My friend Jill and I laughed so much we had to prop each other up. We had taken our final glasses of wine - the four of us, two Jills, Pip and me - to sit in comfier chairs and chat after dinner. Jill and I noticed a short, dapper man come out of the dining room and, a few minutes later, return. We both saw his hand gesture low down in front of him and sniggered. "He's having a little scratch" chuckled Jill. "He could have been doing up his flies," I suggested, slightly more charitably.
An hour later, he came out of the dining room and vanished in the direction of the loo again. We made observations about the amount of beer he had been drinking or the weakness of his bladder. Then he came back.
He scratched his groin again. We were helpless with mirth.
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Oh, what's the problem? This is hardly Great Literature. I'd appreciate anything taken from here being acknowledged, and I might change my mind if I'm suddenly proclaimed as the Literary Queen of the Blogosphere - but I probably wouldn't. Do what you like, just as long as it doesn't extend to defamation of anyone, even me.
Actually, you want to pass off what I say as your own, I might even be flattered. Let's face it, who cares anyway?
7 comments:
Oh.
2 Jills and a Pip is an awful lot of stong drink in Scotland.
Maybe he'd spilt something...?
Sx
Was this the same person with whom you had an experience the day before?
I've shocked you, Dave.
Rog, that's true. But we're showing them how the English can hold their drink and they're truly impressed.
Some leakage could possibly have been involved. He was in the foyer just now when I came back from breakfast. I pointed him out to Jill (the Jill whom I didn't prop up last night). "maybe he's got something wrong, do men get thrush?" she suggested, which started me off all over again.
Ooh, good morning, Chris. No, he is a guest. First-footing in a Scottish hotel involves kissing the staff.
"Helpless with mirth" was a perfect way to describe time spent with an old friend recently. Hope you have as great a time as we did!
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