Stan was in the dining room looking for an aged briefcase with his autobiography in it while Emile sat on an old TV set in the window.looking at birds.Mary was in the garden wearing an ancient yet trendy denim dress planting some trailing rosemary,lavender and sage in a small bed near the French window..She had decided that her salvation lay in the soil though what form it would take was not yet clear ;suddenly she heard a harsh cry.It was her neighbor telling off his dog,Emmanuel.Come,now ,he shouted.
Hail,Mary,he called.Can you spare a big potato?
Probably,she muttered peevishly without looking up.
I am making sausage boulangere, he informed her.But I use turkey sausages as I am a Jewish Hindu.semi vegetarian.
i am not interested in religion,she told him kindly.I believe one can worship God ,if there is one, somewhere like a wood.
I like being on a group ,he told her thoughtlessly..
Well ,go and be in one she saidt naughtily.Do you like sex in a group?I am a mathematician and we study rings and groups but only in symbols as maths is like life with all the sensuality removed,if you catch my meaning,she ended artlessly.
Stan appeared at the door.I have just made the tea ,.he called.Hi Brian, how are you?i Why are you wearing a dress today?Are you changing gender?
No,said Brian,I am a mere transvestite especially in the summer.You should try on a dress,they are more comfy in the heat!
Well,maybe I will said Stan with sang froid.But it makes more ironing…
They all sat down at the kitchen table and ate some delicious scones San had just baked and also they drank PG tips tea with milk and sugar as that is what the English most like to do apart from getting drunk.
Where is that lady Annie who lives next to you,asked Brian pensively..I like her bright clothes and her vivid lipstick.Is she single,he enquired in a faux naive manner.
Well, perhaps but she is my mistress, said Stan defensively.
Aha,aha,laughed Brian as he eyed the shrunken old man.
Now then,said Mary,leave him alone.He is like a magnet,women flock to him..
Now don’t exaggerate,Stan said shyly.I’ve not had that many.
I see said Brian.I’d love to hear more….. you’ll have to come to the pub and tell me the details.
Not flamin’ likely,thought Stan. ,as he examined his cracked leather briefcase with real brass buckles,backstraps and front pocket, a bargain at £3and ten shillings in 1949.Hurry as not many are left.
All of a sudden ,he fell off his chair which broke into fragments..Brian was awed.I’ve never seen a chair break up like that he cried.
Well,ring 999 said Mary, a paramedic can fix it