Welcome, new and loyal fans of TLG: get comfy, sit down with a cup of tea and I’ll enlighten you with a story.
Okay, what is wrong with that sentence?
Not grammatically, I mean, I have no time for grammar, I’m a gangster. Therefore I like chopping up words and stories into little pieces (100 words) and dangling their parts – like market meat to a street dog – just above your comprehension, your imagination.
I mean, with the beverage.
It’s not that I never drink tea. I love tea. I take pride in my tea set and miss my old tea box that held my different varieties of tea in it. If I could, I would open a small tea shop called T-Bar and serve tea ingredients on small plates along with tea pots filled with hot water just like a sushi train store.
It’s just that Sundays were for wine. Now they’re not.
Why? I’m over it.
I’m not over wine I mean, I love wine. If I could, I would open up a small wine shop called W-Bar and serve wine and cheese on small plates just like a sushi train.
I’m over feeling hungover.
Anyway, I won’t bore you with the effects of generations of alcoholism instead I will share with you a beautifully wrapped ending to a story I told you in a previous Sunday Sesh.
Remember the story about the big pencil?
(I can see you nodding your heads in excitement!)
Well, I returned to Tamworth, to The Golden Guitar.
Of course, when I arrived, I made straight for the souvenir shop. My eyes scanned, looking for the big pencils: stuffed kangaroos, cowboy and cowgirl hats, t-shirts, lady at the counter looking over her glasses at me like a small child who has been stuck down a well and grown used to it so much, has been there so long that she is a full grown woman now and very protective of the well to the point that I am considered an intruder, please don’t kill me well-lady, I wont hurt you; badges, magnets super size pencils with animals on them – stop!
Supersize pencils with animals on them!
At last after twenty years, I had returned to buy a new supersize pencil with animals on it. Wasn’t there maps on it too? Who cares! And guess what, you wouldn’t believe it? It even had a super sized sharpener dangling from the end of it which is completely useless because how would it reach the end that needs sharpening? Who cares I was buying it!
I bounced on up to the counter to pay for my supersize pencil and exclaimed, ‘I was in this very shop twenty years ago buying one of these pencils and I have finally returned to replace that one that is now lost! I’m so excited!’
Another lady appeared hissing like a cat, ‘cash or card?’. The cat-lady must have fallen down the well too and the well-lady must have befriended her in a time of need. Or maybe the two fell down together and they were already friends before falling down the well. Either way, they didn’t care much for my pencil story.
I paid for the pencil and left.
As soon as I left the well, I bounced around again, showing off my new pencil to my family.
The pencil is here with me now, I haven’t used it yet. I haven’t even sharpened it.
Why did I go to all of this trouble just for the stupid pencil anyway? Is it symbolic of my passion for writing? Is it because I can’t believe still that that kid in my class got to go to Disneyland in primary school? Is it because I needed closure to the blog post story? Is it because I feel that my now resting-in-peace grandfather wanted closure and sent me a message to get the pencil via someone who can talk to the dead and I didn’t even realise? Is it because I’m emotionally immature? Is it because I stopped drinking alcohol for the time being and my memory has returned to me tenfold? Is it to prove that i have taught myself how to climb out of a well when I fall down one? Is it because the moon was in Venus? Is it because…
Who cares. Look at my supersize pencil!!!!!!!