The end of the Christmas card production line Chez Plutarch.
Vegetarians I confess scare me even when they apologise. I ask my spiced apple juice, selling friend at the Farmers' Market if he knows what had happened to the stall selling meat from rare breed animals. "I'm a vegetarian," he says "I'm afraid I wouldn't know" Part of me admires those who refrain from eating their fellow animals. My only excuse for not being a vegetarian myself is that I admit to being a carnivorous animal. Metaphysically speaking blood drips from my fangs, as I stalk among the market stalls seeking flesh.
When I was a lad in short trousers, our school uniform required us to wear long socks which were pulled up just below the knee. Inevitably they would come down, as we ran and played, and ended up twisted round the ankles. (Pull your socks up was widely heard in those days and was more, or perhaps less, than a metaphor).To avoid this happening garters, made of elastic, were provided.. Images of long legged gaiety girls with frilly garters holding their stockings in place round their thighs, supervened in later years, and almost entirely expunged memories of the little bands of elastic below our knees. Until, that is, my socks begin, the other day, to be sucked down into my otherwise comfortable fleece lined winter boots. Long socks still fall down. Only elastic bands - garter substitutes - save the day.
Vegetarians I confess scare me even when they apologise. I ask my spiced apple juice, selling friend at the Farmers' Market if he knows what had happened to the stall selling meat from rare breed animals. "I'm a vegetarian," he says "I'm afraid I wouldn't know" Part of me admires those who refrain from eating their fellow animals. My only excuse for not being a vegetarian myself is that I admit to being a carnivorous animal. Metaphysically speaking blood drips from my fangs, as I stalk among the market stalls seeking flesh.
When I was a lad in short trousers, our school uniform required us to wear long socks which were pulled up just below the knee. Inevitably they would come down, as we ran and played, and ended up twisted round the ankles. (Pull your socks up was widely heard in those days and was more, or perhaps less, than a metaphor).To avoid this happening garters, made of elastic, were provided.. Images of long legged gaiety girls with frilly garters holding their stockings in place round their thighs, supervened in later years, and almost entirely expunged memories of the little bands of elastic below our knees. Until, that is, my socks begin, the other day, to be sucked down into my otherwise comfortable fleece lined winter boots. Long socks still fall down. Only elastic bands - garter substitutes - save the day.
3 comments:
Beautful cards, Plutarch! Did you print them yourselves?
Though your garter story is very amusing, you have touched on a pet peeve of mine: socks that don't stay up but slip underfoot, or those that are so tight on the top they cut off circulation. Finding the right one is a never-ending mission. Oh! that sounds like a post for BB at WW, if only it were still active.
"I want something's flesh!" said Withnail as he hunted in the stream! The scene played out in my mind's eye as I read your words.
M-L Yes. I found a photograph of an innocent piece of graffiti in chalked on a black background. It looked like a tree with a bird flapping past. But it was a bit bleak for Christmas, so I tinted it red. I did print it myself at some expense because the printer seemed, as you can imagine to eat up red ink. I would send you one but I do not have your address.
For some reason I remember in particulat that white all purpose elastic, bits of which were always in the sowing boxes of mothers and aunts.
R I had forgotten that episode in Withnail until your reminded me. For an English speaker, the German word for meat meanwhile always reverberates.
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