Today has played out very much like a Disney movie.
In actual fact, the story began very late last night, in an old gnarly flat just outside of Eccles, where an innocent young mother was sat stroking her poodle (is it me or does that sound rude?) and happily typing away.
Here, in the dead of night, we find our heroine happily slurping away on a cold cup of tea and chatting to her beloved laptop, which obviously (this being Disney and all) chats back in a terrible ‘I’ve got two plums rattling around my mouth’ English accent. (Fruit plums. This is Disney. Stop being rude.)
But, alas, like most naïve maidens in Disney movies (who are all thin, do not dip their fish cakes in full fat mayo and have perky boobs) I was completely unaware of the drama unfolding around me and completely oblivious to the fact that seemingly without my consent, I had been given the lead role in this creepy animated and random adventure.
I was just sat minding my own business on the, quite frankly, filthy sofa in my, quite frankly, messy, living room typing on my, quite frankly, ancient but very much-loved laptop preparing to indulge my readers with a dark and, quite frankly, horrendous secret I have been keeping locked away in my, quite frankly, flabby gut.
I had finished baring my soul with an exhausted sigh and was staring off in to the middle distance imagining the horrified reaction my sordid little secret would undoubtedly bring early in the morrow, while unbeknownst to me, in the hallway leading to the bedroom, Doodle the poodle (in true Disney style) had begun drumming his paws on to the laminate flooring in an attempt to create a more fairytale like ambience.
The dog was brewing this movie’s first song.
By the time I had shut the laptop down and was busy checking the windows in the living room were all locked, ensuring all murderers in the undergrowth remained murderous in the undergrowth for the night, Doodle Mc. Poodle was in full flow, throwing his legs about around him and preparing for his first verse.
As the hard done to heroine of this movie, obviously I was still completely oblivious to all this musical mayhem going on around me, and was just wandering through the methodical routine of getting ready for bed totally un perturbed by the fact my four-legged friend seemed to be doing jazz paws and the splits in front of me while I had a wee and took out my lenses.
‘Doodle,’ I admonished after blindly tripping over him, ‘stop farting around and let’s go to bed!’
I stumbled in to the bedroom just as the orchestra prepared for their final foreboding crescendo. The trumpets had built up to a deafening volume and when you coupled that with the sound of hundreds of doggy paws tapping on laminate, it was a wonder that the Irish one hadn’t woken up to the noise and decided to do a bit of river dancing. (I didn’t hear any of this, by the way, as it was all far too high pitched for my delicate ears, but evidentially that bitch next door heard it all and was only too pleased to come over and have a jolly good moan about it.)
‘Yergen flergen, what she doesn’t know…’Doodley poo sings stage right, his hundreds of poodle mirror images copying his every move behind him, creating the illusion that there are 76 poodles all wearing lederhosen in my hallway ‘ is that tomorrow is going to be a bugger, a bugger, a bugggggggeeerrrrrrrrr!’
I don’t know why they are wearing lederhosen. It just felt right.
And with that, the fair and gentle (read; clapped out and falling to bits) maiden (read; slave) gently layed her head down on to her plushy soft pillow (read; plonked her head down on no pillow due to little prince of doom also sleeping in the bed with her and having claimed all pillow material for himself) and fell in to a deep and peaceful sleep about the local squirrel’s doing the washing up (read; got up 3 minutes later after being booted in the nose, to find the Bonjela.)
Doodle, exhausted and sore after weeks of rehearsal, also gets in to his own spacious bed and falls in to a deep slumber, dreaming of Oscar nominations and walking Angelina Jolie down the red carpet.
Ok so you get the picture.
I am a Disney Heroine and basically, I had a shit day.
My trusted and most enjoyed companion, who we shall call Dick van dyke for the purpose of this post, died a horrible, horrifying and horrendous death.
He could turn himself on but his screen would stay blank. (Too many jokes not enough time.)
Steve at the Kingdom of PC, who in this scene is wearing a long black cape and has pointy vampire like teeth dripping in fake blood, is shockingly, not very sympathetic.
‘Your computer is buggered,’ he cackles meanly, while comedy creeping behind baby Addison who, in this scene is wearing nothing but an oversized nappy ‘Do you want a bite of my tasty Apple (mac)?’
(And sleep for 100 years? I wish!!!!)
