Content feed Comments Feed

Archive for June, 2012

A Route 66 motel room

Posted by Alex On June - 20 - 2012

“This was fucking brilliant,” said William Shakespeare. “We had everything we could ever need. We had a table, two chairs, a fridge, a telly. It was absolutely fucking brilliant.”

“It was just a motel room,” said Sophie Ellis-Bextor.

“Don’t ruin it,” said Shakespeare. “This was special.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and patted the spot next to him. Ellis-Bextor rolled her eyes and came and sat next to him.

“Seriously,” he said. “It meant a lot to me. Sometimes I forget what you mean to me.”

“Oh?” said Ellis-Bextor, somewhat accusingly.

“No, not forget,” said Shakespeare. “Forget’s the wrong word. It’s more like some of my emotions slip into the background.”

He put his arm around Ellis-Bextor’s shoulders and continued. “They’ve not gone anywhere; they’ve just receded. They’re ready to be called upon at a moment’s notice and I guess that’s the point I’m trying to make. Sometimes it’s important to find time to bring those emotions to the fore and maybe that’s what happened here.”

“Oh William,” said Sophie Ellis-Bextor.

“I’ll always remember this,” said Shakespeare. “And I hope you will too.”

Ellis-Bextor grabbed Shakespeare’s hand and gently squeezed it. Shakespeare looked in her moistening eyes and held her gaze. “If I take off my codpiece, will you reach through the opening in my hose?” he asked.

Staying at a motel on Route 66

Posted by Alex On June - 13 - 2012

“Look, this one’s got vacancies,” said Sophie Ellis-Bextor, turning off the road and into a giant and largely empty car park.

“A motel,” spat William Shakespeare haughtily.

“There’s nothing wrong with motels,” said Ellis-Bextor, aiming for a wide parking space near the office.

“A motor hotel,” said Shakespeare. “Nothing that has a name that is a blend of two other words is ever worthwhile.”

“You’re telling me that’s your problem with motels?” said Ellis-Bextor. “That’s your only reason for hating them?”

“Sporks,” exclaimed Shakespeare. “They’re so crass.”

“You’re snobbish about the weirdest things.”

Ellis-Bextor switched off the engine and got out. Shakespeare remained seated. “I’ll go and get us a room then,” she said. Shakespeare didn’t answer; didn’t even look at her.

A few minutes later, Ellis-Bextor emerged from the office. As she approached the car, Shakespeare wound down the window and said: “Skyjack.”

“What?” said Ellis-Bextor, making her way round to the driver’s side.

“Telethon,” said Shakespeare.

They drove towards the main motel building in silence. As they parked outside room six, Shakespeare spoke again. “I can’t believe we’re staying in a scuzzy fucking motel room.”

Exiting the car, Ellis-Bextor asked: “Isn’t ‘scuzzy’ a blend?”

“No,” said the bard.

“It is,” she said. “It’s ‘scummy’ and ‘lousy’.”

“That’s bullshit,” said Shakespeare, uncertainly. “That’d be ‘scousy’ surely?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s scuzzy,” said Ellis-Bextor.

The two of them approached the door to the motel room. Ellis-Bextor unlocked the door and swung it open.

“Ah, it’s really nice,” said Shakespeare with genuine appreciation.

About Us

A man who has no interest in writing about Toadfish Rebecchi, largely because his surname is annoying to spell.