Tuesday, January 17, 2012
You broke it, you bought it
Brrrrrtt...
Click
DAN: Hi Joe.
JOE: Hi Dan, how's it going?
DAN: Good, except I can't find any bloody coffee in this shop.
JOE: Which shop are you in?
DAN: The pound shop.
JOE: Ah. Of course, all the stuff in there comes from other shops which have gone into liquidation. So when you're shopping there, what you're buying is other people's broken dreams.
If he has a point, I don't see it. And I'm becoming increasingly desperate for coffee
DAN: And?
JOE: And coffee happens to be one broken dream that flies off the shelves pretty quickly.
***
Happily, one broken dream that hadn't flown off the shelf was the DVD of Merlin (1998), with Sam Neill, Miranda Richardson, Helena Bonham Carter, Rutger Hauer et al.
Whenever I see such an impressive cast list, I'm reminded of Island of Fire, a poor Taiwanese film which featured most of the hottest actors of the time, as they owed the producer a favour for getting them out of trouble with the Triads.
After sitting through all three hours of the DVD yestereve, I felt that I'd pretty much got what I'd paid for.
Click
DAN: Hi Joe.
JOE: Hi Dan, how's it going?
DAN: Good, except I can't find any bloody coffee in this shop.
JOE: Which shop are you in?
DAN: The pound shop.
JOE: Ah. Of course, all the stuff in there comes from other shops which have gone into liquidation. So when you're shopping there, what you're buying is other people's broken dreams.
If he has a point, I don't see it. And I'm becoming increasingly desperate for coffee
DAN: And?
JOE: And coffee happens to be one broken dream that flies off the shelves pretty quickly.
***
Happily, one broken dream that hadn't flown off the shelf was the DVD of Merlin (1998), with Sam Neill, Miranda Richardson, Helena Bonham Carter, Rutger Hauer et al.
Whenever I see such an impressive cast list, I'm reminded of Island of Fire, a poor Taiwanese film which featured most of the hottest actors of the time, as they owed the producer a favour for getting them out of trouble with the Triads.
After sitting through all three hours of the DVD yestereve, I felt that I'd pretty much got what I'd paid for.
Labels: BUNKA, CLAN, THE CREDIT CRUNCH, WORDS
Sunday, January 01, 2012
It's bad to have a bad uncle
Christmas Eve, and Kianna, my wee little pretty thing of a niece, is explaining to me the pile of presents on the table, bought and gift-wrapped by her mum, my sister
KIANNA: The big one's for you an' the small one's for Uncle Joe...
ME: Just like when Mother Nature was giving out the presents when we were born.
A brief pause
KIANNA: Did you get a big one an' Uncle Joe got a small one?
ME: That's what they say, dearie.
KIANNA: The big one's for you an' the small one's for Uncle Joe...
ME: Just like when Mother Nature was giving out the presents when we were born.
A brief pause
KIANNA: Did you get a big one an' Uncle Joe got a small one?
ME: That's what they say, dearie.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Cause and effect
DAD: Is there a reason why there's a comb in the fridge?
ME: Yes.
A long, uncomfortable pause
DAD: Would you mind letting me know said reason?
ME: I don't actually know what the reason is. I am, however, a firm believer in cause and effect.
DAD: Guh...
ME: Yes.
A long, uncomfortable pause
DAD: Would you mind letting me know said reason?
ME: I don't actually know what the reason is. I am, however, a firm believer in cause and effect.
DAD: Guh...
Friday, September 23, 2011
Beauty is truth
Joe and I were discussing bad science. His particular goat was getting got by the received wisdom that we should all drink two litres of water per day.
"It's different strokes for different folks, isn't it," I mused. "For example, Princess Diana apparently used to cry five litres of water out of her body every single day."
Joe was delighted by this hastily invented fact. I would call it a falsehood, but I can't say for sure that it isn't true.
"It's different strokes for different folks, isn't it," I mused. "For example, Princess Diana apparently used to cry five litres of water out of her body every single day."
Joe was delighted by this hastily invented fact. I would call it a falsehood, but I can't say for sure that it isn't true.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
The affinity of great minds
"I've an idea; just struck me, and you're as welcome to it as if it were your own. P'r'aps that rascal Atkinson has ordered those things, and got them when they were sent home. Rather smart of me to think of that, eh?"
