You could have knocked me over with a feather, but not an egg

So I’m at this party, where I haven’t met anyone except my host, but as the conversations turn, I discover that I’m talking to the sister-in-law of the people who used to own the house I now own (Her: so what do you use that upstairs room for? Me: I just got a window installed, and any day we’ll get my desk moved up there and it will be my garret. Her: Oh.), so you could say my night was very Adelaide except that on the way there, someone threw an egg at my car.

0 thoughts on “You could have knocked me over with a feather, but not an egg”

  1. There’s something odd about a garrett?

    In my Adelide (north-eastern suburbia), one just might have an egg thrown at one’s car of an evening. Not that it’s normal, but it would strike me as qite Adelaide …

  2. What is it with egg throwing!!??? I walk to work and along the way I often see dried egg and broken shells on the footpaths along the Parade, at Norwood. I love the idea of a garrett. Your own personal private hideaway, to blog or read undisturbed….

  3. I sometimes firmly believe rellies don’t come to see me, they come to see the house. It’s enough to make you chuck them a set of keys. As if any of us would give two figs what one uses an upstairs room for – how does it reduce Third World debt, or put the brakes on climate change? Bad luck you didn’t meet anyone more inneresting.

  4. As this post can only really be appreciated by an Austrailian I guessing you should have said you plan to use the room to store your fur coats off season? That you needed a place to throw your Bentley keys? Or, perhaps, that you plan to start weaving your own fabric for the children’s clothing…

  5. I don’t think she meant anything bad by it – just she didn’t have anything to say after that.

    And I had no idea there were so many eggs being thrown around the place. Obviously, I should get out more.

  6. Oops – just spotted my own appalling typos up there and had to do a useless mea culpa just to reassure you that I haven’t utterly lost my faculties and forgotten how to spell. Just how to type, apparently. And proofread …

  7. Obviously, it’s where you keep the corpse of the mad old woman who used to live there, decaying in her rocking chair…

    Rocking… Rocking…

    One day her head will fall off and roll to your feet, grinning macabrely as you type.

    We will forgive you the ensuing typo.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *