I was listening to Lesley Riddoch, talking about her mother’s visit with her doctor. As is their habit with older people doctors, health visitors and social workers constantly assess us by asking a series of set questions, (I’m practising counting back from 50) Lesley’s mum was no different.
“Do you suffer forgetfulness at any time?”
“Of course I do, I’m 85 years old” she replied.
“Do you know who the prime minister of the country is?” (At that time it was Cameron)
“Yes, its David – Its the name of a regiment, Seaforth or something like that”.
“Do you ever leave your handbag in unusual places?”
“Mostly in the oven,” she said.
It was at this point that the doctor decided to ring Lesley to vouch for her mothers’ sanity. When her mother went on,
“It is the last place that a burglar will look”.
I, along with three others, were sent down to Bournemouth on a job. Normally we would have been booked into B&B, but since it was the summer season and difficult to get into long term accommodation we were given a bungalow, however, we would have to fend for ourselves. I asked the client if he could give us a young lad as a labourer, not a problem.
We had no real need for a labourer, however, the house was becoming a bit untidy. I send the lad off to the bungalow to do a bit of housework for us. He did not object in the least, in fact, he seemed more than happy to go. No one was more surprised than I when we arrived home, to find the place immaculate and the diner already started. What a treat, with an ineptness in cooking skills, along with no real desire to cook after a days work, more often than not it would be fast food meals, expensive and not very exciting. Our house boy was doing a marvellous job. After that first week, with no complaints on either side of the arrangement, we decided to give him a bit extra money on the shovel for looking after us so well, the joke was that he would make someone a good wife.
The job was going well and a couple of months in and with the footie on television, we decided to have a break, we would go home early, get changed and go off to the pub to see the game on their big screen. Into the van and home. One of the lads on entering his room, found the young lad on his bed, he was not alone, he had his girlfriend with him. They were both naked as jaybirds having afternoon delight. We gave him a bit of stick over that, but they were doing such a good job of looking after us we allowed them to carry on as our housemaids.
Update from City park
With coronavirus on the rise, we are now being asked to wear face masks in the building’s corridors and common rooms, so only in my flat, and thankfully on my bike, can I go without a face mask now. I saw the ambulance in our car park earlier, I hope whoever they came to see did not test positive to coronavirus or even cycling will be out of bounds for me, I will literally be a prisoner in my own flat.
To get me through the shortening days, and colder weather I will go down to the builder supply and pick up a couple of sheets of Sterling board, I want to make a full-size nativity scene for Christmas, get in before the girls start with their ‘bloody Santa Clause’. Either we dispense with Christmas altogether or at least make the decoration resemble the reason for having a Christmas celebration, not some marketing ploy.
How’s that fat old cheery chap,
That takes screaming kids upon his lap,
And promises the little brats,
Presents to pacify them,
He’s a generous chap is old Saint Nick,
But not so hot on arithmetic,
And doesn’t care the selfish prick,
For he doesn’t have to buy them.
How’s the man that parents loth,
Sends credit cards into overload,
It’s Santa bloody Clause.
Lyrics from, Santa bloody Clause – Eric Bogle.