rufus film titles
Jun 22, 2008 12:48:46 GMT
Post by lassie on Jun 22, 2008 12:48:46 GMT
Not sure where is the best place to post this. I was feeling bored thismorning (trying to avoid doing housework actually) and decided to see how many film titles I could fit into a piece of fiction.
Here goes:
Charles, the second son of Lord and Lady Fotheringham was almost trembling with excitement thinking about his impending dirty weekend. He had arranged a rendezvous with his lover, Frank Laurence, outside Victoria Station at 8.30 am. He had lied to his wife of twenty one years, Martha, telling her he was to go on a business trip to Glasgow, whereas in reality he was off to a little Scottish hamlet called Carrington in Midlothianshire. He had reserved a cottage, which was situated on the grounds of a small holding, Cold Comfort Farm. Hopefully, the remoteness of this love nest would make it impossible for him to be caught out. It had been a close call a few months ago when he and Frank had almost been spotted by a work colleague at the Illuminata Hotel. Fortunately, by the amazing grace of god they had managed to quickly dart in to a nearby conference room. Unfortunately, however they had had to sit through a ridiculous lecture by an aged historian putting forward his theory to support the ancient legend of Zorro! Charles smiled to himself as he remembered this and the fun they had had that night in the hotel bedroom re-enacting the story of Zorro followed by a spontaneous, made up knight’s tale of Sir Lancelot conquering King Arthur.
Charles considered himself to be a man of no importance and he still couldn’t really believe his luck that Frank loved him. They had met by accident that November night in the dark city of Birmingham. There had been a power cut caused at nearby road works. Charles was not familiar with the ring roads of Birmingham and without traffic lights he knew he would get lost and was unsure what to do. He was tired and in need of a drink. He spotted a pub across the road, The Woodlanders, so decided to go in. Candles were being lit and placed around the lounge. Charles scanned the busy room and his heart did a flip when he saw the tall, dark handsome business man sitting in the corner. God he was gorgeous. Charles spotted an uncorked bottle of wine behind the bar, bought it and with trepidation walked over to the man and asked if he could join him. There he had learned that Frank was a director of the large conglomerate, Extreme Operations, was single but lived with two Burmese cats (Tristan and Isolde), had the most beautiful eyes plus a deliciously wicked sense of humour. When the electricity returned, instead of going their separate ways, they decided to make a night of it and go to the next door restaurant, Arabian Nights. Charles had never seen anything quite like it before. The head waiter, Vinyan, lead them through the cave-like interior to a table close to the stage where entertainment was in progress. It was ‘sheikhin stevens’ belting out rock ‘n’ roll tunes with such appalling gusto that you couldn’t help but be drawn in to the awful pretence. Charles found himself clapping and cheering with the rest of the audience. A karaoke competition followed and again, Charles found himself acting out of character. He and Frank were led to the stage by Vinyan and had to be shown how to use the high-tec karaoke equipment. Eventually they managed to press the right button, downloading a Nancy Sinitra song, these boots were made for walkin. Victory was theirs. Charles recalled he left the restaurant with a tacky trophy and the love of his life.
Anyone else fancy a go??
Here goes:
Charles, the second son of Lord and Lady Fotheringham was almost trembling with excitement thinking about his impending dirty weekend. He had arranged a rendezvous with his lover, Frank Laurence, outside Victoria Station at 8.30 am. He had lied to his wife of twenty one years, Martha, telling her he was to go on a business trip to Glasgow, whereas in reality he was off to a little Scottish hamlet called Carrington in Midlothianshire. He had reserved a cottage, which was situated on the grounds of a small holding, Cold Comfort Farm. Hopefully, the remoteness of this love nest would make it impossible for him to be caught out. It had been a close call a few months ago when he and Frank had almost been spotted by a work colleague at the Illuminata Hotel. Fortunately, by the amazing grace of god they had managed to quickly dart in to a nearby conference room. Unfortunately, however they had had to sit through a ridiculous lecture by an aged historian putting forward his theory to support the ancient legend of Zorro! Charles smiled to himself as he remembered this and the fun they had had that night in the hotel bedroom re-enacting the story of Zorro followed by a spontaneous, made up knight’s tale of Sir Lancelot conquering King Arthur.
Charles considered himself to be a man of no importance and he still couldn’t really believe his luck that Frank loved him. They had met by accident that November night in the dark city of Birmingham. There had been a power cut caused at nearby road works. Charles was not familiar with the ring roads of Birmingham and without traffic lights he knew he would get lost and was unsure what to do. He was tired and in need of a drink. He spotted a pub across the road, The Woodlanders, so decided to go in. Candles were being lit and placed around the lounge. Charles scanned the busy room and his heart did a flip when he saw the tall, dark handsome business man sitting in the corner. God he was gorgeous. Charles spotted an uncorked bottle of wine behind the bar, bought it and with trepidation walked over to the man and asked if he could join him. There he had learned that Frank was a director of the large conglomerate, Extreme Operations, was single but lived with two Burmese cats (Tristan and Isolde), had the most beautiful eyes plus a deliciously wicked sense of humour. When the electricity returned, instead of going their separate ways, they decided to make a night of it and go to the next door restaurant, Arabian Nights. Charles had never seen anything quite like it before. The head waiter, Vinyan, lead them through the cave-like interior to a table close to the stage where entertainment was in progress. It was ‘sheikhin stevens’ belting out rock ‘n’ roll tunes with such appalling gusto that you couldn’t help but be drawn in to the awful pretence. Charles found himself clapping and cheering with the rest of the audience. A karaoke competition followed and again, Charles found himself acting out of character. He and Frank were led to the stage by Vinyan and had to be shown how to use the high-tec karaoke equipment. Eventually they managed to press the right button, downloading a Nancy Sinitra song, these boots were made for walkin. Victory was theirs. Charles recalled he left the restaurant with a tacky trophy and the love of his life.
Anyone else fancy a go??
