Sunday, September 26, 2004

Day 122 Monty

"Monty Don he's the man. Much better than Tichfart. Tichfart had Dimmock, but Monty Don has got Rachel de Thame. She is a babe. What is best, breasts or thighs. Give me thighs everytime. Dimmock could be a bricklayers mate. She is good at lifting flagstones, and swinging her tits. She is ginger as well. Rachel was a ballet dancer and a model. There is no competition. Rachel wears gloves to garden. How cool is that? Monty gets depressed. You have to respect gardeners who get depressed. When he talks his brow wrinkles, as though he was fighting away bad memories of the black dog that haunts him. That hellhound on his trail. He keeps it real, not like that punk gardener Chris Collins with that mock cockney accent. Not those wooses Gorden and Guy, with bowties and tweed jackets who have never had a crumb of dirt under their nails, and are to busy sniffing each others Givenchy Xeryus. The curious gardeners indeed... get bent. Not sharks fin Irish Gavin and that twit of a sidekick with long shirt sleeves Lawrence. Not that jackass in a helicopter who makes people dig up their backgardens and impliment his stupid plans, while he swans around in that oversized egg-beater. Not Carol Klein because of her ginger hair, buck teeth, and offensive earings. Not Kim Wilde cos her dad was Marty Wilde, the UK Elvis. Get real there was only one Elvis. Not that inane twittering from Tichfart, who always looks on the bright side of life. Hey Uno am I boring you?"

He was sleeping. That is what always happens. You get in the flow and nobody is listening.