Tag Archives: funny

An evening of two halves

‘Cheers’ said Whizz as we clinked together our champagne flutes to welcome in 2015.

‘Here’s to a hospital free year’ I rejoined.

We almost made it!

Yesterday, late afternoon, turned out to be a bit frantic. I worked a bit of overtime at work, the car fuel-gauge was so low that the needle did not even move when the car was on a hill, the dog needed walking, a repeat prescription that should have been delivered to Pebbleditch, remained in Tinkle Town to be collected urgently, and it was Community Film night, which meant that Whizz needed dinner by 6pm in order to be at the village hall, erecting the big screen and setting up equipment at 6.30. At lunch time there had been a lot of talk about Christmas and I was painfully aware that I had done absolutely nothing towards the festive preparations, despite the fact that I am hosting my beloved family for several days.

Dog needs walking however busy one is
Whatever needs doing must make way for the dog walk.

I decided I should load the dog into the car, head to the petrol station first, then on to the doctor, after which I would walk, in the dark, around Tinkle Park.

I will digress a bit here and admit to something very personal. I am trying (I won’t say I am, one yet) to become a Buddhist. To many this may seem completely bonkers but I am deadly serious. I didn’t like the person I was becoming and felt the  need to make a change. Nichiren Buddhism is a branch of the ‘religeon’ that places responsibility on the individual. Instead of asking a deity to help achieve something, the emphasis is firmly on the person, to examine their heart and change their own karma, thus enabling their Buddahood to emerge.

I am completely happy with the self examination and improvement aspect of Buddhism, but I have some issue with the idea that a person can chant to get the things they want. I am assured by the people who attend the sessions that there are millionaires who have achieved their wealth through chanting ‘Nam Myōhō Renge Kyō’.

Having set the scene I will continue. Grabbing my dog vest (a fishing vest that contains all the accouterments needed for a walk: treats, ball, poo bags, torch, curry comb etc) and my muddy walking boots, I loaded them, and the dog into the back of the car. With some trepidation I ignited the engine and reversed into the road, looking at the fuel gauge and hoping for the best. I kept the revs low to reduce consumption and as I neared Tinkle, had the awful premonition that the petrol station may be accepting a fuel delivery and be closed.

The idea of chanting for what you want, entered my mind, and to the concern of the dog I began to chant, really convincing myself that the garage would be open and I would get petrol.

As I rounded the corner, there it was, open and with pumps available so I pulled up in a vacant spot. It was then I realised that of all the things I had remembered, money was not among them.

petrol pump nozzle
Thanks to the Daily Mirror for this image.

‘Bugger’ I announced to the dog. He cocked his head on one side, no doubt wondering if that was code for ‘Time for a walk’.

I probably wouldn’t make the return journey without fuel so I crossed the forecourt and stood just inside the doorway of the shoppy thing, where a lady customer was completing her transaction.

The guy behind the counter met my eyes.

‘I’ve come here on a very empty tank and found that I have forgotten my purse.’ I explained with some discomfort, ‘Is there any way you could let me squirt a bit of petrol into the tank, enough to go home and fetch my purse?’

‘The guy appraised me. ‘Where have you come from?’

‘Pebbleditch.’

I think he would have granted my request but at that moment, the woman at the counter pulled out her purse and thrust two ten pound notes at me.

‘Here,’ she said, ‘take this.’

I was horrified.

‘I couldn’t possibly take that,’ I insisted,

‘Come on,’ the lady responded. ‘Take it, quickly. I’ve got a baby in the car.’

Still not quite believing what had happened, I clutched two crisp ten pound notes and watched the lady leave, tears of gratitude in my eyes.

As I went back towards my car, the lovely lady was still sitting in the driver’s seat of her own vehicle, and it dawned on me that I would not need twenty pounds to get home, so I knocked on her windscreen and passed back one of the notes through her lowered side window, effusing my gratitude once more. Nam Myōhō Renge Kyō.

