more to be found at: picasaweb.google.co.uk/decoyotis/FambridgeTennis10
Having spent a few moments admiring my NZ spinach bed:
And my Hawaian lettuces:
I heard myself pontificating on how few marauding pigeons there were about the place these days. I surmised it must be due to the psychic reverberations through the ether after my having caught and killed several birds, slicing their breasts from their bodies while still warm in my frenzy, before frying them in butter.
At that moment, a faint fluttering to my left betrayed this fiend sitting on a single egg:
And then, incredibly, on my right, though more difficult to see, another of the same ilk keeping a couple of scrawny chicks warm:
Both are within easy reach … is this a test?
Hi, Pinkie. What’s occurring?
I’ll tell you what’s occurring! Unacceptable behaviour in the form of cheesy feet in enclosed spaces is occurring! Let me tell you the details…
On our return flight from Toulouse, I practically jumped for joy when I realised that I wouldn’t have a small child kicking the back of my seat for the whole flight. Instead the passengers behind me looked calm and still. Fabulous I thought, I can sit and read in peace… possibly even catch 40 winks. But lo! 20 minutes later my nostrils were assorted by the most acrid, vinegary cheesy smell I have ever encountered! Looking around I couldn’t see where this sickly smell was seaping from; but I knew all to well what it was…
“I smell stinky feet!” I said in a loud voice (much to Decoy’s embarrassment), hoping that the offender would replace their socks and shoes and that would be the end of the matter, but it wasn’t. After a while, the smell either went away or my nostrils had become totally inebriated and stopped functioning properly. Content with this sensory stand-off, I proceeded with my book. But the trauma was not over.
After a rather manky and expensive bacon roll, the smell returned and threw me forward in my seat. It was extraordinarily bad. Bad, bad, bad! I placed my arms on the arm rests and contemplated sticking tissue up my nose when I felt something sweaty and crusty under my arms. Jeepers! The lady behind me (and I use the term lightly because no lady I’ve ever known had feet that smelt that bad) had straddled the back of my seat and was resting both feet, yes both feet, on my arm rests. T.O.T.A.L.L.Y U.N.A.C.C.E.P.TA.B.L.E!
“Oh, my God someone has put their stinky feet on my arms rests!” (More shrinking into the seat by Decoy). Still no reaction. I was considering a more direct approach, but my courage depleats rapidly in face to face verbal combat. So I looked desperately at Decoy, who, at the speed of light whipped up the middle arm rest as quick-as-you-like! Mercifully, the hint was taken, but left me wondering, who would really think that that was ever acceptable. If you are unaware of your foot odour and remove your socks, well that’s mildly forgivable and in all probability the feet could do with an airing. However, to knowingly place your feet, stinky or not, into someone’s personal space is just rude!
Anyway, the point of my rant (and because this sort of thing happens to me on planes alot… unlucky I know) is go prepared. Go prepared either to say ” please desist your feet are terrible” in 4 different languages. Or take a nose clip and some clensing wipes (for their use, not yours).