RIP Geezer

Please just bow your heads and say a prayer for my mate Crisp-e‘s “Inner Geezer“.

I visited him and Mrs Crisp-e today and found “Geezer” in a poorly way.
I have been fearing for Geezer for a little while now.

At first it was small, subtle things.
Next catalogues, Nespresso refill guides, booklets for handmade chocolate, “Man” creams and moisturisers, eating certain food groups on particular days
I thought nothing of it.
Then, The John Lewis catalogue appeared, discussions turned towards dining room suites, soft furnishings and ‘white‘ goods.
Whatever the fuck they are!
I had missed the signs, the Geezer had taken a terminal blow.
Home Ownership had delivered it’s deadly virus.
This afternoon I found the Geezer at death’s door.
He was painting a fence, all fine, up until the point he actually began to extol the virtues of Teak oil and a paintbrush!
Like my name was Ken or Norman, or something.
When he started discussing bread recipes, my Inner Geezer was whispering,
‘Aye, Aye, What the fuck’s going on here!’
Eyebrows were raised.
Crisp-e’s Geezer rallied for a bit as we pissed ourselves over the notion of ‘Obese Eyeballs’!
But on the way out I heard the death rattle loud and clear.
I tripped over a pair of green Wellington Boots.
I have to come to terms with the fact that Geezer is gone.
The replacement is an upgrade though.
Settled Crisp-e is a joy to be around.
Makes cracking bread too.

Crisp-e's 'feisty fucker' fish!