or not! What's French for "dog" and "kill"?'
'Shall I make some coffee and get some croissants? There's a boulangerie on the corner.'
Carol grunts heavily.
Outside, some children start a ball game against the wall of the house.
'What? Jesus! What's that?' Carol sits up in bed. She has mascara on her cheek and her hair is flat against her head on one side. She goes to the window.
'Oi! Clear off! Go away! Get lost!'
They stare up at her and smile. One of them says: 'Bonjour Madame!'
'Bonjour les enfants!' Bev leans out of the window and Carol goes off to the bathroom in disgust.
Bev hears the front door open as she finishes the coffee and puts the croissants on a plate.
Outside, Carol chases away the children, who squeal in delight. Then she advances on the boxer. There is a woman of indeterminate age and developing corpulence holding onto a child which has inherited its mother's pug nose and sullen expression.
'Good morning! Are you the owner of this dog?' Carol says, in an unmistakably belligerent tone.
The woman does not understand and scowls at the English girl with the flat hair and blackened face.
'Ah, bonjour Madame!' Bev arrives. 'Nous sommes en vacances juste à côté.'
The woman does not reply.
'Tell her I'm going to poison her dog if-'
'Je m'appelle Bev et mon amie s'appelle Carol. Enchantée!' Bev puts her hand out.
The woman turns and goes back into the house. A moment later, a man comes out. He smokes a cigarette in an aggressive manner and stands in the doorway to the house, his chin jerking up, once.
The dog barks.
The child wails.
'It's like The Good, The Bad and The Bloody Hideous,' whispers Carol.
Bev is undaunted. 'Bonjour Monsieur!'
The man steps forward and puts a hand on the gate. He takes the collar of the boxer in the other and lifts the latch.
Still he does not speak.
There is a moment when the threat of violence is tangible..
'A la prochaine!' says Bev, jauntily, taking Carol's arm and leading her away at a brisk pace.
'What did you say to the ugly bastard?'
'See you soon!'
They got to the house and hooted with laughter.
'Let's hope the latch on that gate holds!' says Bev.
'Plan B...Got to have one,' says Carol.
Bev sets the tray down on the garden table and tries to decide between strawberry and raspberry jam. Carol fidgets for a while and then settles.
'They've stopped now,' she says, helping herself to butter and staring at a hoop hoop. 'Never seen one of those before...'
Bev grins, knowing the danger is past.
If you like this, you'll like Bunny on a Bike (Links at top of page). Thanks for looking:)
http://tinyurl.com/cjfntn8
More adventures of Carol and Bev
The house is cool and the light curtains move pleasingly in the breeze.
'Look at that!' says Bev, dreamily, from her comfortable bed.
'What's the matter!' Carol pulls the duvet quickly over her head.
'Blue sky!'
'Eh?' Carol relaxes for a moment and then adds, 'What about the incessant barking of the neighbours' brainless bloody boxer?'
A volley of barks sounds nearby.
'All morning, mark you! "Woof, woof, woof...and...woof".'
The dog confirms the pattern of Carol's complaint.
'I suppose-' Bev begins, still contemplating the view.
'Don't say anything nice! I know what you're going to say. "It's not his fault. He's just lonely. He's seen a cat! He just wants a walk." I'm going round there to sort it out, and you can come, or not! What's French for "dog" and "kill"?'
'Shall I make some coffee and get some croissants? There's a boulangerie on the corner.'
Carol grunts heavily.
Outside, some children start a ball game against the wall of the house.
'What? Jesus! What's that?' Carol sits up in bed. She has mascara on her cheek and her hair is flat against her head on one side. She goes to the window.
'Oi! Clear off! Go away! Get lost!'
They stare up at her and smile. One of them says: 'Bonjour Madame!'
'Bonjour les enfants!' Bev leans out of the window and Carol goes off to the bathroom in disgust.
Bev hears the front door open as she finishes the coffee and puts the croissants on a plate.
