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| The Two Johns |
Johno’s Fifth Column #1
Just a note to say I shan’t be home for tea, got some govt. do on. The day job, you know. Dreadful business this earning a living. But bread & butter must be realised.
So, feed the cat, eh, and iron my best socks? Just kidding. But did you know lots of fellers here at the top don’t wear ’em no more! Frightful habit this bare feet in brogues, could be a Fenian thing that’s caught on. I suspect accounts for half the odd smells you get under these summit tables.
The GF, Whatshername, says we’re bringing the tiddler – got a name, too, I suppose – though which exactly I’d be pushed to say. You know me, always get it in the end. But fuss not if I have to slope off early. And there might be a helicopter, so better not leave the washing out. There, I don’t forget everything, do I? But I think I lost another bicycle chain down the back of the sofa.
Johno’s Fifth Column #2
The GF found another tiddler! Can’t say I’m too surprised, we did get rather wrecked that night. They say expensive wine doesn’t give much of a headache but think of the school fees.
Trouble with the world today is it’s all politics. I’m giving it up. Quitting has never been my forte but I believe I’m going to put my foot down on this one. The German ambassador tried to sell us a fake Picasso. I said, that’s looted art. But he insisted it was a genuine forgery and would go perfectly in the hall opposite the photo of us on donkeys at Lampedusa. I said we’ve never even been there. Phooey!
So from now on I’m not voting. It’s never really agreed with me anyway, despite my love for all things Greek. Or else we should go back to scratching names on pottery sherds. That’s much more civilised and a good use for broken plates, as I said to the GF. Now that was a mistake. I’m not saying she’s clumsy, far from it.
Johno’s Fifth Column #3
The GF has named the day. Waiting till the servants all had their jabs, lots of foreign chappies, see. Well I said you’re the one who’s taking the chance, I ain’t got much to give still forking out on the old predecessors. But she’s a spunky gal Whatshername, as I think I’ve said before. It’s all becoming a bit of a blore, life passing in front of your eyes, I wonder if Winston saw it that way. He did have his Connie, though, steak & kidney pudding steamed in a bowl. Lovely grub, but I prefer little rhubarb tarts swimming in crème brulée. Pay for themselves in the long run.
I’m signing off, sorry Love, if you thought this would go on indef. I’ve kept some columns on for donkeys’ ears I know but the money’s only chicken feed even if it’s regular. Three book deals are lining up and then there’s Reality TV which pays you by the episode. Just need a smidgeon more celebrity. I made a big mistake giving up my US citizenship, big job going over there when old Jed is dead. Figuratively speaking. Tootle pip and all that jiz. Invite’s in the post.
Johno’s Fifth Column #4
Well I never. Talk about shotguns at dawn. You gorra believe me. Honest to God. I will go to the foot of our stairs, and don’t spare the Stannah, James. I thought I’d seen it all. Now I’ve really had my blooming lot. Aghast and bleary, the festival season in glorious bacchanalia, malgré tout!
The official wedding’s still on, by the bye. The do next summer will be a full, no-holds barred registry office affair with duelling bridesmaids, hoarse guards of honour, forty-nine gun salute and Whatshername will be given away by the Queen’s brother. If we can get the paperwork sorted, Cummings’ beheading will be celebrated the night before, and the highlight of the reception will be Public Image going fifteen rounds with UB40. The White House is booked for the old honeymoon. Branston is lending Jed and his family an island or two while we’re in residence. Osborne (I don’t mean Sir Oswald) is picking up the tab, so there should be no fuss about that. Not that I’m thinking of bringing him back into power, but it lends a sense of continuity. Both Cameron and May have offered to cover while we’re away and I don’t see why not. Breakfast TV and all that jiz.
Looks like the column is still on too. Mark my words, I can’t believe a word I say.
Johno’s Fifth Column #5
I shall be home for tea. Scones, please, with all the trimmings (rhubarb jam). Bagged another tiddler by the seaside. Funny little things, I never could get used to their slimy little ways. You couldn’t do the honours, could you? Got a bit of a bone in me leg.
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