This morning there was a commotion from the firepit of the family abode. Disaster! The matriarch of the tribe had discovered we were out of milk and thus would be unable to imbibe her ceremonial morning coffee. Thus the tribe's senior hunter was dispatched with all speed to retrieve more before the youngest tribesmen had finished his breakfast. Donning my 'Jesus Adidas' I departed for the hunting grounds...
Within 5 minutes I had spotted a herd of 'full fat blue tops' sheltering together for protection in the refrigerator section of the local convenience store. The gods of the hunt favoured me. With but a single swipe of my trusty visa card I downed the youngest 'four pint buck' and I could see. Holding its conquered form high above my head and screaming in triumph I departed the lands of 7/11 and headed for home.
Upon entering our territory the winds of fate blew unfavourably and as I was running my trusty hunting equipment betrayed me. The strap on left flipflop broke and as I was compensating the right one broke. As I tried to save the milk I did sort of a backward somersault into a bush. At this point a 'less than masculine' warcry may have escaped our hunters lips.
As I was extracting my bruised form from the perfidious piece of shrubbery I was greeted by the sight of my elderly neighbour and her granddaughter pissing themselves with laughter.When they could speak they informed me I looked just like that British actor to which I inquired:"You mean Hugh Grant or Jude Law?" 'No, Mr. Bean...you are hilarious...are you OK?' Leaving the still hysterical women and their small dog I limped unsteadily back to the cave with my prize.
Did our brave hunter battered bruised but ultimately triumphant receive much deserved praise from the tribe's matriarch? Alas, he did not for he was informed seconds after laying his fresh kill at her feet that he had 'bought the wrong one...', 'should have checked' and - worst of all - had the temerity to 'get blood on the sofa...' If I wasn't too old for the French Foreign Legion... I swear to God.
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Editorial note: Originally posted as a string on Threads by Phillip Bristow Hilton,
"a Brit abroad who got lost, hasn't found his way home yet and probably never will", according to his own words, now here for your reading pleasure. (Please bookmark and use this
page as you will, Phillip.)
By Phillip Bristow Hilton (h11t0n), for Pages from the Hilton.
See Phillip Bristow Hilton on Threads following THIS LINK!