Outside, Carol chases away the children, who squeal in delight. Then she advances on the boxer. There is a woman of indeterminate age and developing corpulence holding onto a child which has inherited its mother's pug nose and sullen expression.
'Good morning! Are you the owner of this dog?' Carol says, in an unmistakably belligerent tone.
The woman does not understand and scowls at the English girl with the flat hair and blackened face.
'Ah, bonjour Madame!' Bev arrives. 'Nous sommes en vacances juste à côté.'
The woman does not reply.
'Tell her I'm going to poison her dog if-'
'Je m'appelle Bev et mon amie s'appelle Carol. Enchantée!' Bev puts her hand out.
The woman turns and goes back into the house. A moment later, a man comes out. He smokes a cigarette in an aggressive manner and stands in the doorway to the house, his chin jerking up, once.
The dog barks.
The child wails.
'It's like The Good, The Bad and The Bloody Hideous,' whispers Carol.
Bev is undaunted. 'Bonjour Monsieur!'
The man steps forward and puts a hand on the gate. He takes the collar of the boxer in the other and lifts the latch.
Still he does not speak.
There is a moment when the threat of violence is tangible..
'A la prochaine!' says Bev, jauntily, taking Carol's arm and leading her away at a brisk pace.
'What did you say to the ugly bastard?'
'See you soon!'
They got to the house and hooted with laughter.
'Let's hope the latch on that gate holds!' says Bev.
'Plan B...Got to have one,' says Carol.
Bev sets the tray down on the garden table and tries to decide between strawberry and raspberry jam. Carol fidgets for a while and then settles.
'They've stopped now,' she says, helping herself to butter and staring at a hoop hoop. 'Never seen one of those before...'
Bev grins, knowing the danger is past.
If you like this, you'll like Bunny on a Bike (Links at top of page). Thanks for looking:)
July 18, 2012
Bev and Carol go shopping in France
BUNNY ON A BIKE http://tinyurl.com/7zv4vy2
This is not an extract from my book Bunny on a Bike but it is typical of what Bev and Carol might get up to.
Bev and Carol go shopping in France.
'Why is it never the right temperature?' Carol hitches up her long skirt.
'What do you mean?' Bev smiles at the passers-by.
'How can you not understand that? Let me explain: it's always too hot or too cold. Never just right.'
'What? Look! A Brocante! Shall we have a look inside?' Bev goes into a junk shop, saying a jolly 'bonjour' to the man with the moustache, who is standing in the doorway minding his own business.
Carol follows, snarling quietly.
'These lamps are nice. I like the green one.' Bev shows Carol a very ornate brass oil lamp with a pretty glass shade, which is cracked.
'Buy it then! No sense in missing a bargain. The world is crying out for broken oil lamps.'
'I might just get it. Such a lovely colour!'
'You already said that. Anyway, do you know how to say "oil lamp" in French?' Carol grins.
'I won't need to, will I? I'll just hold it up and say "C'est combien, s'il vous plaît"'
'What does that mean?'
'How much is it, you silly tart!'
'He won't like being called a silly tart, I shouldn't think. Probably knock you out with it.'
The man slides towards Carol and Bev.
'Vous-avez trouvez quelque chose Mesdames?' His teeth are startlingly irregular.
Carol eases herself behind Bev.
'Oui, Monsieur. C'est combien?' Bev beams.
'Ah! English? You are from England!'
Bev is disappointed. She wants to practise her French.
'Oui, nous sommes anglaises.'
'I see. You like the lamp? It's very ancient. Beautiful.' He gazes at the lamp and Carol fidgets.
'Saw you coming!' she whispers.
'Oui, Monsieur. Je voudrais l'acheter,' says Bev, stepping on Carol's foot.
'Does that mean "how much for a broken lamp"?' Carol nudges Bev in the back.
'No! Not broken. Just small, how you say? Scratch! Is art! One hundred years old!' The man gesticulates dangerously.
