Fantasies from the kitchen sink

The daffodils are blooming in my garden this morning and the sun is shining, i'ts a lovely spring day. While I was standing at my kitchen sink washing the dishes.....again! I was looking out at my garden through the window, at a big fat wood pigeon trying to cleanse itself  in my small modest bird bath. I got to thinking. Mainly about writing books and the people who write them. Famous people like models. Models hypothetically speaking of course. I was wondering if they write their own storys?. Did they like me borrow their mate Tracey's handouts from a previous English language course, then spend hours reading about the semicolon, brackets and dashes, the comma, exclamation and question marks......Probably not!. I mean they have perfumes to launch, photo shoots and botox clinics to attend. The gardener to pay. Unlike me who does the backbreaking job of gardening myself.  We did have Clive the Garden Angel for a while, godsend a tell ya, what that man could do in a garden in half an hour was fantastic!!!. I may look like something out of Shameless nowadays, but I have always had pride in my garden. It's quite splendid for a council estate in Gateshead. My own little piece of Suffolk in Tyne & Wear. It's amazing what a little bit hard work and a creative imagination can do.

Anyway back to famous models writing books. They probably already know all about English Language. I imagine they went to school, unlike me. It takes quite an astute mind to get on these days. 'Damn, I knew I should have got bigger breast implants'. So, why waste precious time writing your own books when you can hire those amazingly talented people, ghost writers. My question is: what happens when you have a book signing in Waterstones? and someone like me wanders up with a copy and says 'I used to be a model too you know'.  I can see the famous model looking at my Parka that I have worn for the past six years with envy. No question about that!. But, seriously, what happens when someone asks the supposed author uncomfortable awkward questions like, 'You must of had an amazing sense of achievement when you finished your last chapter?'. And 'can I say how beautifully written your last book was, the prose just blew me away, can I ask who inspired you?'. 'Do you use a particular softwear?. 'How many words are there in your Novel?'. Are they briefed?, that's my question. Do their publishers get them in the staff tea room in Waterstones, wipe the sweat from their brows with the tea towel, then take a large gulp of gin from their hip flask and hiss at the supposed author,  'For gods sake! don't mention the fact that you used Gerald the ghost writer, you stupid cow!. You paid him a hundred and fifty grand, hes off to South Africa with the wife and kids, forget you ever met him'. Or do they scream for 'Amanda' the PR girl, to stand at the back of the shop with prompt cards. 'Can you remember how to read luv?'. My imaginary publisher sounds more like Quentin Crisp than a suave George Clooney type in his black Armani suit. He's flown in specially from New York and wants to meet at the Ritz for drinks.... and things!!! after the book signing. But lets face it, it would be a nightmare wouldn't it, not for George but for the publisher and literary agents, the PR folk. I bet there's been a few tales like that along the way. I can see a screen play. Get writing someone quick. Actually, I can see George in the tea room of Waterstones waiting for me. He has a Parka fetish....bet you didn't know that haha!.

Well the house work is calling and the co-op is waiting.
There's a Shepard's pie to make for their tea's.
Rosie the dog has peed on the floor again
So I best clean it up, poor little me.
Chained to my fantasies from the kitchen sink.

Best tie a rope round my waist or I might just float out of the kitchen window.
 
Thanks so much for stopping by until the next time lol x