Tag Archives: Humour

A-One, A-Poo, A-One-Poo-Wee

15 Dec

This is not the band you are looking for…but last night’s band did play this wonderful piece of music

Last night I went to a brass band concert with my friend Alison.  Brass bands are as vital to celebrating Christmas as chocolates and migraine so I was glad to go.

Alison has been renovating her house, so we called early, for a tour and a brew. She lives some distance from us so the Hub drove me there, and afterwards dropped us off at the hall where the concert was taking place.

Alison dotes on our dogs and asked us to bring them along.  As it had been raining all day we carried them in, to avoid their muddy paws marking her brand new and expensive carpets.  Although the paws weren’t muddy, of course, because the dogs refuse to walk in the rain and had been indoors all day.

The dogs adore Alison, in the purest form of cupboard love there is, because she brings them sausages (cooked especially) and treats whenever she visits.  As soon as they realised the car was heading her way, they whined and cried in slavering excitement.

We had the usual mad-circle run around and hysterical barking (not all of it from the dogs: I told you, she dotes on them) and it was all too much for Molly, who wet herself in joy, right there on the new carpet.  Fortunately, Alison is tolerant of their misdemeanours and assured me that the carpet could take bleach if necessary, and a little excited piddle wouldn’t harm it.  Her husband Pete smiled benignly, as he always does, being the easiest-going man I’ve ever known.

The Hub apologised, ‘It’s our fault; they haven’t been out all day because of the rai…TOBY!  NO!’  All heads whipped around to a perfect view of Toby’s backside, also known as crouching terrier, impending poo.  The Hub grabbed the dog and ran with him for the door, and the rest of us watched the plop-plop-plop of the unstoppable excrement as it carpet bombed the, well, the new carpet (and the couch: the angle at which Toby was snatched up allowing for a sideways trajectory).

Mortified, apologetic but laughing, I cleaned up the mess while the Hub and Toby stood out in the rain in disgrace.  The carpet was easily cleaned and looked none the worse for wear.  The miscreants were allowed back in.

Drama over, we all sat down to relax and drink our tea.  I felt suddenly warm and thought, but I haven’t touched mine yet, when I realised the warmth was not a hot flush if it was emanating from my lap.  I looked down to see Molly, squatting on my knees, doing the longest wee I’ve ever had the misfortune to sit under.

We think she must have seen Toby’s flight and thought she’d be better off with Mum than on the carpet.

If you thought a brass band was loud, you should have heard my scream of horror.  I jumped up, sending Molly flying across the room without the benefit of a Hub hold, and there was complete uproar – most of it from four people laughing uncontrollably, me the loudest.  I had lost it by this point and if I wet my knickers in hysteria, at least no one would know.

Alison gave me a cloth to disinfect my pants; I had a wash; and then sat on her bedroom floor in my sweater, socks and underwear, using her hairdryer on the crotch-soaked jeans because we didn’t have time for me to go home and change before the concert.

I sat in the hall, steaming quietly and stinking of disinfectant-combined-with-Brut (to disguise any unpleasant odour), and got quietly sozzled on a bottle of wine.  

It’s okay; I knew where the toilets were.

 

 

This Post Is Useless To Those Of You Living Abroad

10 Dec

Have you seen today’s date?

10/12/14

I have scheduled this post to appear at almost twenty-past four, so it reads:

10/12/14 16:18

I probably have more fun on dates than anyone I know.  

The Hub says he doubts it.  

The Reviews Are In…

3 Dec

The above video shows snippets of the Cabaret cast in rehearsal.  As Spud had no dancing to do – to his immense relief – there’s only a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it shot of him.

A lovely email from a friend reminded me that I have been pretty quiet of late (the Hub has just fallen out with that particular friend; I can’t think why).  I must remember to change my encouraging subscriber tag line from Try to keep up; I talk a lot to Try to remember me; I forget to blog

I’ve been busy with one thing and another, this and that, bits ‘n’ pieces, the usual. I hope that clears things up?

I did take time out from my busy schedule to visit Spud in Sheffield and watch him in Cabaret.  Naturally, he was wonderful.  The whole show was, especially the three leads, including Sergio Filipe as the Emcee, who had better legs, lines and moves than any of the girls.  And I say that without any bias, because you know I never boast about my children or their friends.