I continued with my mission, to the doctor’s, the pharmacy and, wisely avoiding the park, decided that the chalk meadow was a safer bet to walk the dog. He received a shorter walk than usual as the dinner still needed to be cooked, and time was marching on. The idea of fish and chips sprang to mind on the way home. I was pretty hungry as I had not had any lunch, and I knew my family would be delighted, nay disbelieving, at their luck. Junk food, and it was Mum’s idea? Never.

After dropping the dog home I set off back to Tinkle. It was the night of the Victorian Market and the car park was already filling up, but I managed to find a slot, and even remembered to buy a parking ticket.

Filled with the wonder of life, I strode towards the centre of town and my eye was caught by a closing down sale. Aware of my shortcomings in the area of Christmas shopping, I looked with interest at the window display.

It is not good practice to walk in one direction while looking in another and as my toe hit the curbstone I found my body launched towards the wet pavement, bag clutched to my chest. There was no saving myself, my centre of gravity was at about my knees, and as I landed on my bag, my body see sawed over it and my face hit the pavement. Grit filled my mouth as I heard the concerned voices of two ladies, whose feet soon appeared in my field of vision

‘Are you alright?’ Asked an anxious voice.

‘I think so.’ I replied from my undignified position.

‘Sue!’ Announced another voice and I turned my head a little to observe a friend.

‘Hi Bess.’ I struggled to my knees. Everything seemed intact, in fact nothing hurt.

‘We must have coffee some time,’ the friend murmured as she kissed me goodbye.

‘Yes.’ I promised, feeling shaken and surreal.

I rubbed the dirt from my face and having bought two cod and one haddock, all with chips, I sped home, where all was warm, normal and hungry. I told Whizz and Mavis what had happened but I played it down a bit because no harm had been done.

Of course when I woke up the next morning I had a headache and was very stiff in the shoulders and knees. The headache worried me and thoughts of hemorrhages and detached retinas floated before me. Whizz was still asleep so I got up, but the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to nip down to A&E. Just to be on the safe side.

I woke Whizz and as we set of for the hospital, Sounds of the 60s began playing Poetry in Motion. Whizz and I began to giggle, years of marriage has placed us both firmly on the same basic level of humour.

‘Falling tree in motion’ sang Whizz.

‘Launching by my side,’ I sang back.

Our visit to A&E was much briefer than we expected. We were sent to the Urgent Care department and were seen in about 15 minutes. Brilliant NHS.

I had whiplash and a bashed TMJ (Temporomandibular Joint), the cause of the pain.

Apparently I need to talk less to rest it!

 

Sexual press ups

When Mavis was about 4 she had a beloved friend, Peter. The two were inseparable, so much so that when they both went to school, the dinner ladies called them the little married couple.

Sadly for Mavis, Peter moved away leaving her distraught. For years afterwards she struggled to make friends, but it seemed that the girl groups had already formed, and Mavis had developed a preference for the company of boys.

One day before Peter left, when he was very much in Mavis’s life,  Whizz, Mavis and I took a trip to Woburn Safari Park. You know, the place with the monkeys that rip off your windscreen wipers. Whizz and I sat in the front of the car and Mavis, in her child seat, perched behind us on the rear seat.

We peered through the widows at lions and giraffes, and soon  arrived at the ape enclosure. In a line of cars we crawled along roads between trees, where the little blighters, Barbary Apes I believe, were soon landing from the trees onto our car and gnawing at the trim and peeing on the windscreen.  Mavis was delighted to watch them being sprayed with the windscreen washers.

We rounded a corner and looked back to see an ape making off with part of a car further back down the queue and then Whizz and I turned back, whereupon our eyes were drawn to a huge ape, squatting in a sort of hut, directly ahead of us. He was observing the mayhem like the King of the Swingers. We knew he was a male because unlike the Disney character, he had an enormous erection. We stared in silence wondering if our little girl would notice. As we watched, the penis of the King of the Swingers, swung. Well actually it bobbed, up and down in apparent response to the desirability of the various crumpet options  around the woodland. ‘Oh yes, there’s a good’un,’ up with the erection, ‘Maybe there’s a better one over there though.’ slight droop, and so on.

