A LATE LUNCHEON AT THE HOUSE OF THE ADMIRAL

Great Gatsby

I’m the first to arrive for a late luncheon at the house of the Admiral. After a nine-minute wait in the frosted gloom, the Admiral answers the door. The Admiral is dressed in his trademark crimson jim-jams, hiking boots and cardboard hat. The cardboard hat is constructed from the box of an Admiral’s Pie.
“So glad you could make it, my old much-of-a-muchness,” says the Admiral.

The Admiral guides me to his sofa. The Admiral and I share a pack of Tesco Value sausage rolls. The Admiral and I share a bottle of Pinot Grigio.

An hour later my flatmate Kingsley arrives. Kingsley’s wittering on about Molly Ringwald as usual.
“So glad you could make it, my old much-of-a-muchness,” says the Admiral.
“Molly Ringwald,” says Kingsley. Kingsley eats fifteen Tesco Value sausage rolls.

Soon we’re joined by James Skipp and Charlton Bloom, both dressed as characters from Toy Story for reasons which never become obvious.
“Molly Ringwald,” says Kingsley.

Eventually conversation runs out as it must do at each and every party. The Admiral is unphased. He prolongs celebrations by dragging out his three pet Labradors from the airing cupboard. We take turns making tin-foil hats for the Labradors to wear, an activity that pleases neither dog nor human.

At midnight The Admiral puts on a CD by Transvision Vamp and we do a little dance (except Kingsley who can’t dance). Then the party’s over. Then we head home.

Back at the flat Kingsley and I stay up to eat Doritos and watch The Breakfast Club. I fall asleep halfway through and awake shivering with bits of Dorito stuck to my stubble.

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The Case of DC VS MPC

judge from Garrow's Law

 

 

 

 

 

And so the trial begins.

I fix my wig, tap my gavel on the table, ask the microwave prawn curry how it pleads.

No answer.

“You refuse to answer?” I say.

The microwave prawn curry stares back at me.

Do I detect a flicker of remorse? A sliver of regret?

I can’t be sure.

“Guilty!” I say.

I feed the microwave prawn curry to my cat, Edward Jasper, who immediately vomits it back up.

I fetch a Scotch egg from the fridge.

I fix my wig, tap my gavel on the table, ask the Scotch egg how it pleads.

No answer.