Apart from the heat and sitting in his favourite outdoor chair (a large round-backed cafe chair that could seat two men, painted red, with tiny holes in the shape of hearts), Chester had no plans whatsoever.
So it irked him when the telephone rang. He groaned with effort as he hoisted himself out of his beloved chair, set down his mug of raspberry leaf tea with such force that liquid spilled over the edges, and hurried inside as fast as his little legs would carry him.
"Yes! Hello?!" he squeaked with an off-putting rasp.
"Hello, is this Chester Mortimer, from 19-49 Surmsace Potting Lane, a mile from Lorten, which happens to be south of Winchester Awn-"
"Yes! Yes!" Chester cut in impatiently. "It Christ well is! Christ!"
"Sorry?" The woman at the other end said, sounding as though she hadn't understood a word Chester had said.
"I said 'yes! This is Chester Mortimer', what do you want?"
"Oh, I see, so you are Chester Mo-"
"Woman! I am sunbathing in my most comfortable chair under the hottest sun England has ever experienced- which isn't all that hot mind, but we have to do- and I will be damned if I am interrupted by some sales clerk who wastes my time asking me the same questions the entire phone call!"
"I'm terribly sorry, sir," the woman continued in her calm, high-pitched voice. "Are you alright?"
"Am I what?" Chester squeaked.
"I said 'A R E Y O U A L L RIGHT?', I'm ringing to speak with a Mr Chester Mortimer, you sa-"
Chester abruptly hung up the phone and trotted back outside to sit in his favourite chair under the sun, where he had peace and tea in the sweetest taste of berry that money could buy.
Oh she's sweet but a psycho..
No comments:
Post a Comment