the man from uncle

Following work 12 of our company traipsed off to the pub to await our lifts to The Royal Albert Hall, on arrival we hit the bar to wait for the box to open. To my utter joy the box was stocked up high with wines, sandwiches and canapés of exceptional quality, pretzels, crackers and other tasty comestibles. By the time John Dankworth and his mates had shuffled onstage I was already pissed. I got straight into the music, it was well groovey, that was until Dankworth’s wife, Cleo Lane, nearly 90 or something sauntered onto the stage and fucked the whole thing.

The selection of the Prom this year was down to me. The whole thing is complimentary, due to the nature of my work, and I decided that if I am going be given a freebie then I may as well do my best to enjoy the actual rerason to be at The BBC Proms, i.e., to enjoy music, outside of all the free booze and grub. I chose jazz because it’s closer to the sort of music I like, probably. Anyway, my initial delight at my decision was turned over, stripped and forcibly raped by Cleo’s sparkly dressed appearance.

I still remember this berk on Pebble Mill at 1 making a fucking tool out of herself, and whilst she kept the doo dee doo dee doo wa wa dodles to a minimum her ‘singing’ and compromised tunes to back her ‘songs’ were shit. When she finally went off to change her catheter the music improved considerable and I could relax into it again, despite still warily eyeing the wings for signs of glitter signifying her return.

I was very well lubricated when I left; luckily I got a life back with two colleagues and had them both in for coffee. I happily scoffed gin and we ended up nattering until the wee hours before they left at 4. I’d decided way before that I was going to take the morning off.

Dad and I had arranged to meet for lunch but he called at 9am to cancel and to inform me my sister was off to the gynaecologists. I went back to sleep only to be woken again at 10.20 to be informed I am now uncle Piqued.

My niece, Institute, was delivered by caesarean section which means when she’s all grown up she’ll leave a room via the window and cars through the hatchback.

I can’t see her yet though as my sister is all wired up following having her belly cut wide open. I don’t think this was her preferred method of delivery but needs must. Still my brother in law has a chance for a double celebration, he gets a daughter and his wife’s mimsy won’t resemble a livestock related pile up on the M25.

Oh, I’m over the moon by the way. Welcome to planet earth kid