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with the kids at the Lydo
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Conversations
- Hits: 1550
Sunday we go for lunch at the Lydo in Kensington. The food's lousy, but a big menu, the decor is appalling, but - hey, it's an original 50's diner and that's enough. There isn't much open on Sunday afternoons in Kensington.
So we've got a booth and are waiting for our food and the girl is keeping the conversation rolling along...
"What secret things should I do in my bed tonight...?" She asks out loud, a rhetorical question.
The boy, he just stares straight ahead, he's not saying a word, does not want to get involved....
"Why don't we ask your brother what secret things HE does when he's alone in bed" I offer.
She comes to his rescue.
"I know. He's got a TV and a Wii in his bedroom, he probably plays that....I'm going to ..." And here she mimes herself playing on her DS.
"You're right." I say. "He probably sits up late playing with his Wii..."
For Sale - Helicopter Pilot's Helmet - $125.00
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: For Sale
- Hits: 3673
For Sale: 1 Helicopter Pilot’s Helmet.
I've tried to sell it before, with limited (no) success. I put it down to a failure in copy writing and the fact that it was probably priced "Too Good To be True". So I've raised the price and re-listed it on Craigslist and Kijiji in the Sports Section. I'm pretty sure it will sell now....
Flea Market Vendor
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: People
- Hits: 1767
He stops me as I walk past his stall.
"You have a practiced eye" he says. "A man of discriminating taste....
I like him. I stop and give his table a look over - nothing really, he's by far and away the most interesting attraction, older, handsome in a decrepit, faded academic sort of way, wan smile, missing tooth, slight English accent with the charm you imagine English people to possess but so very few of them do.
"A connoisseur..." he continues, then lifts an item off of his table and passes it to me "Take a look at this snow globe.".
Saturday Night at 7-11
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Miscellany
- Hits: 2065
It's a Saturday night, the week is done (for a day), I've survived and I'm celebrating at home with a glass of rum.
I'm famished.
And restless.
And I think of taking myself to a bar, but there are none handy, and I've got to be up early to go to the flea market. So I compromise and decide upon 7/11.
Now it's not the same, not by a long shot, and while it will do nothing for my restlessness it might (somewhat) curb my hunger...
This is what it's come to. Saturday night at 7-11.
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