We’re walking home down a cobbled street in mid-November
And he’s narrating the latest from work:
A story involving Alistair from Graphic Design
And a photocopier, and Alistair’s arse
And the whole thing is highly amusing
But there’s no need to laugh because
What gets me more
Is the way he’s lost in recollection,
Imitating Alistair’s broad Scottish accent,
Pausing to catch his breath between hoots.
He asks how my day was then,
And I say, oh, uneventful, really
And I’ve nothing funny to report
But there’s no need to laugh because
He remembered to ask after my sister,
And how about we see that film I pointed out on the tube
Or order a takeaway, what am I feeling?
And as we round the familiar corner
The sight of the olive-green front door
And our bikes balancing each other on the railing
Is like some kind of childhood fantasy.
And he’s narrating the latest from work:
A story involving Alistair from Graphic Design
And a photocopier, and Alistair’s arse
And the whole thing is highly amusing
But there’s no need to laugh because
What gets me more
Is the way he’s lost in recollection,
Imitating Alistair’s broad Scottish accent,
Pausing to catch his breath between hoots.
He asks how my day was then,
And I say, oh, uneventful, really
And I’ve nothing funny to report
But there’s no need to laugh because
He remembered to ask after my sister,
And how about we see that film I pointed out on the tube
Or order a takeaway, what am I feeling?
And as we round the familiar corner
The sight of the olive-green front door
And our bikes balancing each other on the railing
Is like some kind of childhood fantasy.