"Very smart," I answered, with great emphasis, while his valet grinned behind a coat. "The affinity of great minds is shown in the fact that the same idea struck me."
The McGovan Casebook: The Wrong Umbrella
William Crawford Honeyman, writing as James McGovan
***
The McGovan books, which first appeared in the 1870s, were supposed at the time to be the memoirs of a real-life Edinburgh detective. In the afterword to my edition of the casebook, Mary Anne Allburger argues the case for Honeyman as an influence on the Sherlock Holmes stories of Arthur Conan Doyle, himself a student in Edinburgh at the time:
The final confirmation may be deduced from Holmes's decision to retire to the South Downs and to keep bees, for thus the violin-playing sleuth becomes a "honey-man".
***
The affinity of great minds was no less in evidence over the Christmas period. My delight at finding as suitable a present for my brother as the anime DVD Sherlock Hound was rather tempered by the fact that he had bought the exact same present for me.
***
It was the end of the evening on Christmas Day and the party was petering out. All the alcohol was gone and both Peters in attendance had in fact retired to the front room to follow the Ashes on the radio. It was unquestionably time to hit the road.
"Let's make like a condom," I announced.
"And split?" asked Katelyn.
"You're very close," I said. "The correct answer is: and piss off."
"Very smart," I answered, with great emphasis, while his valet grinned behind a coat. "The affinity of great minds is shown in the fact that the same idea struck me."
The McGovan Casebook: The Wrong Umbrella
William Crawford Honeyman, writing as James McGovan
***
The McGovan books, which first appeared in the 1870s, were supposed at the time to be the memoirs of a real-life Edinburgh detective. In the afterword to my edition of the casebook, Mary Anne Allburger argues the case for Honeyman as an influence on the Sherlock Holmes stories of Arthur Conan Doyle, himself a student in Edinburgh at the time:
The final confirmation may be deduced from Holmes's decision to retire to the South Downs and to keep bees, for thus the violin-playing sleuth becomes a "honey-man".
***
The affinity of great minds was no less in evidence over the Christmas period. My delight at finding as suitable a present for my brother as the anime DVD Sherlock Hound was rather tempered by the fact that he had bought the exact same present for me.
***
It was the end of the evening on Christmas Day and the party was petering out. All the alcohol was gone and both Peters in attendance had in fact retired to the front room to follow the Ashes on the radio. It was unquestionably time to hit the road.
"Let's make like a condom," I announced.
"And split?" asked Katelyn.
"You're very close," I said. "The correct answer is: and piss off."
Wednesday, December 08, 2010
Sunday evening with the McKeowns
Waiting for dinner, there's some programme about the annual lambing on TV. Lots of cute little lambs. Lots of them.
ME: Pah, knock that one on the head and have him in the pot.
DAD: Don't be vile!
ME: You pussy. (Raises voice) Mu-um! Tell Dad to stop being a pussy!
MUM (from the kitchen): That will do, Daniel!
Pause
ME: You got me in trouble with Mum now. You arsehole.
***
We weren't being rancorous, this passes for levity amongst McKeowns. You should see us at Christmas dinner.
ME: Pah, knock that one on the head and have him in the pot.
DAD: Don't be vile!
ME: You pussy. (Raises voice) Mu-um! Tell Dad to stop being a pussy!
MUM (from the kitchen): That will do, Daniel!
Pause
ME: You got me in trouble with Mum now. You arsehole.
***
We weren't being rancorous, this passes for levity amongst McKeowns. You should see us at Christmas dinner.
Labels: CLAN
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Dad does his wrist
Image from http://www.learntarot.com
Go take a look, you haters
The dad has, he flatly informs me, his hand in a plaster cast, fallen foul of a hairline fracture or similar. Apparently he did it with his bike, although, as he was walking with his bike rather than riding it at the time, I suspect there may have been some alcohol involved as well.
You'll get bugger all sympathy out of me, I tell him over the phone. This is not strictly true. I do sympathise with him. I'm also stoked that, when I bought his Christmas present yesterday, I ignored the little voice in the back of my head that told me to get him a watch.
The dad has never been in plaster before. Nor had I when I received a similar injury in an incident involving football and a perfidious Frenchman with murder in his heart (see archive of March '06 for misty-eyed rememb'rance) but I regard the fracturing of one's wrist as a beginning out of an ending, much like the death card in a tarot pack.
