Welcome home!
Well, Andrew, otherwise known as Drew. As I write this, you will be winging your way back to London. Probably. I haven't really worked that bit out.
You've been shaking your thing with the tank-topped, glitter-sprayed boys in the US of A for a week. I hope you haven't picked up any nasty rashes. When we see you, you will be golden brown. I know this, because you told me that you have been going on sunbeds so you look sun-kissed when you turn up at Heathrow, and you're going to pretend that you couldn't help but get really brown in the tropical sunshine, or whatever it is they have there. I said I was going to spoil your fun by getting even more tanned, but you know me. I couldn't be arsed. As there's been shag-all to do in Wellington, you will probably be in reasonable health from all the running and swimming and SEAFOOD (how can you not eat veggie sausages and then eat stuff out of the sea? I will never understand that about you), unless those boys worked you over real good, and took all your mojo.
Either way, I hope you have your drinking hat on, because I have the day off work and, even if you are jet-lagged, I think we should throw a few shots down to toast your return. I'm sorry, but the woman on the telly said it is going to rain tomorrow, so we will have to drink indoors.
It's possible you will have picked up an accent during your time in NZ, in which case I will have to take the piss out of you constantly, until the harsh realities of job and flat-hunting in London crush those exuberant tones out of you. However, as you failed to pick up the accent the whole time you were growing up there, I don't think this is very likely.
When you get back, you will be living with your sister. I give it two days before you try to kill each other. But that's OK, because me and Caroline don't mind if she stays over at our house sometimes, or if you do. We're not fussy.
Andrew, when you see us tomorrow, we will all have changed. I have had my hair cut. And I have re-envisaged myself with a newer, slimmer physique. It's only a matter of time before the reality catches up. Christopher has been growing his hair. We may look different, but we're still the same people on the inside - we're still your friends. And we can't wait to see you, and read that book of yours.
Welcome home, Andrew! (otherwise known as Drew)
You've been shaking your thing with the tank-topped, glitter-sprayed boys in the US of A for a week. I hope you haven't picked up any nasty rashes. When we see you, you will be golden brown. I know this, because you told me that you have been going on sunbeds so you look sun-kissed when you turn up at Heathrow, and you're going to pretend that you couldn't help but get really brown in the tropical sunshine, or whatever it is they have there. I said I was going to spoil your fun by getting even more tanned, but you know me. I couldn't be arsed. As there's been shag-all to do in Wellington, you will probably be in reasonable health from all the running and swimming and SEAFOOD (how can you not eat veggie sausages and then eat stuff out of the sea? I will never understand that about you), unless those boys worked you over real good, and took all your mojo.
Either way, I hope you have your drinking hat on, because I have the day off work and, even if you are jet-lagged, I think we should throw a few shots down to toast your return. I'm sorry, but the woman on the telly said it is going to rain tomorrow, so we will have to drink indoors.
It's possible you will have picked up an accent during your time in NZ, in which case I will have to take the piss out of you constantly, until the harsh realities of job and flat-hunting in London crush those exuberant tones out of you. However, as you failed to pick up the accent the whole time you were growing up there, I don't think this is very likely.
When you get back, you will be living with your sister. I give it two days before you try to kill each other. But that's OK, because me and Caroline don't mind if she stays over at our house sometimes, or if you do. We're not fussy.
Andrew, when you see us tomorrow, we will all have changed. I have had my hair cut. And I have re-envisaged myself with a newer, slimmer physique. It's only a matter of time before the reality catches up. Christopher has been growing his hair. We may look different, but we're still the same people on the inside - we're still your friends. And we can't wait to see you, and read that book of yours.
Welcome home, Andrew! (otherwise known as Drew)
posted by Elizabeth at 6:41 PM
1 Comments:
Drew. Drew. Hmmm. I know that name. It seems like I know someone, but...can't...be...sure...
Hmmm.
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