And I managed to type that whole paragraph with a straight face.

If you don’t believe me about how great he/it was, you can read two reviews:

This is from a student paper, lb, which says that 

Alex Cosgriff as Cliff Bradshaw and Tori Klays as Sally Bowles gave fine performances as the lead couple. Cosgriff’s journey from awkward enjoyment to disillusionment felt perfectly natural…

And this from a Sheffield paper, The Star:

CSUPAS have produced a terrific rendition of Joe Masteroff’s original 1966 Broadway production.

Alex Cosgriff plays shy novelist, Clifford Bradshaw. He arrives in 1930s Berlin and soon finds himself falling in love with Sally Bowles, an English singer at the Kit Kat Klub.

We get a pleasant surprise when the reticent Clifford duets with Sally later in Perfectly Marvellous and reveals a great singing voice.

Now do you believe me?  

Spud sent me the links with the following excited message:

My first review that wasn’t written by my Mum!  

Like I’d ever be biased.

 

Tomorrow Belongs To Spud

19 Nov

As I type this, Spud is appearing in a student production of Cabaret, as Cliff Bradshaw (the love interest – they do know he was my baby just two months ago, hey?).

The trailer above is from that production, but features only the Emcee (they do know that Spud is in it as well, hey?).  

The video below is from another production, and is not Spud.  I include it to show you the song he’ll be singing:

But I prefer this version:

My Eyes! My Eyes!

7 Nov

I think I’ve kept you waiting long enough, but be warned: my new room is not for the faint of heart.  You see, I have this problem of never letting anything go to waste on account of having little disposable income.

The Hub bought a job lot of matt paint – something like 30 litres for £15, two colours: fuchsia and honeysuckle.  I decided the fuchsia was too dark and opted for the honeysuckle.


DSCN3447I needed gloss for the woodwork and I needed a fair bit because I had five pieces of furniture, none of which matched.  Aldi had paint on sale, but not much choice.  I thought I could mix white and bright yellow and make pastel yellow.  There’s a reason I’m not paid to think.

I put on my painting pyjamas, prepped the room, and mixed those suckers.  Did you know that white gloss and bright yellow gloss mixed together make bright yellow gloss?  Me neither; but they do.

The Hub was ill in bed; I was pyjama-ed up, spent up and raring to go, so I went.  I figured that if I didn’t like it, it could act as an undercoat for the time when I could afford to buy pastel yellow gloss. But you know what?  I like it.   Actually, I love it.  It’s, um, bright, but so cheerful.

DSCN3449

If you come to stay, you’ll be using this room so you’d better learn to love it, too. But bring a sleeping mask.

I did have one little problem.  After emptying a tray of four tubs of honeysuckle, I noticed a few white patches where I’d missed spots.  I pulled a tub from the next tray in the shed and daubed over the patches.  It was only once it dried that I realised that the contents of tub no. 5 were a slightly different colour – noticeable, but only if the sunlight comes in at a certain angle.

I was bored with painting by this time so, instead of re-doing the whole room, I placed pictures and furniture in strategic positions and voilà!  One room painted one colour.  Honest.

You’ll see a South African table cloth in this next photo, used as a picture.  That’s where the biggest number five daub is.  I think the blue breaks up the blinding luminosity rather well (and I already had it in).DSCN3443

The room cost no more than £20 to re-do, if I include the curtains (charity shop: £1.75), lamp shade (charity shop: £1.99) and cushions (car boot sale: 40p).  

What do you expect of a woman who once papered a bedroom with stickyback plastic?  Class?  You haven’t been here long, have you?

The carpet is fourteen years old and has been through two teenage boys so I need a rug until I can replace it.  Anyone got an old rug covering their compost heap?  You know I’ll give it a good home.  But it needs to be a tasteful colour, like orange.  I have my standards.

 

Something To Keep You Going

21 Oct

The painting is done but it’s taking as long to move in my stuff, arrange my books and pictures and so on as it took to decorate.  By way of apology for my continued absence, here’s a repost that I thought you might enjoy.