With one-handed nonchalance, I learned to tie my tie, open up my customary large Starbucks coffee, add a solid eight-second pour of sugar and seal the cup again, beat my flatmate at pool, put together my longest-ever losing streak at left-handed janken, play Happy birthday to you on the guitar and many more things besides.
When I single-handedly split apart my chopsticks on the table with a deft rap, the glowing compliment I got from Wes took my mind completely off the splinters of bamboo stuck in my fingers.
I bestrode the earth like a colossus and feared no man living.
Ahem.
I hope the dad will understand how stoical I'm being about what is, after all, his injury. I'm back home this weekend, so I'll take a marker with me and challenge him to get as many phone numbers as he can before the well of sympathy runs dry.
Labels: CLAN, SELF IMPROVEMENT
Monday, November 08, 2010
Outmanoeuvred
ME: What the hell's that?
HE: I don't know.
ME: What do you mean you don't know?
HE: I mean I do know, but I don't want to tell you.
HE: I don't know.
ME: What do you mean you don't know?
HE: I mean I do know, but I don't want to tell you.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
The book ends
Summer is here and with it unpaid leave. I am reduced from days (count) to time (non-count).
An amount of time (or a number of days) ago, the family gathered in darkest Kent to commit the grandad's ashes. A new tree at Sidcup Golf Club has had its roots invigorated by Maurice Langley Court, 24th September 1918 to 29th January 2010.
Of course, the grandad was such a noted hypochondriac that the tree in question is probably going to spend the rest of eternity worrying about dutch elm disease and irritable knotholes.
I had the honour of chauffeuring the urn, which did give me an inkling of a hideously inappropriate gag in which I threw sherbet round the inside of the car, then hopped out covered in powder at the golf club and dramatically announced that Grandad had been no end of trouble.
The things one thinks.
Seeing the dates of my grandfather's life etched on the plaque by the tree was a more solemn moment: birth and death like a pair of bookends. It's when you see something like that written down that you realise it's for good. The old boys from the golf club broke into a chorus of "For he's a jolly good fellow". It was one of those moments I think I'll always remember.
The mum handled it all bravely, announcing at the end that she'll never some back to South London. Devoted son though I am, that did give me one or two creative ideas about where her ashes might go after the hang gliding accident on her 127th birthday.
Best she specifies someone else be in charge of that.
***
There were geese, thanks to the presence of a small lake at the club. I sidled over to this gaggle and bade them a quick 'boo'. They didn't bat an eyelid.
I suppose I just have an enquiring mind.
An amount of time (or a number of days) ago, the family gathered in darkest Kent to commit the grandad's ashes. A new tree at Sidcup Golf Club has had its roots invigorated by Maurice Langley Court, 24th September 1918 to 29th January 2010.
Of course, the grandad was such a noted hypochondriac that the tree in question is probably going to spend the rest of eternity worrying about dutch elm disease and irritable knotholes.
I had the honour of chauffeuring the urn, which did give me an inkling of a hideously inappropriate gag in which I threw sherbet round the inside of the car, then hopped out covered in powder at the golf club and dramatically announced that Grandad had been no end of trouble.
The things one thinks.
Seeing the dates of my grandfather's life etched on the plaque by the tree was a more solemn moment: birth and death like a pair of bookends. It's when you see something like that written down that you realise it's for good. The old boys from the golf club broke into a chorus of "For he's a jolly good fellow". It was one of those moments I think I'll always remember.
The mum handled it all bravely, announcing at the end that she'll never some back to South London. Devoted son though I am, that did give me one or two creative ideas about where her ashes might go after the hang gliding accident on her 127th birthday.
Best she specifies someone else be in charge of that.
***
There were geese, thanks to the presence of a small lake at the club. I sidled over to this gaggle and bade them a quick 'boo'. They didn't bat an eyelid.
I suppose I just have an enquiring mind.
Labels: CLAN
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Joe's birthday treat
I took Joe out for lunch at the Hungry Horse in Northampton
HE: I think I'll have the mixed grill.
ME: You fat fuck.
Pause
ME: Would you like a starter?
HE: I think I'll have the mixed grill.
ME: You fat fuck.
Pause
ME: Would you like a starter?
Labels: CLAN
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Camp Intrepid, Peak District, April 2010
Prize to anyone who can decipher the dad's riposte.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Giving me a bad name
...although I suspect he may feel that I'm giving him a bad name. Hm.
