Baz
Simon has told the story of last Thursday's night at Bedrock. It's the story of our vaguely odd return to his house. You'd better go and read the story, I'll wait here whilst you go have a look.
Good wasn't it? I was sleeping downstairs in Simon's deluxe sleeping bag on the sofa bed in the living room. In the morning at about 7am, 5 hours after I had gone to bed, Baz came downstairs, switched on the living room light, and turned on the telly at full volume to watch the cricket without an ounce of consideration for the six foot snoozing worm-cum-guest in the corner.
I can forgive Baz for this, because his abject disregard for others is more than compensated in his comic value. When Simon appeared at 7.25 their conversation went something like this: -
Simon: "Morning Baz, how are you?"
Baz: "Pissed off"
Simon: "What are you going to do today?"
Baz: "I'm going to phone the landlord about the fucking house falling down"
Simon: "What are you going to say to him"
Baz: "I'm going to say 'Why has is fucking house falling down?'"
Simon: "Haven't you got that girl coming over this weekend? Your bed isn't good for romancing ladies"
Baz: "I'll be alright I'm going to check into a suite at the Langham"
Simon: "How much would that cost?"
Baz: "I don't care, the fucking landlord is paying"
Actually, Simon makes an excellent Ernie Wise in moments like this.
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