As I sat my beautiful ass by the window in my first attempt to spy a nice cafe in South Kensington the phone rang. Me: "OH, HELLO MATE! HOW ARE YOU? YES, I AM FINE. JUST ENJOYING THE SUN IN A CAFE SOUTH OF THE RIVER! YEAH, I AM WORKING. I AM MYSTERY SHOPPING! Bollocks. Everyone started laughing out loud, shit. Italian background, you know, shouting and moving hands, what makes me really discreet.
Whatever. I made my way to the second cafe, took pictures, sat down to enjoy my Baileys Latte and the phone rang. It was a Brazilian mate of mine, so I felt free to explain him what I was doing in Portuguese, my mother tongue, so nobody would discover my true identity. Finished my Baileys and said goodbye to the barman, who said goodbye back, BUT IN PORTUGUESE!! The fucker was Brazilian too! I completely fucked up everything.
Secret societies, if you thought about inviting me to join you and after reading this you changed your mind, I would like to let you know that I AM GOING TO START MY OWN SECRET SOCIETY, SO PISS OFF!
4 comments:
Yeah, SO PISS OFF!
In Portuguese!
Bollocks!
I'd trade my Texas drawl for a British accent (any kind), a Portuguese attitude, or just a grip on English slang.
I can't imagine you having a Texas drawl at all.
Really? Why? It doesn't take much imagiation, I slog through most spoken words.
It was interesting hearing you speak on those squatters news clips.
It would be interesting if you'd make a film clip with all the usual suspects: Deek Deekster, Paula, Fucking Mikey, etc. Maybe you could even lure the illusive Twit to visit London for a cameo...and I hear Treacle has moved to town.
It would be fascinating to connect the voices, at least, to the characters...for those who might insist on being filmed in shadow.
Post a Comment