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Swissbarry: The Lizard


Swissbarry
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France can be dangerous.  It’s not just the mice, and the bees and wasps and hornets, and the motorists, and huge buzzing insects, and heatwaves, and snakes, and wild boar, and estate agents.  Most of these can be coped with (except, perhaps, estate agents).  But what is really difficult to cope with is the unknown: the things that rustle and scuttle and lurch about in the night.

Let me explain. Last night, my wife and I went to bed. I was feeling, how shall we say, a trifle amorous (dangerous enough in itself at the age of fifty nine), and fortified with a couple of pre-nuptial whiskeys I was lying there, puzzling over how I might counter whatever arguments my wife might advance against my evil plans. (Because she is good at that. Over thirty eight years of marriage, she has long since moved on from the prosaic “Sorry, I’ve got a headache” and invented a whole range of what I have come to call “Reasons For Not”. They include “No, I haven’t had a shower”, “No, you haven’t had a shower”, “Not when I’ve just had a shower”, “So that’s why you’ve been grinning like a simpleton all night”, and recently the priceless “Sorry, I can’t stop thinking about the subjunctive”).

Nevertheless, a few minutes later all seemed to be going well, when suddenly Kath sat bolt upright and screamed. Not a scream of rapture, you understand, just an ordinary, straightforward, everyday scream. “There’s something in here!” she gasped. Unsure at first of what she meant, I thought of continuing my endeavours, but it was not to be. “Listen, there’s something breathing!” I listened.

Nothing.

“It’s something. It’s moving. It’s alive. It’s watching us. KILL IT”.

Sighing, I switched on the light, and there, sure enough, watching us from the foot of the bed, was – a little lizard. It was a beautiful little thing: smooth, sleek, green, perfect. Now I know my wife, and I knew instantly that any ambitions I might harbour would never be achieved with the lizard around.

Have you ever tried to catch a lizard? In the middle of the night? In the bedroom? In the nude? Let me tell you, they’re fast. My fly swat proved useless, as did my pillow and my left shoe. That lizard simply gave me the run-around. And just when I felt I’d got it cornered (by lying on my side and making my outstretched body form the hypotenuse of a triangle between two walls of the room – a trifle undignified but damned clever, I thought) it cheated and ran straight up the wall. There it sat, upside down on a roof beam, smirking nonchalantly at me.

 

Rising to the challenge, I stood somewhat precariously on the bed and tried to swat it with a copy of my wife’s Cosmopolitan. I must have come close, because it skittered across the ceiling, down the opposite wall and – would you believe it – into my half-open sock drawer.

I inched forward, fly-swat poised, sweating slightly, humming the theme tune from “Where Eagles Dare”, and with lightning reflexes slammed shut the drawer.

I returned hopefully to bed, but Kath was not placated. “You can’t just leave it in there. What happens when you need to get your socks out?”

“Well, actually, I’ve been thinking that perhaps I’d give up wearing socks. Lots of these French guys don’t seem to bother, and you’ve always said my ankles are my best feature”.

“But you can’t just leave a bloody lizard in your socks drawer for ever, you fool. What about the smell?”

“Oh, it’ll get used to the smell,” I joked.

No use. The lizard and Kath spent an undisturbed night in their respective beds, and I took to thinking about how dangerous France is.

And about the subjunctive.

 

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At the moment I read this you have acheived a new trancendental state. You currently have "-1"  replies to this posting. This is even more impressive than the Blue German Tree South of Saint Mathieu or my compete inability to drive from St. Mathieu toward Chalus without asking why is it not called the "!!!!****" Tourettes.

I realise that having like a tourist visiting undiscovered regions or Americans using a well known simarly for "fighting for peace is like ...." I may have destroyed the very thing which fascinated me. Still must be off it is snowing locally and I am going to the woods to search for the sound of one hand claping.

After this reply you should have only '0' replies. Isabel is shouting that dinner is ready or the men with the white cottin jacket with the leather straps have arrived  

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IanS, SB posted the thread and the page was the wrong size and the ends of the words and perhaps some words were missing. A couple of people replied and then the original post was deleted and then added again so that it was legible. However, the replies went missing and the new posting came up as -1. Hence the comments about it.
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[quote]IanS, SB posted the thread and the page was the wrong size and the ends of the words and perhaps some words were missing. A couple of people replied and then the original post was deleted and then add...[/quote]

A bit like that b*****d lizard.

Imagine Swiss laying back drawing on a fag after his !!!!!!!! and seeing a sock emerge from the drawer and glide slowly across the floor.  It would be enough to make a man go .......

weedon

 

 

 

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<<This is even more impressive than the Blue German Tree South of Saint Mathieu or my compete inability to drive from St. Mathieu toward Chalus without asking why is it not called the "!!!!****" Tourettes.>>

I really did laugh out loud when I read this........my wife doesn't understand my allusions to " Les !!!!**** Tourettes", (well she doesn't laugh anyway), but the Blue German Tree never fails to ellicit a comment. Have you ever seen the Blue Germans though?

Regards, Alcazar

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