Ahh April Fools day and Foxy Jonno has posted that meme again.
If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, (even if we don’t speak often) please post a comment with a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL memory of you and me. It can be anything you want – good or bad – BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE. When you’re finished, post this little paragraph on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people DON’T ACTUALLY remember about you.
C’mon, this one’s fun.
When I was younger my chief pleasure was to walk up the garden without telling my parents where I was going, later I used to take the bus into Fish City and go where I chose without anyone knowing what I was doing. This is why I go up Mount Fuji without companions, this is why I like to walk alone on the moors, this is why I love my Sunday evenings.
Don’t know what I’m doing here
I’ll carry on
regardless
Got enough money for one more beer
I’ll carry on
regardless
Good as gold, but stupid as mud
He’ll carry on
regardless
They’ll bleed his heart ’til there’s no more blood
But carry
on regardless
Carry on with laugh
Carry on with cry
Carry on with
brown under moonlit sky
I want my love, my joy, my laugh, my smile, my
needs
Not in the star signs
Or the palm that she reads
I want my
sun-drenched, wind-swept Ingrid Bergman kiss
Not in the next life
I want
it in this
I want it in this
Got one note to last all week
I’ll
carry on regardless
The hill to happiness is far too steep
I’ll carry on
regardless
Dried his mouth in the Memphis sun
He carried on
regardless
Tried to smile and he bit his tongue
But carry on
regardless
Carry on with work
Carry on with love
Carry on with
cheering
Anything above
I want my love, my joy, my laugh, my smile,
my needs
Not in the star signs
Or the palm that she reads
I want my
sun-drenched, wind-swept Ingrid Bergman kiss
Not in the next life
I want
it in this
I want it in this
I don’t want silver, I just want
gold
Carry on regardless
Bronze is for the sick and the old
But carry
on regardless
I want my love, my joy, my laugh, my smile, my
needs
Not in the star signs
Or the palm that she reads
I want my
sun-drenched, wind-swept Ingrid Bergman kiss
Not in the next life
I want
it in this
I want it in this
-Beautiful South ‘Good As Gold’
Do you recall the Austrian waltz, broken up only by the drunken arrival of the Austrian Schwarzenegger?
I remember the first time I saw you, I was standing at the bottom of the stairs in some fancy hotel somewhere on the Continent, you appeared at the top of the stairs as a silhuette against the light from an open door and the only thing I could see clearly of you were those fabulous knee-high boots.
You may recall I’m never playing you at chess again. Aside from the fact that I suck, you’ll remember that the last time we tried we kept on walking into really stupid stalemates. The first was well on in the game, the second was a bit more baffling, but the third game we tried hit a brick wall after only a handful of moves.
You were a lapsed sister of perpetual indulgence at a biker rally in Crewe. I was shocked to discover that you had been wearing a fake beard and used a strap on.
Damn I love that song.