Nigel and Prunella


But Nigel is such a crashing bore.
Thought he was going to stay the night.
You say you love him Prunella,
Despite him being such a grey fella.
I was delighted when he walked through the door.
Out – that is – on his way home.
Over time, he will cure my insomnia,
Or he will turn me to drink.
What of conversation Prunella?
Does he fertilise your mind to think
Beyond horizons new?
When you’re both alone
Does he glow brighter than dull grey bone?
Tonight he talked of the value of grass
And how hills would slide without it.
I said there would be nowhere to graze my ass.
Did he see the joke? I doubt it.
When he stated that music was overrated,
A jumble of pitches and tones,
An accepted form of noise pollution ……….
I suddenly felt deflated, mistily sedated,
Lazily searching for a solution
To silence my inner groans.
As Nigel droned and droned,
I looked at you Prunella,
As you sat so prim, gazing at him
As if he was made of Aztec gold,
As if his heart was yours to hold.
Well – my dear – Nigel’s nice but oh so dim.
He told me quietly, he was a little uptight
And seriously considering
Parting his hair on the right.
I said – go ahead, you have the right shaped head –
Well, thank you Ma’am.
He is sooo polite.
But Prunella, he’s so dumb and then some.
He’s so dull, a numbskull.

I leave it to you
And if you two wed
I will still wish you the best
But with heart filled dread.

Rusty, very interesting interlude with Nigel and Prunella.

Maybe you should have made Prunella a Fortune Tella so she could see what she's falling into? Life would be dreadfully boring if one couldn't converse with one's spouse.

I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier in your Easter Sunday, my Dear Sir Rusty, but I believe I did send you a greeting through email. Hope you received it.

Love and Big Hugs,

Alice

Rusty,

A great little snippet of a story here...

Poor Prunella, caught in such a trap of love! But then again, Nigel must offer some asset to engage Prunella's interest. It certainly isn't a great personality.

You always do such a grand job at your story-telling, Rusty. Once again I call the bar-keep to fill your mug...another pint for you, Sir!

How about meeting me in the UK for a real pint .........

I'll put you up in the west wing - little used nowadays but well serviced, not damp and Summer's around the corner ......

Rusty,

Just how tasty is that ol' Bishop's Finger? I fancy a darker brew that has a tad of a bite. But I certainly wouldn't turn my nose from a decent golden ale...

A couple of prose-jockeys sipping brews and regaling each other in tales of joy and woe! Sounds inspiring. Imagine the warped tales we could weave after lifting a couple of pints!