Friday 4 September 2009

 

Bore Hunting

The twins are big and blond and loud. Good grief they are loud. They have the stature of rugby players, rich-people-casual jeans, white t-shirts strapped across muscular backs, a receding hairline and they cackle. One of them works for a bank. The other one for a consultancy firm. They are my age and their hobbies are waterboarding in the tropics. And sailing on their own boats. And trout fishing. And boar hunting. They complain about night swimmers getting in the way of their midnight yachting. Why would anyone swim? Let them ride boats!
But the economy is nibbling on their jobs, that, once you ask them what they do are little more than teamleader positions. An uncle owns the fish pond. They are trying to sell the boat they co-own and that isn't really a yacht. A rich friend owns the hunting grounds. And he likes to shoot moles in his own garden, when he's not boar hunting.
"Does he mount the little mole heads on the walls, too, with little plaques?" I ask. That stops the cackling.
"Oh. No. Not that kind of hunting", one of them says kindly.

Comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]





<< Home

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?

Subscribe to Posts [Atom]