With thanks to fearless correspondent Russ Greaves for unearthing this little gem on tampabay.com (reprinted from the St Petersburg Times).
Man accused of exposing himself to teens in Weeki Wachee
WEEKI WACHEE — A Homosassa man who authorities say exposed himself to two teenagers in a neighborhood north of Weeki Wachee on Sunday evening has been charged with lewd and lascivious acts on a minor.
Daniel P. McKeown, 25, was standing in the road near the 11000 block of Mirage Avenue when he unzipped his jeans, exposed his genitals to the two teenagers and made the same vulgar comment several times, according to an arrest report from the Hernando County Sheriff's Office. Several adults witnessed McKeown's actions, the report said.
McKeown fled from deputies and ran into a vacant home before he was caught, so he was also charged with trespassing. McKeown told deputies he'd drank five beers and did not remember exposing himself, according to the report.
McKeown, of 4385 S Marcan Trail, remained in the Hernando County Jail on a bond of $15,500.
With thanks to fearless correspondent Russ Greaves for unearthing this little gem on tampabay.com (reprinted from the St Petersburg Times).
Man accused of exposing himself to teens in Weeki Wachee
WEEKI WACHEE — A Homosassa man who authorities say exposed himself to two teenagers in a neighborhood north of Weeki Wachee on Sunday evening has been charged with lewd and lascivious acts on a minor.
Daniel P. McKeown, 25, was standing in the road near the 11000 block of Mirage Avenue when he unzipped his jeans, exposed his genitals to the two teenagers and made the same vulgar comment several times, according to an arrest report from the Hernando County Sheriff's Office. Several adults witnessed McKeown's actions, the report said.
McKeown fled from deputies and ran into a vacant home before he was caught, so he was also charged with trespassing. McKeown told deputies he'd drank five beers and did not remember exposing himself, according to the report.
McKeown, of 4385 S Marcan Trail, remained in the Hernando County Jail on a bond of $15,500.
Labels: CLAN, COMRADES, EVIL, NEWS
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Call my bluff
I don't cook for the family that often. When I do, the last thing I like to have is other family members in the kitchen. More specifically, Joe and the dad, who are an insufferable pair of know-it-alls and guaranteed, if allowed to do so, to start bending my ear about what I should be doing.
Yesterday, Joe and the dad came round for casserole. The mum picked both of them up from their respective accommodation and brought them back to 112. Then all three of them immediately gravitated to the kitchen while I was in the latter stages of preparing the feast.
I gnashed my teeth.
"There's quite a lot of people in here, all of a sudden," I said.
The mum took this as her cue and made herself scarce. The other two remained, hovering.
"Yes, you two can bugger off as well," I said, perhaps a little more succinctly.
Out they went. The dad was gone for fully 30 seconds before he came back in on some pretext.
"I will gut you like a fish," I told him, brandishing a wooden spoon to add emphasis to my threat.
"You've never gutted a fish in your life," he scoffed.
"Well then," I said. "You may presume that I shall make a very messy job of it."
Yesterday, Joe and the dad came round for casserole. The mum picked both of them up from their respective accommodation and brought them back to 112. Then all three of them immediately gravitated to the kitchen while I was in the latter stages of preparing the feast.
I gnashed my teeth.
"There's quite a lot of people in here, all of a sudden," I said.
The mum took this as her cue and made herself scarce. The other two remained, hovering.
"Yes, you two can bugger off as well," I said, perhaps a little more succinctly.
Out they went. The dad was gone for fully 30 seconds before he came back in on some pretext.
"I will gut you like a fish," I told him, brandishing a wooden spoon to add emphasis to my threat.
"You've never gutted a fish in your life," he scoffed.
"Well then," I said. "You may presume that I shall make a very messy job of it."
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Fun for all the family
The stakes were high; the game was Articulate.
JOE: Erm... planning ahead...
ME: Arranging?
JOE: No. Like, with a murder.
ME: Premeditating?
JOE: Good job. Right. (Grabs next card). Oh bollocks... what you do just before unloading your junk.
(Dissolves into laughter. Other players are unfamiliar with this particular term for ejaculation, which I myself invented. I make several obscenely biological suggestions. No dice. Our time runs out)
JOE (wiping away tears): Unlucky, Dan - the answer was 'withdrawing'.
JOE: Erm... planning ahead...
ME: Arranging?
JOE: No. Like, with a murder.
