Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Cauliflower bouillon and laxative salts .
Angus makes it to the airport through thick fog flecked with occasional snow . The flight is delayed . Then delayed again . Then again. Angus drives back home . The flight is called for boarding ten minutes after he leaves the airport. The folks from Boise will have to be welcomed ino their new home by the realtor. Wilf , by contrast , is overjoyed that his flock is reunited .
The post lady arrives. The first time we've seen her in a week and a half. For Angus a pile of bills. For ' the font ' a large,embossed, clearly very expensive, envelope from Italy . A brochure for a health farm . Over the holidays ' the font ' has gained a kilo in weight. This apparently is a disaster. The fact that Angus can put on a kilo after a couple of pints , a packet of pork scratchings, and a rugby club sausage roll is apparently immaterial .
'' Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could go together ? " says ' the font ' . Angus opens the brochure . His eyes fall upon the words ' laxative salts with every meal ' . He then looks at the price list . We could take a suite in the most expensive hotel in Paris for a week , bathe in vintage champagne, eat nothing but filet mignon and lobster, and it would still be cheaper. Much cheaper . This indisputable logic is met with silence.
An afternoon walk with Wilf. If he ran a health farm there would be sausages and coconut ice cream. Long walks in the afternoon. Touch rugby in the evenings. Lots of naps. No laxative salts or cauliflower bouillon. His attitude to life : ' If I try to be like someone else, who will be like me ? '.