Around this time of year a lot of people get nostalgic. They remember years gone by, people who have left us and happy memories sitting next to your toxic gas fire, using the flames to make toast, rather than getting up and using the grill, like the little fat bastard you are (or I was).
Whilst I was rummaging around in some old papers I came across this little gem:
A single tear flew from my eyelid and hit the ground, no doubt causing a tsunami half a world away.
Pots Tatoas were my very convoluted and confusing way of asking Chris if he wanted to get a baked potato for lunch way, way, way back in the dim and distant past when we both worked in Leeds city centre.
Sadly we all missed Pots Tatoas Day this year but I hope that everyone puts it in their diary so we can rally round and stoke the oven (?) in time to enjoy its merits next year.
14 comments on “Potato Nostalgia”
Fifteen years. Fifteen years since the Office 2. Fifteen years since I was sticking my FIST in your mouth to let you know I was thinking of you.
It has been a while. Half a life away we were living it up, laughing at the onion hags coming to the wrong floor, thinking there were shops there instead of two disapproving young men.
I think that’s the most threatening I have ever been. A sullen youth, on an uncomfortably tiny lift landing, standing and looking wordlessly at some hapless people in a lift while they see they’re at the wrong floor and press a button to go back down again. Those awkward moments when they just had to stand there and wait for the doors to close. We made a lot of awkward in that little place.
We manufactured so much awkward that it may well have been called the awkward level when we were there. Which was often.
Do you remember the few times we went up and there was a security guard there, and we had to awkwardly pretend we were waiting for the lift?
So you two were the threatening ones, unless bigger boys were already there, in which case you pretended to not really want to be there?
That’s exactly it. Which is about as hard and threatening as we’re capable of being.
The only way I’m capable of being threatening is with a massive Brian Blessed-esque beard. If I also dress like a hobo that adds to the illusion.
Have you got a massive Brian Blessed-esque beard? I don’t think you have, which means your threateningness is entirely theoretical.
It’s always theoretical even with a metaphorical beard. Yes, my beard is a metaphor for… something else (?) why not?
Your non-existent beard is a metaphor for your non-existent threateningness. I am non-metaphorically and actually non-threatened by it.
Do you have an existential beard to go on your existential flace?
I could imagine putting one on in a pretend fashion if that would help?
*folds arms, point proven*