Saturday, 19 February 2011
Mercedes and the mumified poets, cake and other stuff
Mr Pickup is a city banker and deals in shares and stuff he has just got a huge bonus and pay rise, so all the ordinary people now hate city bankers including Mr Pickup.
Mrs Pickup has told Mr Pickup and Mercedes that she will stay at home until everything calms down and she will get the staff to keep the masses of ordinary public at bay by throwing cake at them. They are all very healthy organic cakes with fruit and stuff in. That is rather a shame because I like my cake really unhealthy and full of cream chocolate and nuts with loads of icing and stuff (not fruit though). Mercedes likes cake like that too but only gets it when she comes up to see Mr Jenkins and has tea at our house.
Mercedes has now stopped collecting mummified poets, she said they were taking up too much room and one or two of them were starting to smell very musty. She tried to leave them in poetry corner at Westminster Abbey but got shouted at, and was told poetry corner was only for dead poets, she tried to explain they were mummified and so were dead but one of them groaned then and they made her take them all away. In the end she had to leave them on the London Underground on the Circle Line so they would go round and round for ever. As she says they are sort of buried because they are underground and being in a
tube train is a bit like being in a coffin, and they are the ideal conditions for a mummified poet. She also said she was really pleased to see me and despite being male I did have one or two redeeming features and characteristics, she even said she was planning to write them down so she would remember what they are just in case they got lost amongst the huge number of other features and characteristics that were not so good. She said the trouble with boys is they are boys, funnily enough mum says that to dad sometimes. Mum says boys start playing with toys when they are little and well sort of never stop and girls start playing with toys when they are little but grow out of it, I’m glad I’m a boy the thought of growing out of playing with toys YUK. London