September 1st, 2002


"Personal Assistant", a gothic vignette.

Well, I thought she'd be cross.
I thought she'd shout, maybe swear a bit.
I thought perhaps she'd call me names.

But I didn't anticipate the look of horror on her face when she first realised what was about to happen to her -- that was priceless.
The little helpless yelps, "no, no, ..." as I reached into my bag -- they were priceless too.
And yes, she was cross. A bit. She didn't shout or swear, though.
And the worse name she called me was "evil man". Repeatedly, I seem to recall.
But when she finally submitted, when she finally allowed me to give her what we both knew she'd wanted all along, she had tears in her eyes.
Those tears, they didn't fall -- no, she's very good at that, she held them back -- but I had seen them, I knew that they were there.
Those tears, my little victory, they were the most priceless things of all.

Now, can we both claim "passed one, failed one"?
On paper, yes. I think we both did better than that.

Barbecue poem published for Ang.

Following a special request from ang_grrr, I'm posting my poem "Gloria's Barbecue".
It's all because Ang wants to grill Tara Palmer-Tomkinson. The full conversation is here.

Filk? Don't be stupid, of course it's a filk. The original was a Basque carol. Unusually, not a Christmas carol but an Annunciation carol.
I don't have the original Basque text to hand, but the English translation reads as follows:

Gabriel's Message

The Angel Gabriel from heaven came,
His wings as drifted snow, his eyes as flame.
"All Hail" said he, "thou lowly maiden Mary,
Most highly favoured lady,

Collapse )
  • Current Mood
    creative creative