At the thought of this Addison spins around and stares at the heroine, who in this scene is now currently attempting to keep her butt crack hidden and wondering why she thought these jeans fit when she put them on this morning.
‘Waaaaaaaaaaa!’’ Addison screams in fright as he sees the vampire behind him with the apple (which he is allergic to nursery! ALLERGIC TO!) and immediately fills his nappy.
‘Waaaaaaaa!’ Screams Mammy, realizing she has left the changing bag in the house in her rush to get to the Kingdom of PC.
‘Waaaaaa!’ Screams Mammy, as she realizes she will no longer have a tool to write on and could possibly have lost 220000 words of her, slaved over hot coals for, novel. And,
‘I told her, I told her, she didn’t know but I told herrrrrr’ sings Doodle back in a flat somewhere in Eccles as his little doggy soul senses something is a miss with both Mammy and Addy back in central Manchester.
And that is it really. I am the heroine without a clue. Addison is the baby with ability to shit up his back on demand and Doodle really should consider running away with the circus.
My day was rubbish.
….But wait….. What is that I can hear? … Is that a tap, tap tapping? Disney movies always have a happy ending! Quick pan back to the action! Pan back to the action!!
The maiden is sitting on the sofa again, staring at the TV and thinking violent thoughts about Mr. Tumble when, what is this?
Enter stage right The Irish one on a donkey (we couldn’t afford a white stallion…) he was also unable to find a suit of shining armor (even though I had told him on numerous occasions where it bloody was!) and all the tinfoil had been used for making bacon sandwiches earlier (and was still stinking out the oven even though I had asked him plenty of times to move it!) so he was wearing his one summer outfit instead, consisting of white pants a white shirt and some brown sandals.
‘Wait! Heroin!’ He called nonchalantly before remembering that one really shouldn’t shout a word like heroin out, at the top of ones voice, in a place like Eccles, and quickly changes his plea to ‘Wait, Lexy!’
I look up surprised at the sound of his voice from where I am sat on a my rock-like sofa scrubbing out poo from under my fingernails and see immediately he is incredibly proud of himself over something. (Maybe he has finally found the Allen key for the crib!!)
‘I,’ He proclaims, using his best knightly voice ‘bloody told you so!’
I sigh internally as I remember he did, he did tell me so, but then squeal in delight as I also remember he is a stubborn bastard and even though he looks suspiciously like Jesus on that donkey, that I do love him and he never takes no for an answer.
‘Did you actually use the external hard drive when I specifically told you not to?’ I scream up at him hopefully while stroking the Donkey’s nose. (Again, is it me? or does that sound rude?)
‘Yes,’ he replies back cockily before suddenly coming over all camp. ‘Yes, I did. That crap, unimaginative and unromantic present I bought you last month, just saved your bacon didn’t it? In fact, I just saved your bacon, didn’t I?’ he says waving his hand about like Graham Norton. ‘I, the Most Irish of Ones, am a godsend! Say it! Say I am a godsend!’
‘flababagrablabab’ I mumble back ‘I think Prince Addison has woken up…’
‘SAY IT!’ he bellows as the donkey poops all over the carpet in shock. (Doodle missed all of this, he was on the internet next door searching for more opportunities on stage and screen. One taste of fame and he’s gone. That is one fickle pooch.)
‘Yes.’ I respond back looking up at him. ‘Yes, you Irish One of Irish background are quite possibly a flabaglabaraglab, and you definitely saved my bacon, even though there may still be some at the bottom of the oven…if you fancied some…because you haven’t cleaned it…’
And with that, the humble maiden, the stinky prince and the donkey riding disciple wannabe all rode off in to the sunset clinging on to the external hard drive (Stop being rude!!) and arguing over what to have for tea.
Except, much like lord of the rings (Except not, because I have no ring, because even though The Irish One likes it he has so far failed to put a ring on it…) it isn’t the end is it?
Because I am sat here typing this now aren’t I?
This story is to be continued… and there is a happy ending.
And no, I am still not telling you my sordid little secret today. I will save it for another day. Or maybe, I will never tell you.
Maybe Dick van Dyke was trying to warn me not to tell you, by taking his own life… (Stop thinking about his plums. Mary Poppins will hear you.)
Maybe, this maiden should stay quiet.
but stay tuned for;
Dick Van Dyke 2. The return of Miss Woo. The happy ending. (Starring Doodle as cowboy tight rope walker.)
Tappety tap tap tap…