You may remember some of my stories, "round lionel richies house" and "round jean claude van dammes house". well, i've decided to illustrate them and use them as my entry for the portrait anthology, plus two new ones, with winston churchill and rod stewart. i decided not to use this one because i cant think of a decent picture to illustrate it, but here it is, for your reading pleasure (or whatever).
Round Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s House (Barbecue)
I’ve met him a few times before and we got on ok, but I’m only here because my mate goes out with his sister. He doesn’t seem to have that much meat in relation to the number of people that are here, and even though I didn’t bring any, I have a burger. I feel a bit guilty, but we did bring 24 bottles of lager.
He’s hired some of those padded Sumo suits for entertainment, but I don’t want a go- I don’t like that sort of thing. I am coerced into it however, thoroughly beaten over three rounds and I return to my seat with less dignity than I had before. To my horror I discover that my glasses, which I had placed carefully on the picnic table to avoid damaging them, are gone. I see very poorly without glasses and had to cause a commotion to get people to help me find them. A few minutes of searching turns them up trampled into the mud by the conservatory, scratched and crushed. I am obviously chagrined by this, not least because my special efforts to protect my glasses have been undone by something, or someone, unknown.
I rinse them off, but the damage is total and comprehensive. Sir Arthur comes up to me and admits he knocked them off the table, but he doesn’t seem that bothered. He says it was an accident. I tell him I don’t think that that is much of an apology and I call a taxi (I cant walk home).
I reject the taxi driver's attempt at light conversation, and try to console myself with the knowledge that I’ve got a spare pair at home (the'yre old and look a bit stupid though).
