Irreality
this is not real.
"Venice is beautiful at this time of year," she says, mellifluous in speech. He nods. I say nothing. "Isn't it, Maureen? Andrew?" I look up from my Guardian [Charlie Brooker's column, I never miss it on a Saturday and a foreign country is not going to stop me, apparently.] and smile.
"Aye," I agree simply "It's quite nice. Bit warm though but, eh, I just think that's just me." she shakes her head smiling, bumping her elbow into his side.
"Silly girl." she grins. He licks his lips.
"Daft sod." he eventually spits out. Me and her look at him strangely. Rustle rustle, broadsheets getting bigger. Blanket of paper and ink, embroidered hieroglyphics.
"Who?" she asks, giving him a tempestuous grin. He doesn't reply straight away.
"Venetians." he finally surmises. Rose laughs, hair fall back sweetly, seeming to move of it's own volition.
"Sods, then." she corrects him. He shrugs his shoulders in pseudo-humphs.
"Alright, alright, Little Miss Pedantic knickers." he laughs. Tea, languorous tea, stretched on the bed in blue satin pyjamas, my best pair, feeling more British than Queen Victoria eating a Victorian sponge cake in a Union Jack bikini. Naturally, that goes without saying.
Crossword, Cursive letters - not my handwriting. A sound sex _ _ R _ L.
"You do realise this is all a dream." she says with sadness in her eyes. I look up again and again.
"Aye, I know. But a girl can dream, can't she?" Smile.
"Yes, a girl can dream."
Twelve down. Eight letters. Silly or stupid individual. G _ _ M _ _SS.
Sip of tea.
"This tea is mince."
"Quite possibly." he nods with the head of a bee.
"Aye," I agree simply "It's quite nice. Bit warm though but, eh, I just think that's just me." she shakes her head smiling, bumping her elbow into his side.
"Silly girl." she grins. He licks his lips.
"Daft sod." he eventually spits out. Me and her look at him strangely. Rustle rustle, broadsheets getting bigger. Blanket of paper and ink, embroidered hieroglyphics.
"Who?" she asks, giving him a tempestuous grin. He doesn't reply straight away.
"Venetians." he finally surmises. Rose laughs, hair fall back sweetly, seeming to move of it's own volition.
"Sods, then." she corrects him. He shrugs his shoulders in pseudo-humphs.
"Alright, alright, Little Miss Pedantic knickers." he laughs. Tea, languorous tea, stretched on the bed in blue satin pyjamas, my best pair, feeling more British than Queen Victoria eating a Victorian sponge cake in a Union Jack bikini. Naturally, that goes without saying.
Crossword, Cursive letters - not my handwriting. A sound sex _ _ R _ L.
"You do realise this is all a dream." she says with sadness in her eyes. I look up again and again.
"Aye, I know. But a girl can dream, can't she?" Smile.
"Yes, a girl can dream."
Twelve down. Eight letters. Silly or stupid individual. G _ _ M _ _SS.
Sip of tea.
"This tea is mince."
"Quite possibly." he nods with the head of a bee.