ME: Premeditating?
JOE: Good job. Right. (Grabs next card). Oh bollocks... what you do just before unloading your junk.
(Dissolves into laughter. Other players are unfamiliar with this particular term for ejaculation, which I myself invented. I make several obscenely biological suggestions. No dice. Our time runs out)
JOE (wiping away tears): Unlucky, Dan - the answer was 'withdrawing'.
Sunday, December 06, 2009
The elements mixed in me
The mum and I are walking up the road. A bloke coming the other way is talking intently into his phone.
As he passes us, he announces: "Listen, you lay a finger on your mother again and I'll come down there and kick the shit out of you."
My mother bursts into raucous laughter at this. I wish myself invisible.
***
"Indeed, ancient flower," says the dad, apropos of nothing.
Startled, I glance over at where he is sitting, newspaper in hand, pen at the ready. Realisation dawns.
"How many letters?" I ask.
He looks at me, perplexed.
"I'm doing the sudoku."
As he passes us, he announces: "Listen, you lay a finger on your mother again and I'll come down there and kick the shit out of you."
My mother bursts into raucous laughter at this. I wish myself invisible.
***
"Indeed, ancient flower," says the dad, apropos of nothing.
Startled, I glance over at where he is sitting, newspaper in hand, pen at the ready. Realisation dawns.
"How many letters?" I ask.
He looks at me, perplexed.
"I'm doing the sudoku."
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
Words of wisdom: there is no banana bread
Woke up this morning to find, uncharacteristically, a text message from the dad.
Perhaps some words of encouragement ahead of my newswriting mock exam?
Hello dan joe tells me he's had banana bread it's not true don't believe his lies he is a twat. Love to you.
Perhaps not.
Perhaps some words of encouragement ahead of my newswriting mock exam?
Hello dan joe tells me he's had banana bread it's not true don't believe his lies he is a twat. Love to you.
Perhaps not.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Know the lingo
I was showing Kianna, my two-and-a-half-year-old niece, a video of Joe's theatrical performance in Coventry Precinct from last week; a garish and obscure affair which ended with the dad and I baffled as to its true meaning and exchanging words to such effect.
Hearing the voices on the video recording, Kianna's curiosity was piqued.
"Oo's talkin'?" she demanded.
"Me and Grandad," I said, conscious of how weird it feels to call my own dad Grandad.
"Uncle Dan an' Grandad," repeated Kianna solemnly. "An'... me tun-tun." I burst into laughter.
For those not in the know, tun-tun is a West Indies term for vagina. Why Kianna felt the need to bring it up at this moment is anyone's guess.
Hearing the voices on the video recording, Kianna's curiosity was piqued.
"Oo's talkin'?" she demanded.
"Me and Grandad," I said, conscious of how weird it feels to call my own dad Grandad.
"Uncle Dan an' Grandad," repeated Kianna solemnly. "An'... me tun-tun." I burst into laughter.
For those not in the know, tun-tun is a West Indies term for vagina. Why Kianna felt the need to bring it up at this moment is anyone's guess.
Monday, July 27, 2009
lol
Joe is no lover of lol, the ubiquitous acronym of laugh out loud, and is very vocal about it. We are sitting in someone else's living room.
He asks me if I agree that it's annoying. I seek a more moderate line.
"It is annoying," I hazard, "if you happen to know that the person who's typed it does have an irritating laugh."
He asks me if I agree that it's annoying. I seek a more moderate line.
"It is annoying," I hazard, "if you happen to know that the person who's typed it does have an irritating laugh."
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Beware the Ides of July
BRUTUS
Let me see, let me see; is not the leaf turn'd down
Where I left reading? Here it is, I think.
Enter the Ghost of CAESAR
How ill this taper burns! Ha! who comes here?
I think it is the weakness of mine eyes
That shapes this monstrous apparition.
It comes upon me. Art thou any thing?
Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil,
That makest my blood cold and my hair to stare?
Speak to me what thou art.
GHOST
Thy evil spirit, Brutus.
BRUTUS
Why comest thou?
GHOST
To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi.
BRUTUS
Well; then I shall see thee again?
GHOST
Ay, at Philippi.
BRUTUS
Why, I will see thee at Philippi, then.
***
In celebration of the mum's 60th on the 15th, we went off to the RSC Courtyard Theatre in Stratford to see Julius Caesar.
