Small stories of May

1st May 2012

The Harlem New York City apartment block mystery with subtitles in English.

I have rented this apartment (flat) from a guy (bloke) called Charlie who owns several apartments (flats) in this building.

Charlie is never seen or heard and all business is done with Edwin, a rather hunky Latino ( sort of Spanish) man who lives in the basement ( cellar)

My spies report that Edwin’s apartment (flat) consists of a bed and nothing else..

Sometimes he can’t be contacted and I then deal with arriving guests until he shows up (arrives). Often he appears from upstairs rather than downstairs although that isn’t where he lives.

This evening while I was in the basement (cellar) using the washing machine ( washing machine) another man who was neither Edwin nor Charlie parked outside, let himself into the building, let himself into Edwin’s apartment (flat) CAME OUT WITH A BIN BAG and then left…

What goes on I have no idea.

1st May 2013

I am channelling Bob Dylan for a new vicarage anthem. It’s called “Where have all the tea towels gone?”

2nd May 2015

I’ve become quite fond of the royal ‘superfans’. They seem to have an endless supply of comedy hats, flags and silly grins. Not a cynical bone between them.
I suspect they must smell a bit by now as well.
I will miss them, the daft buggers…

1st May 2019

So this week I am inserting phrases from Line of Duty into conversations, rather startling the ticket inspector on Virgin Trains. I don’t think he knows what “sucking diesel” means. I’m not sure I do either. Also, pretending I have a ‘burner phone’. It’s actually my private practice mobile on a six quid a month contract but I’m only interested in bent coppers.

2nd May 2019

Writing an essay; and at the stage where I rather feel that several authors can stick something up their ‘intersubjective space’.

2nd May 2020

Have just had an entertaining morning setting up my dissertation notes and books in the garden sunshine , working for ten minutes, and then having to move inside due to the temperature suddenly dropping down to “Siberia has no pants on” .
At which point the sun reappears, doing a passable impression of Doris Day, surrounded by little muppets in sombreros.

6th May 2021

Was reading an article about great Welsh phrases and came across the much missed ‘Ach-y-fi’ which I recall roughly translates as ‘Eeeeew that’s disgusting’’ . I’ve started muttering it to myself again after a 25 year absence and it’s better than anything. A beautiful old friend of an ephithet.