Saturday, 4 November 2017
The Healen Porr
Scene: The sitting room. I'm ensconced on the sofa, feet up, laptop on lap, flicking though 200 channels of rubbish on TV, trying to find an old film.
Small Dog comes strolling in, astounded to see me on the sofa at 10am and without breaking stride, jumps up onto my legs and settles down.
Me: *testily* That's really not comfortable SD. Could you sit on the cushions instead of my legs?
SD:*accusingly* Why did yue knott evin tel me yue wer in hear on the sewfa?
Me:*breathily* I'm poorly... feeling really rough. So I'm doing some work in here.
SD*incredulously* Murrrm... WHOTT is rong with yure vois. Yue sownd like a grouwly thing.
Me: *coughing* Thanks.
SD: And WHOTT is that terribul smel? Its maiken mai ies wottur.
Me: *croakily* It's a combination of Vick's Vapour Rub and Olbas Oil. To help me breathe.
SD: *authoritatively* Fore gudeniss saik.... thair kno gude. Yue knead bare grees.
Me: *warily* Bear grease? I don't think so.
SD:*confidently* How due yue kno if yue doant evin trie itt?
Me*weakly* I don't like the sound of it. Anyway, we haven't got any. If it even exists. Which I seriously doubt.
SD: *warming to her theme* Yue smeer it onto brouwn paippur then poot the paippur on yore chesst.
Me: *noncommittally* Hmmmmm
SD:*doggedly* Then yue eyron it.
Me: *disbelievingly* IRON it?!
SD:*firmly* Yess. With a eyron. On meedyum heet. It mellts the bare greese intew yore chesst, and sew ayds rekuverie.
Me:*incredulously* Rubbish. I don't know where you get these ideas.
SD: *huffily* Well if yue woant evin trie itt..... *mumbl, muttr*.... ai hav wun uthr sujestshun.
SD: *ingratiatingly* Yue kneed The Heelen Porr... nouw if yue just moov that lapptopp and lett me sitt on yore nee... then yue hav to stroak me.... thatts itt. Keap doen it... it woant wurk if yue stopp.
A few minutes later.....
SD: Feeyew.... yure a bitt hott! Its maken me unkumftuble.
Me: *testily* You could MOVE you know!
SD: *airily* O no. I hav to stai heer to giv yue The Healen Porr.
SD: Aktewlie... ai mite move... yue ar veri hott and yue doant luke at orl well.
Me: *groggily* I don't feel at all well. I expect I look a bit like Camille in her death scene, draped over her fainting couch, looking all pale and wan.
SD:*placatingly* Murrrm.... yue doant luke enithin liek a kammel. Ai thinc yue musst be halloosinaten.
SD: *pensively* Orlthoe.... yue do hav a bitt of a humph......