Monday, July 24, 2006


BUFFALO: So how was the birthday BBQ, dude?

BIRD: Exhausting, Buff. Shopping, shopping, shopping, then cleaning, cleaning, cleaning. Gotta have the house tidy. Gotta have the patio tidy. Gotta have the goddamn bathroom tidy. And then kickoff time came, everyone turned up, we opened the booze and we were away.

BUFFALO: Did ya open that Crimean pink champagne?

BIRD: 'Fraid so. Like drinking Ribena with excess bubbles. Still, the wine was good and the beer was great and the food was even better. And then it rained.

BUFFALO: No way.

BIRD: Just as we got the chicken and sausages ready. Happens every year. I wanted to stay outside but the missus overruled me. And then the bloody sun came out and we shifted everything outside again. Well, I was just about to put me head on the barbie when the Stylo Twins turned up.

BUFFALO: Wow. Great coup.

BIRD: They started playing with matches and stuff then asked me if I'd take off my shorts.

BUFFALO: Jesus. What is it about hairdressing that makes people behave like that?

BIRD: It's all that fiddling with follicles, I guess.

BUFFALO: Wot did yer missus make of that?

BIRD: She thought it was funny. And then they wanted to see me chest.

BUFFALO: Sounds a bit seedy already!

BIRD: OK, so my suntan stops at my neck line but it ain't THAT funny.

BUFFALO: But yer legs are. As white as mah granny's sheet and as nobbly as the Road to Kiliminjaro.

BIRD: Hey, but the frogs came out at about eleven.


BIRD: One small, one medium size. Sat on the patio rubbing their legs and croaking.

BUFFALO: And then you stood on the table and made a tit of yourself.

BIRD: Not this year, Buff. It was chill-out mellow. And now me tummy hurts like it's been trodden on by a herd of Sumo wrestlers. Oh, shite... Gotta go, dude. Boudoir emergency.

BUFFALO: Film at eleven.

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