Thursday, April 08, 2010

Breakfast in a Bag

At the end of the day, with the shop locked up and left in the hands of the night watchimps, Harold relaxes with a cup of tea – or very occasionally cocoa – in front of the television. If it's a warm summer night he might sit out on the patio and listen to a little Mahler or Jazz on the radio. Both the patio and the window of the Green room afford him a view of the Chalk, a series of hills that run like veins through Wiltshire and Buckinghamshire, and he can see the trees turn orange with the setting sum. That's the perfect time to warm a bog of fresh blood to 97.2 and take it to his beloved, who is quite partial to breakfast in bed. Coffin, anyway.

8 comments:

aims said...

Ah! Sounds so romantic doesn't it?

(thoughts of that Japanese synthetic blood bought in a case romp round my wee noggin as obviously I can't think of the name of it and I'm in book 6!)

Leatherdykeuk said...

Synthetic blood? For real? Not Tru Blood?

aims said...

no no - not for real - TruBlood.

Leatherdykeuk said...

Ah! Darn. I had a whole plot spinning there!

stephanie said...

Nicely done, Harold in the Evening. There should be a sonata.

Leatherdykeuk said...

or a one-act play :)

DJ Kirkby said...

Lol. Excellent.

Leatherdykeuk said...

Thank you :)