(no subject)
Winds that beat you up and low stone walls. One lone pub filled with good natured farm hands. They all wear plaid flat caps and have red spider veins crawling through the ends of their noses. They've known each other forever. Before the marriages to waif thin girls who now have elbow rolls for their elbow rolls.
One is Seamus. Another is Duncan. The bartender is Tom. Obviously.
Seamus stares blankly out the window at the bleak landscape, the colours akin to 1970s TV programming. There is a gravel path encircling the pub, and further down a stone wall and two sheep being buffeted by the cold air.
"By golly!" says Seamus.
"What's this then?" says Duncan.
Seamus nods to the window, at the stunning technicolor beauty who glides past, followed by her strikingly modern suitcase. No. Valise. The rough winds send her patterned scarves and Pantene-Pro V hair flying out behind her.
"Who's that?" says Duncan.
"A girl," says Tom, hilariously.
"Trouble", foreshadows Seamus.
"Diana," says the girl, who stands in the doorway. "Now, do you have a room for the night?"
******
In other words, I was growing desperate and started reading Doctor Who fan fiction. Holy disturbing Batman. I never realized there were so many flowers out there with pollen that overruns your sex drive and leaves you humping every available character in sight. But in the midst of it all, I realized that I too, can write sentimental crap. And it's really, really fun.
Given that I've now watched every episode with dear Highlander Jamie McCrimmon, I've moved on to watching the actor in his next gig, a hilariously terrible soap opera called Emmerdale Farm. (Actually, it's still Jamie, but since having his memory wiped by the Timelords he's obviously somehow confused himself for a 1970s farm hand. And, uh, travelled to 1970.).
And one day, when it's not 3 in the morning and I convince myself to not be lazy, I'll finish this story. Whether sex pollen appears or whether I actually post the atrocity remains to be seen, but this is fun :D
One is Seamus. Another is Duncan. The bartender is Tom. Obviously.
Seamus stares blankly out the window at the bleak landscape, the colours akin to 1970s TV programming. There is a gravel path encircling the pub, and further down a stone wall and two sheep being buffeted by the cold air.
"By golly!" says Seamus.
"What's this then?" says Duncan.
Seamus nods to the window, at the stunning technicolor beauty who glides past, followed by her strikingly modern suitcase. No. Valise. The rough winds send her patterned scarves and Pantene-Pro V hair flying out behind her.
"Who's that?" says Duncan.
"A girl," says Tom, hilariously.
"Trouble", foreshadows Seamus.
"Diana," says the girl, who stands in the doorway. "Now, do you have a room for the night?"
******
In other words, I was growing desperate and started reading Doctor Who fan fiction. Holy disturbing Batman. I never realized there were so many flowers out there with pollen that overruns your sex drive and leaves you humping every available character in sight. But in the midst of it all, I realized that I too, can write sentimental crap. And it's really, really fun.
Given that I've now watched every episode with dear Highlander Jamie McCrimmon, I've moved on to watching the actor in his next gig, a hilariously terrible soap opera called Emmerdale Farm. (Actually, it's still Jamie, but since having his memory wiped by the Timelords he's obviously somehow confused himself for a 1970s farm hand. And, uh, travelled to 1970.).
And one day, when it's not 3 in the morning and I convince myself to not be lazy, I'll finish this story. Whether sex pollen appears or whether I actually post the atrocity remains to be seen, but this is fun :D