I am, apparently, Rosa Parks

I blame Phil for what happened on Wednesday. We were sitting at our desks idly chatting about our plans for the weekend. Mine involve going out for dinner on Friday night and heading to Oxford on Saturday to watch Shakespeare in the quad of the Bodleian Library. And going out for dinner. Yes, I know it’s a theme but there are a lot of restaurants out there and I’m worried I might die without eating at all of the good ones. Phil on the other hand is then off to stay with friends for a lads’ weekend. He has quite a way with words but I wasn’t really expecting the spin he put on his plans:

“It’s going to be like Weekend At Bernie’s. Only without the corpse.”

When I had finished laughing (which took some time) I changed my Instant Messenger status to reflect Phil’s immortal words. Shortly after that I heard from my friend, the legendary David. New readers who want to check out why David has earned his quasi-mythical status should stop by here.

DAVID: Who are you quoting there?
MLS: My colleague Phil, describing his plans to meet up with friends on Saturday.
DAVID: I would think that “Weekend at Bernie’s, but without the corpse” would imply quite a sedate weekend where not much occurs. Is that what he meant? Or does it mean a riotous weekend of bacchanalian excess that stops just short of gangland murder?
MLS: The latter would be my guess.
DAVID: Blimey. He'll need some of the former to recover from that latter then. Are you backgammoning this lunchtime, perchance?
MLS: Sadly not, no. It is lined up for tomorrow. The online Backgammon Federation has linked to my blog!
DAVID: It'll be like Weekend at Bernie's tomorrow then. Except without a corpse. And with more backgammon. And less hi-jinks. And more canteen. And less dubious coincidences to advance the plot. And more leskol.
MLS: Yes, let's not forget the leskol.
DAVID: Is the situation in Backgammon comparable to darts and boxing? Is there a Backgammon Council and a Backgammon Organisation out there too? Are there turf wars? Do they send the heavies in to upturn rival tables? Is there an underground bareknuckle version?
MLS: The first rule of Backgammon Club is...
DAVID: Do gypsies use industrial estates to force starving staffies to play backgammon at weekends? They should do. I'd pay to watch that. ITV3'd snap it up.
MLS: True. They show poker on telly now, but no backgammon. It's just prejudice.
DAVID: You are the Rosa Parks of backgammon. Stay strong, sister.
MLS: I had a Rosa Parks moment on the funbus today. I went on with my mocha and Donald Pleasence gave me a funny look. I said "how many times have I got on this coach [I nearly said "bus" but I stopped myself] with a hot drink?" He said "And how many times have I found coffee stains on my seats?" I replied "Those aren't coffee stains." and walked away.
DAVID: That's EXACTLY the same as what happened to Rosa Parks. You are right to compare your experience to hers.
MLS: Now that the civil rights movement has made this much progress it's time to stand up for coffee drinking coach riding backgammon players. Maybe one day we'll get one in the White House. We'll probably just get one who doesn't mind the occasional latte, has been on a Greyhound once and likes back bacon. But the media will act like that's enough.
DAVID: Yes, he'll just be an Uncle Tom. He'll be like an Oreo - backgammon on the outside, but white at heart. I'm feeling let down by him already.

I’m very conscious that July is over and so this is my last chance to post this song which I really wanted to put on the blog. It’s especially apt because August not only represents the height of summer but it’s also the earliest I have ever seen Christmas cards and decorations on sale in the shops. It happened in Henley a couple of years back and I was genuinely shocked to see windows festooned with tinsel. It was thirty degrees in the shade for goodness’ sake. So here is the magnificent “Christmas In July” by Sufjan Stevens, one of my favourite artists (or he would be if he showed any danger of putting out a new bloody record).

Sufjan Stevens – Christmas In July

In the end I didn’t play backgammon at lunch yesterday. Instead I finally managed to go to lunch with the cool kids. I was expecting highbrow conversation but it turns out that they talk about filth just like I do at lunch (I am overlooking the extremely remote possibility that as the common factor I might be the bringer of smut. I think we can safely rule that out.) In the process, I learned a valuable lesson about tolerating alternative lifestyles.

I discovered that Mandy and her boyfriend Steve don’t live together, as I had previously thought. Mandy and Steve, it turns out, both still live with their respective families even though they have been together for well over ten years and Steve is in his forties. I was a bit baffled by this.

“Don’t you regret the fact that you don’t live together?” I asked.

“No, it’s fine. My mum and dad really like Steve so it’s fine.”

“But don’t you miss getting to share a home and do all the domestic side of things?”

“Not at all. Actually it works out very well. I don’t have to pay a mortgage and I get all my meals cooked for me and my ironing done. And if I want to cook we can cook for Steve’s dad round at his house.”

I never cease to be amazed by the diverse range of living arrangements that couples opt for. Some couples live in separate houses. Some live in the same house but in separate bedrooms. Some, as in many of my previous relationships, live in the same house and the same bedroom but on separate planets.

“But what about…”

Nothing came out of my mouth. I couldn’t understand why Mandy didn’t feel like she was missing out, but I couldn’t come up with any compelling reasons why she might be. Well, I could only think of one reason. The gutter, as always, was gently calling to me with its siren song of smut.

“Well, I suppose it means you never get to have noisy sex.”

Mandy smiled sweetly and floored me without a moment’s hesitation.

“Oh no, we do that all the time. Steve’s dad is quite deaf.”