In last week’s blog I promised you this week’s entry would be shorter. I’m not one to go back on my word. Absolutely not. As if. I said it would be much shorter and short it shall be.
Mid-late ‘60s. Jersey, Channel Islands. Guess which one is me! Not the pretty one in the bikini that’s for sure. That happens to be my brother. Picture taken by Dad, professional photographer, ex-ice hockey player, yachtsman, skier, playboy. By the time this photo was taken all that rollicking was way in the past and nothing but a cold memory. Particularly the ice hockey except for one permanent reminder. My father’s shins had faint but permanent bruises on them until the day he passed away. Nice thing to remember about your dear departed dad. His psychedelic shins.
Yes, still here. Can’t get rid of me that easily.
Actually, to be honest, I’m sitting here nursing a hangover and before you start tut-tutting it’s not like that. I braved the elements this morning wrapped up in white oversized jumpers and doing a fine impersonation of a Michelin Man in the process, for two reasons. One, to flog my jewellery and two, to meet an old and dear friend I haven’t seen in ages also called Bach. I’m Bach by birth. I only added the “Holzer” on getting married as I steadfastly refused to relinquish my Bach. Since my divorce in 2001 I’ve been seriously reconsidering in reverting back to my maiden name. Indeed, some things I don’t do in a hurry.
Where does the hangover fit in?
Being sociable, as that’s what one has to be when mixing with friends, apparently, we met in a café where we, Bachy, my ex and I, caught up over a hot chocolate, a farty latte with bells on and an espresso. The latter being mine and on reflection not the wisest of choices. Two espressos later I was jumping out of my own skin. My fault entirely as I should only drink decaffeinated but I told myself it’s not every day I do this; be sociable and try to flog my jewellery.
What jewellery? If I may, I’ll divulge next time. But before I say ta-ta I have a question which has nothing at all to do with young boys impersonating young girls (he won first prize in the fancy dress contest), purple-coloured legs or desperately trying to think of something to talk about whilst trying valiantly to disguise that fact. Question: What do Britney Spears, The Queen Mother, and I have in common? Can you guess? Got it yet? No? Shall I tell you? Nothing! Absolutely nothing. But talking of The Queen Mum, if you haven’t seen “The King’s Speech” starring Colin Firth, Geoffrey Rush and Helena Bonham Carter, and you’re stuck for something to do, rent it, you won’t be disappointed.
Signing off, best to you,