The Courtyard (formerly the Other Place) used to be a small studio-ish place, playing third fiddle to the main theatre and the Swan (all three RSC theatres.) In its new incarnation, the Courtyard looks like a more grandiose version of the Swan.
RSCStewartHemley_530x352.jpg)
The Courtyard
The Swan
See?
(The main theatre, for the record, is currently being renovated. And not before bloody time either.)
***
Julius Caesar brings back painful memories of the production we went to see at Warwick Uni many moons ago: the only people more inept than the actors were the ushers who, midway through the last act, allowed in a group of eight or nine students who, with a 99% empty theatre to choose from, opted to sit directly behind me, Joe and the mum, then sat there chatting, giggling and getting right up my nose.
I turned round and gave the students the best ice grill I could manage in the darkness; once I turned back round, they carried right on. Fizz, went my last nerve. I turned to face them once more.
"Will you lot shut the fuck up?" I said in a stage whisper that must have reached the performers.
The students remained respectfully mute until the curtain call, at which point they filed out very hastily.
Joe was delighted with me.
***
The RSC production was much better than the Warwick Uni Travesty, although Brutus reminded me rather too much of Mark Hamill after he got fat.
In-keeping with the rancorous tradition, I noticed Julius Caesar giving someone on the balcony the ice grill after they took a flash photograph during the curtain call.
I also noticed him mouth the word twat.
Let me see, let me see; is not the leaf turn'd down
Where I left reading? Here it is, I think.
Enter the Ghost of CAESAR
How ill this taper burns! Ha! who comes here?
I think it is the weakness of mine eyes
That shapes this monstrous apparition.
It comes upon me. Art thou any thing?
Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil,
That makest my blood cold and my hair to stare?
Speak to me what thou art.
GHOST
Thy evil spirit, Brutus.
BRUTUS
Why comest thou?
GHOST
To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi.
BRUTUS
Well; then I shall see thee again?
GHOST
Ay, at Philippi.
BRUTUS
Why, I will see thee at Philippi, then.
***
In celebration of the mum's 60th on the 15th, we went off to the RSC Courtyard Theatre in Stratford to see Julius Caesar.
The Courtyard (formerly the Other Place) used to be a small studio-ish place, playing third fiddle to the main theatre and the Swan (all three RSC theatres.) In its new incarnation, the Courtyard looks like a more grandiose version of the Swan.
The Courtyard
The Swan
See?
(The main theatre, for the record, is currently being renovated. And not before bloody time either.)
***
Julius Caesar brings back painful memories of the production we went to see at Warwick Uni many moons ago: the only people more inept than the actors were the ushers who, midway through the last act, allowed in a group of eight or nine students who, with a 99% empty theatre to choose from, opted to sit directly behind me, Joe and the mum, then sat there chatting, giggling and getting right up my nose.
I turned round and gave the students the best ice grill I could manage in the darkness; once I turned back round, they carried right on. Fizz, went my last nerve. I turned to face them once more.
"Will you lot shut the fuck up?" I said in a stage whisper that must have reached the performers.
The students remained respectfully mute until the curtain call, at which point they filed out very hastily.
Joe was delighted with me.
***
The RSC production was much better than the Warwick Uni Travesty, although Brutus reminded me rather too much of Mark Hamill after he got fat.
In-keeping with the rancorous tradition, I noticed Julius Caesar giving someone on the balcony the ice grill after they took a flash photograph during the curtain call.
I also noticed him mouth the word twat.
Saturday, July 04, 2009
The tiger who came to tea
With the nieces visiting, we all went out to the theatre to watch The tiger who came to tea, the charming socialist parable of a hard-working couple and their one permitted daughter, who have all of their resources consumed by the large striped feline of capitalism.
Sadly, it turned out we were watching the acceptable, non-Chinese version, although the long-awaited emergence of the tiger onto stage proved too much for one or two of the audience.
"T-tiger! I-it's a tiger!" gibbered one terrified child as he was carried by his father towards the exit.
Uncharitable though it was to laugh at this unfortunate, we laughed all the same.
Sadly, it turned out we were watching the acceptable, non-Chinese version, although the long-awaited emergence of the tiger onto stage proved too much for one or two of the audience.
"T-tiger! I-it's a tiger!" gibbered one terrified child as he was carried by his father towards the exit.
Uncharitable though it was to laugh at this unfortunate, we laughed all the same.
