Skip to main content

P is for pretentious and C is for...

Charles Callaghan sat down in his drawing room to partake in his daily ostentatious breakfast consisting only of two black cups of Grand Moka Matari Coffee made by Bacha Coffee served in a Hermés Cheval D’Orient coffee cup and saucer, completed with a print edition of the Financial Times. No one was exactly sure the precise point in time he'd slipped into being an utter cunt, but associates surmised it was probably around the summer of 2003. It hadn't been a laborious process on his part, he found it was a naturally occurring talent, some might even go as far as to suggest it was a God given one. Whichever it was, once Charles had discovered his niche he saw no reason to deviate from his position.

If Charles’ behaviour was to the chagrin of his wife Penelope then she didn't demonstrate it outwardly at least. This may have had something to do with her weekly trysts with her horse riding instructor whereby the only thing being ridden was Penelope somewhere into next week much to her delight. It also proved the perfect smokescreen as to why her legs always came back with the occasional tremor like the aftershock of an earthquake. To be fair to Penelope she was having her world rocked to its very core in a not too dissimilar manner. 

Sunday's were the only deviation from Charles’ morning breakfast routine in as much as the Financial Times doesn't have a Sunday edition. Otherwise he was still very much being a stuck up pretentious bellend and to the point he was almost insufferable to be in the same room as. The summer of 2003 may also have been about the same time he stopped having any original thoughts of his own as he now merely regurgitated and plagiarised snippets of articles he'd read whenever he was forced into appearing in circles where he didn't really want to be in the first place and truth be told no one really wanted him there either. He'd only been invited because he was married to Penelope, or Pee as she was called by her closest of friends. Whether that was taken from the end of her name or because that's what her friends thought her husband constantly took is up for debate in her friendship circles. 

If you've never read the works of the late Ian Fleming such as From Russia with Love you'll be familiar with the stupidity of trying to sell the upper classes of British Society as if a thing to behold. The above inspired by the breakfast of James Bond but spun into a modern manner with tongue firmly in cheek. 

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Never trust a man with two first names

- God your old man is funny Dawn.  - Have you's been encouraging him again Matt? Mum'll go daff at you's if she catches you encouraging him y’know? - Will she? - Aye she will n’all. Go on then what's he said now? - Well nothing specific.  - Well clearly he has otherwise you wouldn't ‘av bort it up. I'm not an idiot you know.  - Dawn. Darling.  - Don't patronise me either you fucking twat. What did he say? - Well upon reflection maybe it wasn't funny after all. - Did you laff? - Well, yes.  - Then you thought it was funny then. - Maybe I was being polite. - Are you saying I'm not being polite? - No, not at all. I'm saying that maybe I was merely mistaken. - You'll be merely mistaken if you think you're wiggling out of this one mister.  It hadn't taken Matt long to work out why his father-in-law spent so much time in the pub. Dawn was a woman clearly cut from the left over cloth they'd used to cut his mother-in-law from. They should...
Post a Comment
Read more

What's going on?

- If I tell you something will you promise me that you won't laugh? - No.  - Why not? - ‘Cause it's probably going to be really funny if you're asking me not to laugh at it knowing that's exactly what I'll do. If I told you not to think of a pink elephant what's the first thing you'd think of? - Erm…a purple coloured double ended dildo. - Oh for Christ's sakes. Trust you, you kinky bastard. - What? - You know exactly what. - Yeah OK I might have had an inkling. Anyway they do say know your audience. - Are you calling me a kinky bastard? - Well if the stilettos fit. - You cheeky bastard. - Look we're dangerously getting off the subject topic here. Right, don't… oh no wait we've come full circle. Hmmm. Sod it, here goes nothing. I know this is going to sound really stupid and it's embarrassing when I say it but… I've only just realised how stupid people really are. As expected Andy laughs at his friends revelation. In fact more than exp...
Post a Comment
Read more

A woman reborn

On a cold blustery wet winter morning the British weather was in a particularly spiteful mood. Clara was sat watching the world trying its best to go by with little signs of success from the window of her local coffee shop. A man on the opposite side of the road was busy becoming more irate by the second as the family dog had decided to crouch and do it's business on the pavement. Having turned to try work out why the lead in his hand had pulled taught, the umbrella he was carrying in the other blew inside out with such a force it had probably rendered it instantly useless and clearly irked he'd shouted something which couldn't be made out behind the pane of glass. Whether it had been aimed at the dog, the umbrella or both is anyone's guess but whatever and whoever it was aimed at it had proved the tipping point for the little girl who was with him who was now wailing beside the dog to compound his misery. For a second or two Clara briefly considered putting down the ho...
Post a Comment
Read more