one mid summer morning.
On a mission I went to London;
to find the one thing any self-respecting
volunteer wants more than anything...
a lanyard.
A lanyard?
They're like hens teeth where I volunteer.
Elizabeth Bott-like I want my own.
I'm not happy to share the three that are available
to hire by the working day.
'I'll buy one?'
I suggested.
'Sorry, they are not available to buy
and they're hard to get!'
'What?'
Kicking myself for having lost the Radio 3
lanyard I owned, I thought
Sod yer, I'll feeking find my own!
Strop in every step, I pounded the pavements;
there is nothing I like more than a mission!
That was how I came to splat on the pavement
in Rupert Street.
Knights in shining armour raced to the rescue
of the walrus, flat on her face.
Imagine how I felt, cartoon-like, arms and legs
akimbo, being peeled off the tarmac in Soho.
Worse than that at just after mid-day, I wouldn't
mind, but I hadn't even had a drink.
Dusting down my dignity, I thanked them and wandered
off in a daze.
For the life of me I don't know why I do it, but whenever I go
to London, I walk, hard and fast. Why? God knows.
I even have a travel card in my pocket, so no penny-pinching excuse there.
Retiring, no, not to a pub. I survey the damage.
Apart from a grazed knee and elbow, for a big 'girl' falling, I'm in surprisingly
good shape. Shaken but not stirred, my mission continues.
The Cloth House, where I was heading when I fell, drew a blank.
Museums, art galleries, that's the sort of establishment that will sell them
I naively thought.
I went to the V & A shop... No.
A quick nip around the Fashion Exhibition, my heart wasn't in it,
as can you believe, not one outfit sported a lanyard?
What tat the V & A shop now sell; it used to be tat of a better quality.
The Portrait Gallery.
The National Gallery.
Sidling up to a chap, by now knowing I'm after black-market
merchandise, out of the corner of my mouth I hiss
'Do you by any chance sell those lanyards?'
'Fraid not!'
My crest had never looked so fallen.
He took pity and said
'Wait there, I'll see if we have any old ones knocking about!'
Excitement mounting, I vainly tried to look interested in the items on sale.
'Pop this in your bag!'
Into my hand he placed a beautiful new lanyard.
How I stopped myself from planting a whiskery kiss on his
face I'll never know.
Breathlessly...
'I'll pay you!'
'Just put a contribution in the box!'
I happily fed coins into the box like a gambler feeding her habit.
I was happy, mission accomplished.
Wounded, but content, I retired to have a pre-theatre
dinner. A glass of champagne, I felt by now, was in order.
I mustn't allow my membership of the Champagne Socialist Party
to lapse, through lack of regular payments.
In to see the Passion Play, no, not that one,
I'd have a blooming long wait!
Sitting in the audience waiting for the play to start,
I felt like an extra in a
Jean Michel Jarre extravaganza.
Folk checking their emails, texting,
tweeting to tell all of their whereabouts?
Home, tired but stiff and very, very
happy.
☺☺☺☺☺
On a mission I went to London;
to find the one thing any self-respecting
volunteer wants more than anything...
a lanyard.
A lanyard?
They're like hens teeth where I volunteer.
Elizabeth Bott-like I want my own.
I'm not happy to share the three that are available
to hire by the working day.
'I'll buy one?'
I suggested.
'Sorry, they are not available to buy
and they're hard to get!'
'What?'
Kicking myself for having lost the Radio 3
lanyard I owned, I thought
Sod yer, I'll feeking find my own!
Strop in every step, I pounded the pavements;
there is nothing I like more than a mission!
That was how I came to splat on the pavement
in Rupert Street.
Knights in shining armour raced to the rescue
of the walrus, flat on her face.
Imagine how I felt, cartoon-like, arms and legs
akimbo, being peeled off the tarmac in Soho.
Worse than that at just after mid-day, I wouldn't
mind, but I hadn't even had a drink.
Dusting down my dignity, I thanked them and wandered
off in a daze.
For the life of me I don't know why I do it, but whenever I go
to London, I walk, hard and fast. Why? God knows.
I even have a travel card in my pocket, so no penny-pinching excuse there.
Retiring, no, not to a pub. I survey the damage.
Apart from a grazed knee and elbow, for a big 'girl' falling, I'm in surprisingly
good shape. Shaken but not stirred, my mission continues.
The Cloth House, where I was heading when I fell, drew a blank.
Museums, art galleries, that's the sort of establishment that will sell them
I naively thought.
I went to the V & A shop... No.
A quick nip around the Fashion Exhibition, my heart wasn't in it,
as can you believe, not one outfit sported a lanyard?
What tat the V & A shop now sell; it used to be tat of a better quality.
The Portrait Gallery.
The National Gallery.
Sidling up to a chap, by now knowing I'm after black-market
merchandise, out of the corner of my mouth I hiss
'Do you by any chance sell those lanyards?'
'Fraid not!'
My crest had never looked so fallen.
He took pity and said
'Wait there, I'll see if we have any old ones knocking about!'
Excitement mounting, I vainly tried to look interested in the items on sale.
'Pop this in your bag!'
Into my hand he placed a beautiful new lanyard.
How I stopped myself from planting a whiskery kiss on his
face I'll never know.
Breathlessly...
'I'll pay you!'
'Just put a contribution in the box!'
I happily fed coins into the box like a gambler feeding her habit.
I was happy, mission accomplished.
Wounded, but content, I retired to have a pre-theatre
dinner. A glass of champagne, I felt by now, was in order.
I mustn't allow my membership of the Champagne Socialist Party
to lapse, through lack of regular payments.
In to see the Passion Play, no, not that one,
I'd have a blooming long wait!
Sitting in the audience waiting for the play to start,
I felt like an extra in a
Jean Michel Jarre extravaganza.
Folk checking their emails, texting,
tweeting to tell all of their whereabouts?
Home, tired but stiff and very, very
happy.
☺☺☺☺☺
I also had an accident today - a desk lid fell on my nose! Glad you ultimately had a good day.
ReplyDeleteWhat... were you being a naughty girl hiding behind the desk lid? Out of the eyes of teacher, who couldn't see what badness you were up to Nilly? Been there, done that!
ReplyDeleteA lovely day, although, feeling the effects of the fall more today though. At least with all my padding I seem to bounce well. A plus to being chubby? Never!
LLX
Well done on attaining your metaphorical and elusive "golden fleece" but the seemingly unobtainable item might have been purchased from Lanyard and Condom (by appointment to HRH The Duchess of York) of High Holborn. Failing that - what about Staples? And I don't wish to imply that you could have stapled your identity to your person in the continuing absence of a lanyard!
ReplyDeleteThe funny thing was, on my return home I looked them up on ebay, and there are hundreds of the darn things. The acquiring of my particular golden fleece, bubbled up from the very core of my being. Some might say, my desire took on mythical proportions.
ReplyDeleteStaples, how very common, Fergie would never have sent me there. By the by, she's not HRH anymore, she was stripped of it during my employ.
Are you back in Britain yet, or perhaps in some internet café waiting to fly?
LLX
Stripped? Fergie? Don't you mean striped? Yes - back in Blighty. Have The Hun finished bombing us yet?
DeleteWell all I have got to say is we ladies of a certain age are very easily pleased. Another hilarious post Linda hope you are not too sore. jx
ReplyDeleteJayne, I'm still a tad stiff today (Sunday). Ted was waiting at the station, full of concern. If it had been him, I'd have said 'Can't you watch where you're going!' What a cat!
DeleteLLX