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Wednesday, 10 October 2018

Nativity of Kirsty MacColl (1959)

I just woke up. And realised that as we have passed the last day of summer, and it's nearly Halloween, it's time to say thank you for the days when we had someone with an angel-like voice. Hard to believe it's been 18 years. Maybe it's imaginary.

But the clock goes round. We thought we'd maybe plant a fabulous garden in her memory. But when Terry the gardener gave us that quote I said don't come the cowboy with me, Sunny Jim. I've still got the bill from that Foret de Mimosas you said you'd finish. You just haven't earned it yet, baby.

Bloody nightmare, that Terry. Every time he's meant to be working for me, he's lying down on the beach. You call him and say when will the job be finished and he tells you the next day, but tomorrow never comes. And then, when he's been a big boy on a Saturday night, sure enough here comes that man again, hoping to make a few quid. But come 3 o'clock he's knocking off and I'm telling him, don't go home. And all I ever wanted was the work done. Am I right?

Later on, some may say it's the end of a perfect day. But if they, in their innocence, suggest it's time for the annual Mambo de la Luna in Kirsty 's memory, I'll have to say, I don't think so. In these shoes?


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2 comments:

  1. That's the problem with casual labour, they all work like Jeremy Corbyn, grudgingly and wishing that they had all the money the Tories have, while living in a council flat.

    At least your gardener turns up sometimes. We've been trying to get our garden land scaped for the past five years and have been told that Capability Brown is fully booked, redesigning heaven.

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  2. The Elysian Fields have been dug up for a lake, I hear.

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