Mavis had clearly spotted the ape and its seemingly athletic part, and after a few seconds her little voice came from the back,

‘I wonder if Peter can do that.’

adam's penis

 

The Demon Drink

Whizz is not much of a drinker. He will have the occasional beer, and drink wine at a dinner party or meal out but in the main he is, for me, a very valuable chauffeur.

tring beers for illustration of a funny drinking tale

‘Twas not always thus, though. When he was much younger, learning moderation skills, he went to a party and began to drink Bacardi and Coke. When the Coke ran out, he continued drinking neat Bacardi in plastic cups, propped up against a wall to maintain ‘verticality’.

When his knees began to sag he was thrust out of the front door in the interests of the carpet, and minutes later, having scaled a six foot fence, he arrived back in the kitchen demanding (slurring for) more alcohol. At some point he passed out, and in the small hours, the long suffering father of a friend took him home to his sister, Fret’s, house, first equipping Whizz with a plastic bag in case of ‘accident’. Somehow Whizz made it into bed. Of course he can’t remember much about that.

Now, Fret had a small job marking up newspapers each Sunday, and at the same time, Whizz had a job at the local Makro cash and carry. Not knowing the time and state of his arrival home, Fret, very helpfully, woke Whizz for work. He was still drunk, and as she passed the living room on the way out of the front door, he was doing press ups in the middle of the carpet.

Whizz walked to work and spent much of the morning, bouyed up by the alcohol levels in his blood. At some point though, the after effects of his night hit him, and when one customer asked him the location of an item, his response was a multi-coloured yawn. Yes, he was violently ill, right there, in the aisle.

The customer wandered off and Whizz was booked into the sick room as ‘feeling faint’. He slept, for quite a while, and when he awoke, he was drunk again. The understanding Medical Officer decided that the best place for him would be in the car park, collecting trolleys so he spent the rest of the day scooting round on the trolleys playing dodgems with the cars.

supermarket trolleys for funny drinking tale

The most amazing thing about this is that he was paid – double time because it was Sunday. Eeh, they had it good in them days.

Bed, Breakfast and Fine Dining

Michelin logo. The chef's family doesn't always eat fine cuisine

This has been an interesting summer. I have enjoyed it more than usual because a) I didn’t have a broken metatarsal and b) somewhat strangely, because we didn’t go away.

The reason for our lack of exotic (or otherwise) holiday, was two fold: First, we couldn’t afford it. Things are finally looking up for us financially, but this summer we needed to service, even reduce, our debt, and certainly not spend more than necessary.

To further assist this aim, we decided to set up bed and breakfast  in our home (airbnb). This was the other reason we didn’t go away, we had too many guests – brilliant, and a considerable relief I can tell you.

cooked breakfast at The Old Meeting Place

I broke up from my job at the local primary school, and the summer stretched ahead of me, full of possibilities. The lazy and aimless days were wonderful. Mavis and I spent the first week doing GISHWHES – more of that in another post – but the rest of the time we looked after our lovely and undemanding guests, walked, drank, ate and did what people are supposed to do on holiday. Continue reading Bed, Breakfast and Fine Dining

The Incident of the Courgette

Funny things happen in life, and I am always keen to see the humour. This can be a bit unfortunate on occasion, but now that I write, I can at least have an unstifled giggle with hindsight.

Restaurant behaviour

I once had a proper job, a career as a computer programmer and project leader. Despite a requirement to be sensible and grave and never to argue with authority, I couldn’t always manage it. I would open my mouth in the presence of members of the board and giving them unasked for advice, or snort at an unwittingly funny remark, often being berated later by my line manager, Jean, who was very nervous about such things.

Continue reading The Incident of the Courgette