Call The Calling Off Off

Today sees an early start for the deflowering of the chaste parchment afore me. My rising with the birds a consequence of a scheduled visit from a heating engineer, his remit to undertake an annual boiler service.

Before proceeding, I’d like to point out that I’m aware the first sentence in the inaugural paragraph may seem an overly self-indulgent descriptive for population of blank paper with my capricious musings…… Actually, coming to think of it, so’s the first sentence in the second paragraph.

Occasionally it’s a struggle to gauge reader preferences as to the depths one should venture vocabulary wise. Wherever possible, I prefer to avoid utilising overly basic words and sentences structures. I’m aware, though, overly ostentatious lexilogical utterings can turn off some readers – Individuals who on the contrary prefer a simpler approach to narrative construction.

Attempting to build and understand your audience demographic no easy task. Especially when I just want to write down whimsical epiphanies, not become overly bogged down by questions like ‘Is that wording too ostentatious?’, or ‘Is that effort a lazy, overly simplistic sentence a 5 year old child could write?’

Consequently, I endeavour to impart an amalgam of both lexilogical approaches. With this in mind, even if you say paper and I say parchment or you say capricious and I say erratic, let’s not call the whole thing off.

calling off

I’m unsure what time the engineer is due to arrive at casa Strachan. They text yesterday to advise they were giving me a window from 8am – 1pm. I don’t know why they’re providing me with the window, all I want is the central heating servicing not the unnecessary provision of a double glazed unit for five hours.

It’s now 8.32am, with no sign of the heating engineer, my wife Karen has just belligerently uttered “I wonder where this bloke is, Gary!”

“There’ssssssss four and a half hoursssssss left of the window, Karen.” I responded in my idiosyncratic whistling language which morphs me into a latter day Freddie ‘Parrot Face’ Davies.

“I know, but my mum reckoned he’d be here by now!” my spouse countered, appearing frustrated at the situation.

“What does she know about it?…… She thinks the bikini line is part of the London Underground system!” I sarcastically retorted.

“That’s nasty, Gary!….. She knows lots of stuff!” Karen defensively replied.

“Such as?!” I asked, bemused at my wife’s hitherto unseen revelation.

“Effective castration techniques, how to be negative in Portuguese and the anvil weightage required to drown a 160lb man.” Karen argued on her mother’s behalf.

“I stand corrected….. And here’s me thinking she was bereft of any skills or endearing features” I mischievously scoffed.

“Anyhow, what time do you think the engineer will make an appearance, Gary?” Karen changed the subject, attempting to cut off my sarcasm at the gate.

“Make an appearance!…… He’s a guy who services central heating systems, not Casper the chuffing ghost!” I sneered odiously.

At this point my long-suffering missus picked up her mobile phone and commenced dialling. After around half a minute a voice could be hear answering her call, leading to Karen asking:-

“Mum, can you tell me the anvil weightage required to drown a 13 stone man?!”



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