'Should be dirt cheap then!' Carol hisses.
'I make you a good price. A good price for the beautiful English ladies.' He fingers his moustache. 'Thirty euros!'
Carol stifles a snort.
'Bien! Je le prends, merci!' Bev replies.
'You could get a new one for that!' Carol says
The owner puts the lamp into an old plastic bag and wishes the girls a 'bonne journée'.
'What does that mean?' says Carol, tripping up on the step.
'It means: "fuck off out of my shop you silly tarts!"'
'Oh? Shall we get a baguette, then? I'm starved.'
If you want to read more about Bev and Carol's adventures as Playboy croupiers please spend your 77pence on BUNNY ON A BIKE at Amazon http://tinyurl.com/7zv4vy2 And may all your bargains be as gratefully appreciated!
July 13, 2012
Bev and Carol meet an unscrupulous landlord (extract)
http://tinyurl.com/7zv4vy2
BUNNY ON A BIKE by Bev Spicer (memoir/humour)
This is an extract from my book. Carol and Bev meet an unscrupulous landlord.
Carol rang the bell. A woman of about thirty-five with curly, strawberry blonde hair and freckles opened the door. She was wearing baggy yellow trousers and a cheesecloth shirt, bangles and bracelets and lots of rings. We were not expecting any of this.
‘Hello. What a lovely day. You must be Bev and Carol. Please come in. Watch out for the cat.’ She jangled when she moved, like my auntie Vera used to. She wasn’t a real auntie. I mean, she was real, but not my auntie.
We stepped over a ball of happy, black fur and waited politely in a large spangly hallway. It was a house where the cat would be more important than us. There were mirrors and tapestries, a glass lamp on a shiny black table engraved with elephants, a Buddha carved in wood and standing almost three feet tall, and a framed proverb hanging above it that said: ‘Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth.’
‘Oh, don’t mind that. Adil thinks we should constantly strive for spiritual fulfilment. My name is Ursula. Pleased to meet you.’ We shook hands and I bowed.
‘I like your house.’ I blurted, in the short confused silence that followed.
‘Yes. It’s not bad, is it? Would you both like a cup of tea? The lounge is through here, I won’t be a sec. Make yourselves comfortable.’
The lounge was sumptuous, with sofas thick with padding and strewn with silky-bright cushions. Exotic paintings in colours rich enough to make you squint hung on the walls; expensive looking rugs layered the floor and adorned the walls and a large stone fireplace of intricate design housed a roaring log fire. It was light and cosy and I wondered whether we would be kidnapped and sold as slaves to rich Indian men who wanted a bit of western promise.
‘Weird,’ Carol whispered.
‘Yeah. Like some kind of palace.’ I whispered back. Carol raised her top lip and rolled her eyes.
‘Shall we sit down?’ I suggested in a more normal voice, now that I remembered we were alone.
‘She said to make ourselves comfortable,’ Carol said.
We sat on the edge of the largest sofa. I could feel the muscles in my buttocks tensing so I did a few pelvic floor exercises. Shame not to. I had read about what happened to women if they neglected to maintain their intimate muscles. Ursula returned with a tray of tea as I was in mid clench and I smiled serenely as she carried it towards us.
http://tinyurl.com/7zv4vy2
Carol and Bev in France
http://tinyurl.com/7zv4vy2 Bunny on a Bike (Carol and Bev at Playboy)
This is not an extract, but it is the kind of conversation Carol and Bev might have.
Carol and Bev in France
There is a nice garden with hollyhocks, sunflowers, roses and decking. There is a large table and benches for eating outside.
'This is great, isn't it?' Bev breathes in the ozone and coughs.
'If you like rain!' Carol looks up at the clouds with a small sigh.
'Lets look inside. It said there were three bedrooms.'
'It said the average temperature in mid July was 32 degrees!' Carol follows her friend inside the maison charentaise. Their holiday home for the next three weeks.
