A Conversation With a Dear Old Friend by @teddysouter

The Dean bigadminjobs | January 7, 2015

Posted in Blog, Front, Keep

Teddy Souter

 

 

 

 

 

By Teddy Souter

 

On NYE i drunkenly decided to take on one of the SCA tasks and hounded my mates to give me the number of a guy I hadn’t spoken to in a very long time. He’s a potential future sca applicant so will remained unnamed incase he ever does apply.

 

Basically me and this dude used to have some excellent conversations. They were creative, non sensical and beautifully random.

 

On NYE in a less than sober state I sent him a very strange text, incredibly he knew exactly who it was, and responded in an epic manner as the conversation lit up in a fiery ball of absolute gibberish.

 

Feel free to have a read.

 

Me: Dunno bout you but I rate that guy who punched that Monet painting

 

Him: Red Sky at night, shepherds delights

 

Me: Theres no more cereal

 

Him: Miliband would be nothing with out the influence of Cecilia

 

Me: A forceful armpit chew chew

 

Him: I want my next house to be a light shade of pomegranate rouge

 

Me: The local TV news called it the el passo Chainsaw massacre

 

Him: I’ve seen spirited away

 

Me: Sip silently my dear tress, for we leave at dawn

 

Him: Joe Brand  is much like Che Guevara in her equidistant approach to political satire

 

Me: Robbie keanes move to leeds upset the masses at coventry, but they accepted that in the season of 2001-2002 the lillywhites were looking a very promising prospect indeed.

 

Him: Forget the jibes that Brand and Ross faced in the midst of their last scandal, the fact of the matter is the HAVE taken responsibility and we ARE moving on. No further comment officer.

 

Me: Nigel Winterburns mum

 

Him: Onion bahji, potatoes bravas and a subtle round of applause from a retired midwife.

 

Me: Thats very kind of you but my desk is made of plastic, not mahogany.

 

Him: Mahlers 5th Concerto, entitle “rage” performed at the royal variety show accompanied by Fabrice Muamba on the oboe.

 

Me: To the man in aisle three who has put his cock in the pot of alpro buttermilk, will you please make your way to the nearest exit.

 

Him: Colossal donkey nipples

 

Me: James Nesbitts lawn mower.

 

 

 

… And that was the last text sent in what is by far and away the best conversation I have had to date.