A blog of grumpiness, stilts and skin.

Tuesday, December 13, 2005


One of the big advantages of being married to a saint like Hazelblackberry is that you occasionally get your innermost desires catered for.

I'm talking here folks of my innermost desire to avoid the ca-ching(!) of someone else's cash register.

You see, by virtue of having two Scottish grandfathers, I am averse to transactional outgoings. Some (Hazel) might even say I'm a tad fish-bummed.

So, last night I programmed HBB's most detested Sonny Stitt saxophone solo - the one that sounds like a Morteined mosquito - into our CD alarm, in preparation for my monthly back-yard hair cut.

Sonny woke us on cue at 5:00am, I plugged my set of $24.95 clippers into the socket normally reserved for the goldfish filter, and still brushing sleep from her eyes Hazel started a-buzzing.

The buzzing woke up a dog, which woke a flock of corellas, which in turn woke four hungry seagulls. I heard no partridge and saw no pear tree.

But I am pleased to report that now, free of charge, I am again balder than BA Baracus, and reeeeeeeeady to grrrrrrrrrumble!


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