Down at heel
Grandad May 10th, 2008
I went into town yesterday.
Town has always been a haven for Skobies, and I was shocked to find that they were in a minority. The place has been overrun with foreigners. I was relieved though to see that the foreigners are learning fast.
All the foreign girls are getting pregnant as fast as they can, and are pushing prams around to get into practice. They are getting very adept at the knack of pushing a pram while lighting a cigarette and talking loudly into their mobile phones all at the same time.
All the foreign lads are learning the tricks of hanging around the betting shops and throwing empty lager cans at their passing women.
In no time at all, Skobieville will be back to normal, but with different languages.
One of the reasons I went into town was to buy a pair of shoes, as the soles had fallen off my old ones.
I’m fussy about shoes. I couldn’t give a damn what they look like as long as they are comfortable and hard wearing. I went through quite a selection before finding a lovely pair. The girl who was serving me had a lovely pair too. [She was foreign, of course]
I was about to pay when Herself turned up. I threw her out because she was smoking a fag, and that’s not allowed in town. But she put it out, and came back in.
“You’re not buying those?” she said in horror.
“Why not?”
“Because they are lime green. You’d look a right eejit.”
“What about these then?”
“No. Not in a thousand years.”
“Why not?”
“Because they have little lights that flash in the heels. Everyone will laugh at you.”
I sighed, and picked an ordinary pair of shoes. They weren’t quite as comfortable as the others, but I prefer discomfort to nagging.
The only problem is that the heels aren’t quite as thick as the old ones. So if I stand still for more than a moment or two, I fall over backwards. Herself has to keep picking me up.
Serves her right for being so picky.
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