| Wednesday, December 19, 2001 |
 | Look at me. Look at us. Look around. I'm awed. I'm struggling not to hug the people around me, to press my cold hands on their cheeks and swivel their head upwards, to force their eyes open. Look!
I remember Matt being enormously excited by this post when he arrived at the pub last week. He's communicated that excitement beautifully at the Upsideclown. And I get to be mean uncle Dan again.
Let me tell you about hate...
Meanwhile, Victor is one mean melonballer.
Schhhlopp! Close combat now, Paul's demise. Jan is riding around on his shoulders, yanking his head back to expose his face. Brandishing a melon baller she endeavours to insert it into the right eye socket, her golden ringlets hanging down in front of her victim. The weapon finds purchase under the lower eyelid; Paul tries desperately to throw Jan off, to lower his head out of harm's way, but she is already in - twisting, levering, gouging. I expect it to pop out, roll along the floor. It doesn't. It is suspended, attached by nerves, string, elastic. In a Looney Tunes moment Paul endeavours to push it back in.
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