LeishBlog

The walkie-talkies that Princes Nicole and I purchased on the weekend proved to be a fabulous afternoon of procrastination for both of us. We promised each other that we would have breakfast, buy the walkie-talkies and return home to do work that we both had to do before Monday. Yeah well, two problems with that one. The walkie-talkies were purchased at a shopping centre (a few hours of necessary browsing there) and then when we got home we had to put them together and ‘test’ them to make sure they are in working order.

I have a gig this week, so I promised myself a couple of hours of practice and Princes Nicole had heaps of work to do for part of her job, writing those recaps you see at the beginning of TV shows… “Previously on blah blah TV show”.
I know someone has to do it and it is Nicole. Well-done princess!

We were disappointed to find that you had to charge the walkie-talkie batteries before using them, we couldn’t do any work while waiting, that would be silly, you would just start then have to stop again when the walkie talkies were ready.

In the battery charging time, Princess Nicole made gift cards and I blogged and looked up how to buy diet pills on the Internet to allow me to fit into my skinny jeans. Turns out some diet pills make you crap your pants and that really isn’t up my alley (or down), so I am going to try the self-control method, not eat Nutella (boo) and do it that way.

The walkie-talkies were a fabulous success. We tuned them in and proceeded to walk around Princess Nicole’s building and out on the street saying

“Hello, can you still hear me….hello?”

In the lift I came across a man. I was clutching the walkie-talkie but hid it behind my back. Princess Nicole’s voice came blaring through.

“Blondie to Freckles (they are our code names) where are you? Tell me your position?”

I tried to turn it down or off.

“Babe, can you hear me? Is it fucked?” Nicole asked followed by static interference.

The lift guy smiled at me.
“You testing the walkie talkies out for your kids?”

“Umm, something like that, ha ha……(awkward silence)”

Princess Nicole’s voice breaks the silence.

“BABE! Where are you…..shooooooooocococococo (lots of static)?”

I ran out of the lift and headed over the road to my new place and stood in the driveway talking into the walkie-talkie. It worked well.

Later that night we were scanning some channel only to find some redneck ham radio guys talking about bogan things, saying ‘fuckin this and fuckin that’, every third word.

They were speaking about utter garbage. Nothing of value to the human race but still we will enthralled. Nicole said in-between listening to the rednecks talking about ‘fuckin fishing’.

“Babe, it wouldn’t surprise me if we hear them talking about a murder, or better still if we hear the gun go off,”

I replied,

“Quite frankly I don’t have to time to go to court and testify, they’d probably kill us anyway before hand, they’d track us down my radio signal….’

After a moment of contemplation,

“Oh Babe, I would love to witness a murder and then we could go on the run like Thelma and Louise but without the getting caught and dying bit. I can cut my hair at last in an edgy bob and you can go blonde! It would be fantastic!”

As intriguing and as exciting as I found the prospect of life on the run, I didn’t know how haircuts fitted into it.

“Babe we could do that anyway, why do we need to witness a murder to do that?”

After hearing another barrage of swearing.

“Maybe it’s Gordon Ramsey talking to a friend, he does say fuck a lot,”

She has a point. I am now convinced Gordon Ramsey is a ham radio freak, talking about fishing and murder. If I never blog again, I have changed my name to freckles, dyed my hair blond and I am on the run with Princess Nicole aka Blondie.