Wednesday, 31 August 2016

The Peripatetic Threat

  Eleanor, who'd been a River's Bend resident since the spring of Princess Anne's divorce, didn't think that a psychic evening there would be quite the thing. 

  'But, Caspar,' she remonstrated with the landlord, 'think where this might end.  Remember the thin end of the wedge over the switching off of the heated towel rail at the height of summer? Clothes pegs?  The Danish organist?  If Serena is allowed to have her peripatetic witches’ coven, there’ll follow peripatetic harpists, cake decorators, walk-in bath demonstrations, magicians, life-drawing classes, stair lift uprisings, tax advisors, taxidermists, computer experts, actuaries, string quartets, retro-nit nurses, One is Fun cookery demonstrations, lecturers on molluscs, sales of defunct library stock, cashers-in on mis-sold PPI, An Evening with Noel Coward with the inevitable three Nicaraguan lesbians dressed as the Lygon sisters who render the verses of “Matelot”, “Mrs Worthington and Conversation Piece” into varying sizes of tuneable copper bucket by passing synchronised water.'

  The psychic evening went ahead as planned at River's Bend. 

Friday, 26 August 2016

Letter from a Yak - Gerard, really?





  Gerard has been at it again.  Noah, one of his young cousins, has adopted a yak. And the yak sends Noah letters. Gerard has started sending Noah letters from the yak 

    Dear Noah,
  I skip around coffee plantation clippy-cloppy today and sit now under tree to writing at you.  I have yesterday before some days collect from post office box your lovely present, which I have eated.  Would you like some of it as dried droppings sent back to you, keep-safe?  Send more money immediate right now for yak-butted injury orphans.  I have made quite many of those. As for photo you asking for, I need know you are genuine because many yaks adopted here have send photo, and then get letters back from people say they lie down on settee with photo and dirty touch theyselves.
  Love (but not in dirty-touch way) Yan Yak. 
  PS  Up the Red Cross! 
  
  

Wednesday, 17 August 2016

Edinburgh Reviews Rewired

  Reading the Edinburgh Fringe oh, how exciting for poor little me reviews posted on social media reminds me of the quite rightly disciplined pilot flying troops back from Iraq. 'And this is one for the ladies on board,' he announced.  'Now that we’re back in blighty, your attractiveness rating will adjust itself back down in accordance with reality.'

Monday, 15 August 2016

A Sight for Sore/Poor Eyes

  Oh, I thought, nice mix of sweet and camp: the binmen have their names on the windscreen.
  I had a closer look. 
  Apparently they're called 'Caution' and 'Reversing'...

Friday, 5 August 2016

Another Psychic Tune-In - the Borden Case

   

                             Abby Borden, murdered while she was emailing.
                                  

  The psychic went into a trance and picked up a strong smell of Windolene.  She said she had no idea why this should be.
  Well you're the only one that hasn't, dearie.  
  In that voice of barely suppressed excitement the fact-checker said, 'At the time when Abby Borden was killed the maid was cleaning windows.'
  She was indeed!  But with plain old soap and water.  Windolene wasn't around then. 

Monday, 1 August 2016

Attention...Attention...

  Before posting yet another and another photograph of yourself on social media, ask yourself who it's intended for. And nicely think on this...
  

 In the 1960s writer Nancy Mitford was the subject of a BBC documentary. She said to Marie, her housekeeper: 'I'm going to Madame Trefussis to watch my television programme, would you like to?' 
  And Marie wondered: 'But why Madame, when I see you every day?'


  Talking, at the early stages, of which.
  Outside the cafe downstairs a six-year-old said to his slightly older sister, 'At breakfast daddy listened to at least fifteen of the things I said.  But only, like, six of yours.'