On A Wing And A Prayer.
A private function can be so uncomfortable when one’s privates are functioning!
And, tightly strapped into a pair of PVC hot pants, trapped inside a very small room, with 29 very close audience members, glancing, intermittently at one’s member, it is certainly not the easiest set of circumstances under which to perform !
Nerves can go to one’s nerve !
Less said the better.
Now, post our private shows, I sit, hot pants shed, and recuperate, as I wait for Andrew to return from his trip down the road, to visit ‘Anna Mae Wrong’, our local Chinese masseur !
Anna runs the Mandarin restaurant at the bottom of the hill. It now doubles as a small, dark convenience store. The more colourful sign reads,
‘Supermacado. Souvenir. Lady.’
Wrong on three counts!
The poor woman’s husband spent a fortune on the fluorescent signage before flitting off on the proverbial slow boat to China.
I think it got him as far as Marbella.
Then the dineros dried up and he was forced back to ‘terrachino’ and reality. The latter being an empty restaurant, an underlit spouse, and an overweight child called ‘Wing’, who, one suspects, may never take flight!
Harsh, I know. But in my defence, one slow afternoon, I happened to be browsing the dreary shelves of Wing’s parents’ oriental establishment, when the sour adolescent, loomed suddenly, (and largely) , from behind the Oyster Sauce display, and informed me, with far too much gusto,
‘Me, one hundred percent boy, yes, me, one hundred percent – me, sure. Yeah – sure !’
The angry kid then glared at me as if I had pilfered his prawn balls!
I realised at once, that his dreary, neon-obsessed, father must have indoctrinated the chubby youth. In this poor kid’s fat head, I was nothing more than some predatory poof looking for a bit of Chinese Chicken Wing!
I chose to ignore the slight, and also elected not to point out that, even were I suffering from that peculiar perversion, he would be the last Eastern morsel left in my basket.
More ‘Dim Son’ than ‘Dim Sum’ !
So, in order to fill her child’s more than ample rice bowl, poor Anna is having to diversify.
Not only does she already provide everything, from prawn to Christmas crackers, she is now having to go even more hands on – and into massage.
She is now ‘Dr Anna’. And Andrew is undergoing his first course of treatment.
I had a cruel hunch that ‘asisar’ meant to roast, as Andrew made his initial appointment this afternoon.
I, disappointedly re-discovered on returning home, that that word was actually ‘asar’. Asisar does not exist.
He’s been a long while.
But marvellous to have time and space to ruminate whilst he roasts.
For all I know, whilst I reminisce of private parties she could be dismembering his private parts!
He does take his life in his hands.
Or rather, her hands!
Just because someone rolls a good duck pancake!
He’s still not back!
Categories: The Lola Boys