27 February 2009

Awfully Frond of You

Paper straws. I miss them. I wish you could still get them. They'd get all crinkly and they'd squish at the sucking end and you'd have to turn them over. And I liked the scratchy sound they made against the edge of the hole in the can. Of course, they were best hand-in-hand with the old can with the slightly dangerous ring-pull tab; or, better still, with the cans that needed two holes punched in the top. Scratch, scratch back and forward; waxy paper on sharp metal. I couldn't stand it but I couldn't stop.


I can see a swimming pool from my office window. The surface is always being blown by a breeze and it's constantly in motion. It looks like it's covered in sequins. There are palms planted along one edge of the pool, the edge facing me. So I always see aqua fringed with bright green. It's a pool behind a hotel. It's for holiday-makers. Holidays should always be bright blue and green.


k said...

apropos of nothing - your wheels are sorted.
(nice desciption, btw)

hazelblackberry said...

Oh thanks EVA SO.

hazelblackberry said...

(for pumping up bike tyres and for compliment)

The question remains: did you, or will you, pump up the jam?

k said...

Oh i'll pump it up pump it up on the dance floor (I think - the rest of the lyrics beyond pump it up escape me)