Scratching my own funny bone for shits and giggles. Lampooning books, music and being a single woman over 40. Recording observations with an almost Seinfeldian obsession for the minutiae of life. Things can get sweary around here. You understand.

Monday, April 20, 2009


I had a dream about dining with the Two Fat Ladies last night. Remember them? Those pleasantly plump English lasses that loved nothing better than swilling cooking sherry and swimming about in thick, rich, salted, heart-stopping butter? Well for some reason they’ve seeped into my subconscious lately. Maybe you dear reader can shed some light on this strange scenario? here goes... We’re in some upmarket bistro overlooking the Story Bridge. Clarissa is on my left and Jennifer on my right. An emaciated looking waiter with a ponytail and a vacant expression approaches the table. ‘Today’s specials are…’ he began. ‘Stop right there pet’ I say. I look him straight in the eye and say as slowly and as nicely as possible ‘I want fish fingers with melted cheese on white bread and lashings of butter’ He looks absolutely appalled ‘Pardon moi madam?’ ‘You heard me sunshine. I want fish fingers. In fact I want a whole platter of them.’ ‘Well madam’ he began again ‘today’s specials are a crisp rocket salad with char-grilled cuttlefish’ I could see this was going to be a lot harder than I had anticipated. I looked over at Clarissa who appeared to have already been served. She was unhappily picking her way through a collection of wilted lettuce leaves that the most self-respecting rabbit would reject. Clarissa lifts her greasy head and says in her booming voice ‘and I want chips…not New York potato wedges, not shoe-string fries but really thickly cut chips with vinegar and lashings of salt!’… ‘Here here!’ joins in Jennifer, fixing the waiter with her watery, cross-eyed look through those heavy black-rimmed spectacles. ‘I want chips too, and a battered saveloy AND potato scallops with mayonnaise. Get this grain-fed veal in red wine jus out of my sight!’ Suddenly, things got out of hand. In slow motion I watched my fellow diners smashing plates and throwing mineral water and then as a mob we marched to the kitchen. The chef looked terrified as well he should – like the storming of the Bastille, this was a powder keg in the new dining revolution! We’d had enough of big white plates and miniscule serves and we weren’t going to take it anymore! Our rallying cry was ‘What do we want? Fish Fingers! How do we want ‘em? DEEP FRIED’ Ahem. Things got a bit hazy after that. Last thing I remember was Clarissa holding the dishwasher hostage and Jennifer wielding a hot spatula in the direction of the chef’s reproductive organs. How very quaint.


Therbs said...

Mmmmm. Fish finger sandwiches. Thanks for the menu suggestions Nat! All you needed as a climax was for Gordon Fuckety Fuck-Fuck to storm out of the kitchen and say "Fuck!".

Nautilus said...

Ahhh, dream analysis. I'm great at this!

Obviously the two fat ladies represent the two major world concerns at the moment, the GFC and global warming.

The staff represent politicians.

The fellow diners are obviously the masses of the third world countries (like New Zealand).

Now if you replay the dream sequence making the above substitutions, I think the message from your subconcious is clear.



NAUT: Fuck. How did you know?

THERBS: Scarface would have fit right in baby.

YsambartCourtin said...

Burbon. Or a vintage cheddar. That stuff is great for late night munchies and turning on the dreams.

Lou said...

Your dreams are much, much more interesting than mine, perhaps I need to drink more Bourbon before bed?


My dreams are often as vivid - and often contain two ladies - there is generally something fishy about them too! Go figure?

Therbs said...

Bourbon is often the answer. Hey Lerm, you bin having them mermaid fantasies again? You, a coupla mergirls and a driftnet.

Kimmywoo said...

The Two Fat Ladies were fabulous! I saw a repeat on TV the other day. The one where they went camping and cooked for the scouts. Full fat everything! Amen!

Anonymous said...

Which one of them died?

Flinthart said...

I never remember my dreams any more. Probably spend too much of my waking time exploring such things.

Have to admit, I'd be afeared of any dream involving the Two Fat Ladies...

Steve said...

Beer before bed gives you much different dreams, often less weird.

And everyone knows holding a dishwasher hostage is pointless. They're expendable, you simply get a new immigrant into the kitchen (once you dispose of the body of the previous immigrant).

Domestic Daze said...

Whacked out dreams are great aren't they? Although I don't think I want to know what the hell I was thinking when I came up with some of them.

Pastor Larry said...

Yea I found you again :-)

yankeedog said...

Hey, Nat.

This sounds familiar. This bit really does sound like me at Starbucks or Caribou Coffee.

"Would you like to try the extra soy triple latte venti grande whatever?

"Hell, no. It's oh-dark-thirty. Coffee, black, extra caffeine. Stat!"

The barristas hate my manner. They do like a buck in the jar if they're quick about it, though.


ABE: Jennifer died buddy. The one who wore glasses.

BART: I can attest to the cheese theory. Vintage cheddars seems to be the worst.

LOU: Rampant alcoholism isn't for everyone my dear ;-)

LERM: What are we gonna do with you?

KIMMY: They were indeed. I used to love watching just so I could snigger over the naughty names for dishes...Spotted Dick is still my favourite!

FLINT: Next time you go exploring would you bloody-well post about it then? Sheeeeeesh.


DD: Repressed urges sweetie. Go with the flow!

LARRY: How is the coolest Pastor on earth doin'?

YANKEE: I hear you man!

Anonymous said...

I see the problem Nat, the Two Fat Ladies in a French restaurant? The old subconcious is telling you something.

Chaz said...

So funny, i suppose we're talking about 'Venice' then (as it has the view..)

juxtagon said...

so,ah, where's the list to put my name down to propose? And what number will I be ;-P
sorry, not going to tell you what that dream was about. a lack of decent munchie food,perhaps?

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