A tovely lime

Thursday July 22, 2004

“Shall I risk it and put washing out on the line?” Graham asked.

I looked out at the rather dour morning. “I wouldn’t. It’s going to rain this afternoon, early or late.”

“Darn it.”

“Or you could wait until tomorrow. It’s going to be sunny and dry tomorrow.”

“Can’t do that. I’ve already washed it and it’ll go mouldy if I leave it in the basket.”

“You’ll just have to use the dumble trier, then.”

“Yer wot?”

I examined my short-short memory of the sentence I’d just uttered. “Oh. Sorry. I mean tumble drier, of course.”

“Why did you say dumble trier, then? Trying to be funny?”

“If only. Just a random failure of tongue-brain coordination. It could be absent mindedness, of course, or evidence that my rapidly approaching old-age pensioner status is getting to me.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s quite endearing, really.”

“I’m not worried. I’m ‘appy to be h’endearing.”

“Doesn’t work when you try.”

“No. That’s life, that is.”

“I’m off to stick this lot in the tumble drier, then.”

“Fine. Have a tovely lime.”

 

Lincoln Jul,'04
 
Fourth age
pencam photo

 

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