Captain Coventry and his Marvellous Monocle

I say, I entered a text message answer this morning on the radio. The idea was to send a snippet of wisdom. I heard the DJ saying ‘Captain Coventry, whoever he is…’ Cheeky blighter, and then, a female in the background squawking about not knowing how one would make a pass at oneself. 

What?? Is she inhuman or simply unattractive? Myself, being a mighty good looking sort, I simply cannot resist myself when I catch a glimpse. Afore I know it my hands are roaming and my feet are tingling. 

A toe curling top of the morn to you too. 

I saw a young woman outside Starbucks today. Beehive hairdo and tats on her feet. You could see them clearly as was wearing flip flops. Lovely.

Scurrying along like an Autumnal squirrel, she was, on its way to build its hoard. Carrier bags a many flapping in the wind. Gosh she was in a hurry, gosh she was quick. Wish I could speed walk with weighted Wilko bags and look that fab. 

Oh wasn’t it cold today, a tot of rum with brunch helped warm my veins. 

A very tall gentleman, looked like his name was Dave, no, Darren.

Walking towards the Godiva statue. 

I say walking. I mean shifting from side to side whilst carefully managing to edge one betrainered foot in front of the other.

Slow but sure. Very cool, very popster with a small dram of funster.

That old expression ‘cool man’ sprang to mind.

However, in ‘sitting in the study within a cloud of wafting pipe smoke’ retrospection I can now accept that the young man had most probable cacked himself.

Sublime, marvellous, oh what a grand day.

Standing admiring a retail window display stood a lady dressed in the finest of fashion, a superb sight for sore eyes. 

White Cheesecloth blouse billowing in the light summer breeze, stunning.

Long flowing lilac summery skirt, beautiful.

High Hessian wedged sandals with mauve and mustard floral design straps, gorgeous. 

Someone exited the shop, they called to the lady who had caught my eye.

Heavens above. Did my eyes then deceive me? Is my vision now forever stained by the gait of of the very same lady who made my heart go ‘blip’? 

The darling lady walked away from the shop like an old friend of mine from the days of disco: Steve the saddle sore trucker. 

Too high my love, too high.

Ladies..please, for the love of a slow Sunday afternoon drive, get to know your height restrictions.

Near Cash Converters.

Scraped back black hair and three giant suet puddings stuffed inside her shirt. Talking like a Landana she woz.

Charming chatter oozing, marvellous, blooming marvellous.