Hello. Sorry. It's been a while. Been busy decorating my flat, I'm Letting it you see. Not letting it do anything in particular you understand. Just Letting it. And only after its' done its' homework.
Plus I've had some biscuit issues recently. All week in fact. And yes, I know it's only Wednesday. I am not hopeful for the week.
On Monday Rob's voice echoed down my little slash of tile and parquet flooring. It's good for an echo is Rob's voice, especially in those surroundings. His demand was still bouncing around when I poked my head out the door.
"What? I'm marking" I yelled back. In the far distance Rob's head hover from his own doorway.
"No you're fucking not! Come have a biscuit."
I paused. Suspicious.
"What kind of biscuit?"
"Get fucked then"
And that was that until morning break. By then Rob, having suffered a similar response from heads hovering in doorways all along our corridor, had bought some chocolate ones. In fact he must have been feeling particularly chastised because they were Chocolate Caramel ones.
He's a good lad is our Rob.
Except, somehow, I was in trouble.
"Here, bastard, since my biscuits weren't good enough for you."
"Wumummah?" I said, my mouth nicely caramelised.
"Yes." Said Jason, helpfully, "I don't see your problem. Everyone needs a Hob, and certainly everyone needs the occasional nob."
"This is true," Claimed Rob, "Biscuits and sex. Exactly the same. Both necessary."
"Well yes," I agreed, "But without chocolate a biscuit is mere procreation. There's no love there. No passion."
"So... the Chocolate Caramel you're eating now..." Jason seemed intrigued. "That's like - "
"Yup. This here," I was waving my half eating biscuit, "this, is all about seduction."
Not surprisingly the bastards have stolen all the chocolate digestives.
Why I wrote Disraeli Avenue for charity - The houses on Disraeli Avenue all looked the same, the same shape, the same size but behind each coloured front door there was a story, a secret, a need....
3 years ago