Author Topic: I’m bored so should I adopt an African child to pass the time?  (Read 3859 times)

Being down with the kids I think is incredibly important and as all the celebrities seen to think the new big thing is adopting a poor African child. Personally I don’t like children but heh as theirs nought worth downloading at the moment and it may get me mentioned by the gossip rags should I take the plunge after all what’s the worse that can happen?

Aubrey Barkus

  • Moderator
  • *****
Re: I’m bored so should I adopt an African child to pass the time?
« Reply #1 on: October 26, 2006, 06:55:52 PM »
Quote from: "rjd2"
Being down with the kids I think is incredibly important and as all the celebrities seen to think the new big thing is adopting a poor African child. Personally I don’t like children but heh as theirs nought worth downloading at the moment and it may get me mentioned by the gossip rags should I take the plunge after all what’s the worse that can happen?


Boredom can lead a man into unwise territory.  A few years ago I suffered a period of startling boredom.  No-one had phoned, no one had written, my only conversations for weeks had been with shop people.  Mr Patel at the newsagent had refused to play "I Spy" any more, as had the previously nice lady at the meat counter in Richmond Waitrose ("Something beginning with H" "Ham?" "Correct.")  
I had tucked my goolies etc between my legs and walked around in front of the mirror like a lady.  I had put my clothes into alphabetical order "Coats, Hats, Jackets, Pants, Shirts, Socks, Trousers" and so on.  I had made an exhibition entitled "Things I've found on the pavement fifty feet either side of my flat" and tried to interest myself in it after getting drunk in the hope of forgetting it was me who had made it.  I had tried to learn foreign languages just from the lists of ingredients on the side of various food stuffs in my cupboard.  I had  repeatedly said "pamplemousse" (French for grapefruit) to myself from the end of "Fifteen to One" until after well after sunset.

None of it seemed to do the trick, which I think is why I ended up in Richmond Park, kidnapping a swan.
This was a bad idea.
Getting it into the carpet bag wasn't so bad.  It was when I got it home I realised my mistake.  They're wafty fuckers, swans, when they get going.    Particularly in a small flat.  I wrapped a hat round my hand, punched through a window and fled to the Roebuck until chucking out time.  When I got home it had gone.  A few feathers on the edges of the broken panes the only sign it had ever been there.  Finally I slept the sleep of the just that night.
For you I suggest it could be even worse.  

African children cannot fly.

Tags: