The Dutch Ambassador's tea cups are a mystery to me

More than anything today I wish to know what kind of tea cups the Dutch Ambassador uses. My washing machine is making sad beeping noises and flashing its little lights. It will not wash no matter which combination of rude words are thrown into the incantation. The teamleading proactive customer relationship building active telephonic woman asked if Friday afternoon was a convenient time for the washing machine repair man to come around. Hell yes, is what I said. Who doesn't want a half day on Friday?

I left a box of miniature crayons in The Duke tonight, with a little swing tag saying 'daleslamma.blogspot.com'. Boli looked at me sideways when I told him my plan. He turned the tiny tin box over and over in his giant palms and said "that's the only way you can do it, isn't it?". He's right, it is the only way I can do it. I am incapable of shedding this traveling snailhouse skin in any other fashion. I'm not sure what it is about this plan that makes it ok to say goodbye to things I have treasured since memory kickstarted its bastard regime but it is ok. This is a joyful unburdening.

Yesterday I got busted on the train. By busted I mean a whole carriage full of besuited morning commuters saw me hang a fuck ugly necklace on a hand rail just before the doors opened and I jumped off at my allotted daily spot. It must have clanged. Its a huge fuck ugly necklace strung with stones and ceramic bits. I was listening to The Rolling Stones and trying my very best not to bust out some bad silent dance moves so I didn't hear the stones clang against the metal railing. I thought I was a spy, better than a spy, I thought I was Super Dale being super secret squirrel in a stealthy casual International Dale of Mystery kind of a way but when I snuck a peek to see if the necklace was hanging nicely I noticed the whole carriage was staring straight at me. The doors started to close on the train so I executed an undignified scrambling leap, the whole carriage watched me out of the windows as the train slid away.

They must not be curious, those staring commuters, not one person has bothered to leave a comment asking about the fuck ugly necklace. I wonder if anyone ever will.

Comments

Shelley said…
I left my address [internet, not home though that's a thought] on a beer mat at The Duke on Sunday night. No-one cared.

Miniature crayons are much more interesting. And useful.
Anonymous said…
If I see a woman or man wearing it down here I shall snatch it and shout out at them "www.dalelamma.blogspot.com" and run off, they may then return home and leave a comment.

Rups :)
DS said…
Nails,

I would have cared, if I had found it.

Rups,

Thanks. This is a good plan.
karen said…
Maybe they are just shy. Or deadshits. I'm sure one day someone will make that journey from their desktop to your blog and make this entire thing all worthwhile.
TimT said…
Commuters on train are easily amused. Anything will set them off.

When I feel like having a laugh, I like to watch the hordes of commuters at North Melbourne Station run for the train I am getting off. They have terror in their eyes! And the cause of this terror is so insignificant, the thought of missing the next train to Flinders Street.

Some day, I will do a post about this.