'The kitchen is okay. Look! There's a fridge, cooker, sink...' Bev says.
'No! Really?' Carol heads for the stairs and cracks her head on a beam.
Bev says nothing.
Upstairs, the largest bedroom has orange floral wallpaper and wooden floors that bounce. The window looks out over a graveyard.
'Lovely! So peaceful! And look - the neighbours have chickens! Maybe we can get some eggs for breakfast?'
'This isn't Little House on the Prairie! Anyway, how do you say "Can I have some eggs?" in French?'
'Erm. Let's see. Ummm. Okay. "Puis j'avoir quelques oeux s'il vous plait?" '
'What does "errr" mean?'
'That's French for eggs.'
Carol gives Bev one her looks that says 'you are making it up'.
'So... you can have this room if you like,' Bev smiles.
'Okay. What's the French for "There's an enormous spider on your head"?'
(Carol and Bev are friends. They love each other. Find out what happens to them when they get a job at Playboy in 'Bunny on a Bike' - link at top of page.)
'
This is not an extract, but it is the kind of conversation Carol and Bev might have.
Carol and Bev in France
There is a nice garden with hollyhocks, sunflowers, roses and decking. There is a large table and benches for eating outside.
'This is great, isn't it?' Bev breathes in the ozone and coughs.
'If you like rain!' Carol looks up at the clouds with a small sigh.
'Lets look inside. It said there were three bedrooms.'
'It said the average temperature in mid July was 32 degrees!' Carol follows her friend inside the maison charentaise. Their holiday home for the next three weeks.
'The kitchen is okay. Look! There's a fridge, cooker, sink...' Bev says.
'No! Really?' Carol heads for the stairs and cracks her head on a beam.
Bev says nothing.
Upstairs, the largest bedroom has orange floral wallpaper and wooden floors that bounce. The window looks out over a graveyard.
'Lovely! So peaceful! And look - the neighbours have chickens! Maybe we can get some eggs for breakfast?'
'This isn't Little House on the Prairie! Anyway, how do you say "Can I have some eggs?" in French?'
'Erm. Let's see. Ummm. Okay. "Puis j'avoir quelques oeux s'il vous plait?" '
'What does "errr" mean?'
'That's French for eggs.'
Carol gives Bev one her looks that says 'you are making it up'.
'So... you can have this room if you like,' Bev smiles.
'Okay. What's the French for "There's an enormous spider on your head"?'
(Carol and Bev are friends. They love each other. Find out what happens to them when they get a job at Playboy in 'Bunny on a Bike' - link at top of page.)
'
June 23, 2012
Bev and Carol on what to have for tea.
http://tinyurl.com/7bqly8k
Carol excavates a molar.
'What shall we have for tea?'
Bev looks up from her collection of poems by Baudelaire.
'These poems are amazing. There's one about his lover's hair. Shall I-'
'It's in French!'
'Oh, yeah. Sorry.'
'Not Pop Tarts.'
'What?'
'Anything but Pop bloody Tarts.'
'Rice-'
'Or rice bloody pudding!'
'Toast?'
'Okay.'
'We need some bread from the shops.'
'Alright.'
'And some butter.'
'What?'
'And the toaster's broken.'
'What kind of Pop Tarts have we got?'
'O shadows of fleece falling and billowing upon those bare
Young shoulders! O rich perfume of forgetfulness!
Ecstasy! To populate the evening With memories hidden in this tumultuous mane,
I long to shake it out like a handkerchief!'
Bev allows the words to resonate in the ensuing silence.
Carol stands up and regards her with an indifferent stare. 'On second thoughts, I'll get some lamb chops from the Co-op.'
She takes her purse and leaves.
'Don't forget the mint sauce!' Bev calls, before settling down with her book and curling a strand of hair around her finger.
This is not an extract from Bunny on a Bike. (But it is the kind of conversation Bev and Carol might have.) http://tinyurl.com/7bqly8k
