Desparate measures

No matter how hard I try, posts on this blog will inevitably contain the following sentence – “last night Guido and I were in bed.”

Last night Guido and I were in bed. 

Earlier, Guido had torn open the cafe’s gas and electricity bills for the Autumn period. We got a nasty shock because it involved a lot of big black numbers infront of pound signs.  Our reaction?  What else.  We both shared a quadruple brandy and took immediately to bed.  And so we lay there, under the duvet, with the central heating thermostat turned to a notch so low it was rendering the boiler completely redundant. Only one bedside lamp burned for essential light.  This, I thought, is what it would be like if South London got invaded by those Living Dead Zombies and fuel resources were being rationed by evil vigilantes with oil drums on street corners. Guido and I would have no choice but to while away our evenings barracaded indoors with nothing else to do but have imaginative sex for hours on end.  Exhausting, yes, but a hell of a lot more entertaining than rubbing two twigs together in the dark.  

I pressed my icy cold toes on Guido’s warm hairy thighs.  He was propped up on a pillow wearing a black woollen balaclava.  You know the kind.  The sort you’d pull on to avoid CCTV if you were in the process of car jacking or robbing a bank.

“What can we do to turn The Spanish Onion into a food haven that will have customers flocking here?  Oh, and make us a whole shed load of money too,” said Guido.

“Well,” I said, “One of my blogging friends just wrote a post about delicious food from Roman times.   Maybe you could plan one of your famous themed nights in the cafe. Hey! Let’s insist toga wearing is compulsory for customers.”  

He thought for a moment.  “A toga?  In Bermondsey?  In the middle of Winter?” said Guido, “that’s plain ridiculous.” 

“That’s what Blogger Larry Muffin said!” Hmm.  Et tu Guido.  Okay so togas were out. Though I did think being picky about wearing an old curtain was a bit rich coming from somebody with a hat on in bed. 

“I read about a restaurant in London where diners eat totally in the dark.  Apparently it heightens their experience of the food.”  I sensed Guido thought I was clutching at straws.   Which of course I was.

Delivering food in the dark would certainly be a challenge for our waiters. They had enough trouble getting plates on tables when they could see what they were doing, let alone with the lights out.  And, it could save us a fortune on electricity.  But, okay so now dining in pitch black was out too.  What was I, made of ideas?

“I guess we’ll just have to pray baked potato sales stay buoyant through February,” said Guido optimistically.  Yet again our lives hinged on a stuffed King Edward.

I wondered if The Living Dead had any preference between a baked potato over a sandwich and if they did what their favourite filling would be and what  bread type they’d choose.

“Just for the record.  Would you ever seriously consider having sex with a deranged Zombie?” I said.  

I heard Guido sigh as he switched out the lamp.  He rolled on top of me.  

“Just for the record,” he said, “I thought I already was.”

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24 thoughts on “Desparate measures

  1. I think the phrase “barricaded indoors with nothing else to do but have imaginative sex for hours” merits a blog post of its own, followed by an account of a food orgy downstairs at the Spanish onion—togas or not. 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

  2. You are killing me…my abs are already on fire and now, with my mind full of balaclava wearing sexual escapades with the living dead, in the dark with thoughts of stuffing King Edward…on a Friday evening. Your talent are endless.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Pingback: Desparate measures – endless possibilities

  4. You know I am amongst the top 2% reviewers of restaurants on Trip Advisor and 65,000 people read religiously what I have to say about eateries. So if you want I can write a review of your restaurant. I will not ask for a morsel in return just more mentions of my blog on yours.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. FYI when you are having imaginative sex, rubbing two twigs together in the dark is called frotting. Sex with a zombie, well just how rotten and smelly are they, I mean let’s say Ryan Gosling drops dead and then immediately wants to have sex with me, well as long as he is not too blue or oozing liquids then yes maybe, plus a little duct tape so he can’t bite me. However no if he is well past the best before date regarding meat.

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  6. “Guido and I would have no choice but to while away our evenings barricaded indoors with nothing else to do but have imaginative sex for hours on end.” Im not quite sure I see the problem. Meanwhile, theme night could be fun. Why not serve the food off a couple naked hunks, like buffet style. I know Id come.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Hilarious as usual and I loved the “et tu Guido’, so funny. Personally I think people who ask fir ideas should not meet them with derision but try to be appreciative of the effort even though you were clinging on straws. Here’ a straw or two more: what about a tombola for a meal offered to the lucky two or four, or perhaps drinks offered to someone randomly chosen or a performer who could be one of your talented friends. Hey, why not you telling humourous jokes on stage just like tidbits from your blog post?

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  8. I know everyone’s all about the zombie sex… but the black woollen balaclava in bed has me tearing up from laughter.

    It’s like an episode of I Love Lucy!

    Also, I would wear the balaclava to bed.

    Like

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