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Saturday, September 16, 2017

What the Dickens? It's School Holidays!



It was with carrying a not desolate and bleak, destitute heart in which I departed my dear place of industrious labour yesterday and set afoot on my extensive and arduous journey back to my soothing and familiar home where my dear husband sat in the dewy, green, back garden, anxiously awaiting my appearance and wearing a ponderous and expectant visage with many a gentle sigh forthcoming from his broad chest; but with a happy one.

If you haven’t guessed, I’ve been listening to Charles Dickens’ David Copperfield on audio all week.
NB: the Dickens' character NOT the magician.
I shall carry on with a similar style of rubbish for the remainder of my post.

My dear reader, I can not for the life of me, express what an immense relief it is to be finally freed of the stifling and oppressive establishment that is school life. Not only shall I be liberated from the dreadful clamour of the beseeching and regimented bleating of the alarm clock at a time before the cock crows every morn, but I shall be enabled to slumber to my heart’s content on each and every morning for the next thirteen days plus one.

No more will one such self be mandated to travel out of one’s way to visit Aldi to shop for nourishing substances for one’s pets on an already gruelling and toilsome excursion on return to one’s abode, but one shall be able to visit the said store on a whimsy, a mere whimsy, my dear fellow.

There shall be joy and merriment celebrated on every minute ticked by the clock, on every whisper in the breeze as I sup on my port wine in the fire lit parlour; on every glittering view I glimpse from my chaise lounge as I repose in a reflective introspect whilst gathering my weary thoughts, cupping my steaming mug in my withered hands.

The long forgotten night terrors revitalising hideous recollections of the tedious marking of badly spelled persuasive essays, the horrors of an all-day soccer gala day, the utter dreadfulness of a disconcerting and strenuous school camp… will slowly dissolve into a faded and indistinct memory.

In short, my dear reader, the school term has at last come to a hasty and propitious end and my future lies like a glittering jewel in the crown of a great monarch with all the promise of a something one might only dream of on the sweetest and most headiest of nights whilst drowning in the aromas of all the night flowers blooming in the most intoxicating and reckless of manner.


And so I leave you, perhaps perplexed as to what you just read, perhaps quietly snickering at the jumbled and disorderly mind that is Pinky Poinker, perhaps quietly nodding in mournful pity at the wonders of a truly mad and tangled mind. Whatever, sir, I wish you a good and happy life and a very nice school holiday.