|Come round, won't you?|
Sunday, March 07, 2004
"Are you serious?" asked Zanthe.
"Yes," replied Grosvenor. "So you're not up for it then?"
"No. I'm getting scared now."
"We shan't speak of this again," said Grosvenor.
Friday, February 06, 2004
"Are you taking the piss out of my accent?" asked Shane.
It wasn't the first time that Grosvenor had been accused of this. He'd always enjoyed putting on various regional accents, and had just been employing his cockney impression, which bore little resemblance to the way Shane spoke, although he did have a different kind of working-class London brogue. Grosvenor also hated the phrase "just kidding", and would usually push a joke as far as it would go, if not farther. "Yeah," he replied.
"There's nothing wrong with my accent," said Shane. Grosvenor realised that the initial question had been serious. He felt like an ass.
Monday, January 26, 2004
Grosvenor had a history of difficulty in buffet situations. He dreamed of an archetypical scenario, involving a lavish spread that he did not manage to sample to his satisfaction because of a timidity on his part to take what he wanted. The dream didn't really need much analysis. He reflected on how he sometimes overcompensated at buffets these days by taking more than was deemed socially acceptable, though not to the extent of depriving others. More notable was his tendency to want to try a little of everything.
Saturday, January 24, 2004
"It is better to have lived one day as a tiger than a thousand years as a sheep," read the slip of paper in the fortune cookie that Grosvenor had just eaten. He used it to poke fun at Zanthe; she had been born in the Chinese year of the Sheep. What she didn't know was that "Tiger" was Juliet's nickname for him. He felt a surge of superstition. Was someone trying to tell him something?
The week had been particularly eventful for Grosvenor. He was all worked up, and felt that he could surf on a tide of adrenaline into Zanthe's arms. I'll kiss her today, he thought to himself. He gave her a comradely pat on the arm as they parted that evening.
Wednesday, January 21, 2004
Grosvenor returned to his home to discover that it had been burgled. The thieves had left a number of valuables that were either in plain view or kept in non-secure places. Grosvenor had never been tidy, and tended to keep his possessions in disarray, which seemed to have put off the burglars to an extent. In some cases, a couple of sheets of paper laid on top of certain iterms had been enough to prevent the intruders from noticing them, but as they hadn't thought to look there, they might as well as have been buried in the depths of the earth.
Tuesday, January 20, 2004
"Zanthe's been trying to be nice to me," said Mahmud over the 'phone. "But it's only because my father just died. Why she couldn't have been like that before that, I don't know." Grosvenor thought this was unfair, that Mahmud had deliberately kept Zanthe at arm's length over the time he had known her, but despite the temptation to say something, he kept it to himself. Perhaps he would bring it up another time.
It disconcerted him when two people that he was fond of did not like each other, a situation he had encountered a number of times over the past few weeks. He had realised how little interest he took in the relationships that the people he knew had with one another, to the point of being oblivious to things that were otherwise common knowledge in the groups he circulated in. He had been taking a little more notice since then. Then again, he thought, he might be better off as he had been before; it certainly made things simpler not getting involved in the soap opera he saw around him, but it might mean missing out in some ways.
Sunday, January 18, 2004
"We had quite a good conversation," said Zanthe, referring to the talk she'd had with Mahmud about the recent death of his father. Grosvenor remembered that she had told him of previous attempts to talk to Mahmud, which had tended to fall short of her aims.
Zanthe was very sweet really, thought Grosvenor, even though she had quite an acerbic persona that could be off-putting at times. Her hair was tied back, with stray locks straggling down the sides of her face. When she wore her hair down, he burned with desire for every inch of her, but like this, his lustful feelings dwindled to a minimal level. Pehaps it was shallow of him, but at least it confirmed that he didn't spend time with her purely out of physical attraction.