"'Lo B, what's up," I say. I move away from the crowd I'm with, as Honey B and I are apt to get loud.
"Same o, same o - just the usual wake-up call."
"But I'm up honey," I laugh.
"That's a matter of opinion," she sniffs. "Have you read the paper?"
I can guess what she's going to say next. It's uncanny. "Yes."
""Mr Papadopoulos was attending the funeral of a senior church figure when he collapsed while standing in the front pew."" she reads out to me, over the phone. ""It was like watching a straight plank of wood collapse," a witness told Reuters.""
I couldn't help but laugh. "So, that got you too, huh?"
"Plank of wood," she splutters. "Oh, it's too good. Oh my maidenhair tree."
"Oh your what?" I say. "Shouldn't that be 'Oh my maiden aunt?'"
[This was the way we were. Out on a divided island, far away from Empire, pretending to be so colonial. When all we really were was two little souls holding on dearly to anything familiar. Sad, and yet so touching.]
"Anyway," I continue somewhat crossly, "you make up these stupid things to stick in our conversations now you know that I write some of them out in the blog. The problem is though B, thanks to you, no one's gonna believe a word of it."
"Well how would I know when you're gonna write in the damn thing - you leave it so long..."
"Well I'm not pretending to be the Baghdad Blogger. It's only a bit of fun."
"Ah - Ooooo, that's why I phoned you! I knew I'd forgotten something!"
"What?" I ease the phone away from my ear. It's getting hot and loud in there.
"I read your post this morning! God, finally after almost a month! So, is that why you waste all your time on Tarkan?"
"You're a bigger fan than I am B, but with less talent my love," I crooned into the phone. "And no, not really...I just posted that article because I felt like it. Though most Tarkan fans on the Net have read that before."
"So...who else do you know that extends a dinner conversation over a month?"