He was a big bastard called Norman who ate with his hands. Could have been court jester at the court of Alphonse IX if he played his cards right. No such luck. But his blood was medieval, plowman's blood, and it flowed through his leper colony of a heart like bubbling bubonic brine.
I hated him. They said his brother was Norwegian, but I could smell the Balinese all over him. It stank in his hair like an imported tropical gel. Very greasy, very, very slippery. "No, not today, thank you," I told him. "We don't accept Balinesian coinage in this establishment. Not from the likes of you at any rate."
He tried to sell me a sledgehammer with a bit of the handle missing. No takers. It was solid oak, though, you could feel the quality, feel the width.
"I've got to get a bus to Omaha." he said.
So I slammed the fucking door in his face.
I heard later he took part in human pyramid scheme somewhere out in the desert. He was on the bottom as usual and didn't get a drink for fifteen days. That's his skeleton hanging up in the corner. We went round the medical college with it but couldn't give it away: too bleached, they told us, been out in the sun too long.
I have posted this example of autobiography here because it has been deleted from the "About" section of this weblog and replaced it with a personal description that more accurately conveys my current mode of being. Please refer to the "About" link that appears beneath my author photo and email link to access this latest word portrait of my personality and achievements. Thank you
I never once figured you for a Geordie. And now I am stuck with the image of 'A Connecticut Yankee' turned on its head, but unable to formulate a suitable inversion of the title?
But what type of Geordie might he be, I wonder? Would he be the grasping cold-hearted Jack Ford, of When The Boat Comes In? Or perhaps a lovable rogue, an Oz, from Auf Wiedersehen, Pet?
I think, given his avowed delight in the novels of Anthony Powell, Mr Esque is likely of the former character?
Posted by: Fcb | June 30, 2005 at 11:02
I am none of these things (neither do I eat with my hands).
I just liked the topographical description. Suited my mood.
Posted by: stephenesque | June 30, 2005 at 11:53
And Wessex was supplanted by Westminster, which in turn was harried by the Danes (always with the harrying; a guy can't get a moment's rest around [t]here), the crown ultimately falling to the Danish Viking Canute.
We always referred to our youngest son as 'Knut' when he was in the womb. Because of the connection to Canute, it was tempting to make this his name. Neither the wife nor I would be caught dead in a FCUK tee-shirt, though, and we were not about to label our son a 'Knut'.
The new bio certainly adds a personal touch. Though it seems odd...nay, wrong...to leave the Metro Centre out of the mix.
Posted by: Robert Bruce | June 30, 2005 at 18:02
"Periods of Danish rule followed."
Could there ever be a more poignant sentence?
Posted by: Quicquid | July 01, 2005 at 09:28