My First Mondegreen

A mondegreen is a mishearing of a phrase.  It was so named by Sylvia Wright, who misheard a line in a poem.  From Wikipedia:

In the essay, Wright described how, as a young girl, she misheard the last line of the first stanza from the 17th-century ballad “The Bonny Earl O’Moray“. She wrote:

 When I was a child, my mother used to read aloud to me from “Percy’s Reliques“, and one of my favorite poems began, as I remember:
 
Ye Highlands and ye Lowlands,
Oh, where hae ye been?
They hae slain the Earl O’ Moray,
And Lady Mondegreen.
 

 The actual fourth line is “And laid him on the green”. Wright explained the need for a new term:

The point about what I shall hereafter call mondegreens, since no one else has thought up a word for them, is that they are better than the original.
 

Other examples Wright suggested are:

  • Surely Good Mrs. Murphy shall follow me all the days of my life (“Surely goodness and mercy…” from Psalm 23)
  • The wild, strange battle cry “Haffely, Gaffely, Gaffely, Gonward.” (“Half a league, half a league, / Half a league onward,” from “The Charge of the Light Brigade“)

I experienced my first mondegreen as a child, courtesy of Kenny Rogers’ song, Lucille:

You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille,
With four hundred children and a crop in the field.

I thought, ‘Four hundred children?  No wonder she left him.’  The line is actually,With four hungry children.

My second mondegreen came from the carol, Good King Wenceslas:

Good King Wensess last had gout

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Here are a few more you might find amusing:

  • From: I’ve Had the Time of My LifeNow I’ve had a time with your wife
  • From: Ticket To Ride - She’s got a chicken to fry
  • From: Abracadabra – Abra Abra Cadabra… I wanna freak out and stab ya
  • From: The Christmas Song – Jeff’s nuts roasting on an open fire, check for snipping at your nose
  • From God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen – Get dressed ye married gentlemen, let nothing through this May

You’ll find more here http://www.snopes.com/holidays/christmas/humor/mondegreens.asp and here http://www.kissthisguy.com/

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How about you?  Have you got any mondegreens to share?

Boromir Fed My Child Last Night

25 Sep

This is absolutely true.

But, as I have mentioned, truth is relative…

Spud went off to Sheffield University on Sunday.  It’s forty minutes away by train; nearly three hours in a car when there’s no direct motorway, you have to trek through the Pennines, and there’s a big event on.  It took two hours to travel two miles at one point.

I have two children, both sons.  For all of the similarities they have, I might as well have a dragon and an iguana: they’re both lizards but you wouldn’t let one of them near your princess or the other your salad.

On their respective first days at university, one child kicked us out the minute the car was empty; the other encouraged us to do his unpacking for him.

One boy enjoyed Freshers’ Week so much, he made a point of going back early in his subsequent years; the other had decided by Tuesday night that he’s not a party-party-party kinda guy.

One son was irritated by the amount of food I insisted he take; the other was irritated that I had only packed enough for one term.

One lad didn’t call home for the first three months and when he did, made Marcel Marceau look like a gossip; the other has called home every day, because he knows we want to hear about all of the interesting things he’s doing.

Spud called today to tell us about meeting his tutor – he and Spud are the only males in a gaggle of girls.  They discussed the psychology of favourite biscuits for thirty minutes.  Looks like it’s going to be an interesting course.

He has signed up for various societies – dramatic, musical theatre, singing…oh, and the psychology society (‘Psychos’) as an afterthought, though he didn’t pay for a three-year membership in case he’s too busy to go because he’s rehearsing.

He mentioned that he had chips on the way home last night.  A small chippy owned by Sean Bean’s family offered free vouchers for chips, paid for by Sean Bean.  Yorkshiremen are renowned for being careful with their money but he obviously broke the stereotype.

I hope Spud gets talent spotted at one of his societies, moves to Hollywood, and pals up with his chip donor so I can finally ask the questions which have niggled me for years: who on earth named Sean Bean?  And why isn’t his name pronounced Shorn Born or Sheen Been?

I’m missing my baby.  I missed my other baby when he first left home; but then he kept coming back between moves, leaving more of his stuff each time.  I don’t have space to miss him at the moment: it’s taken up with boxes of clothes (a lot), books (a library) and Yu-Gi-Oh cards (some children never grow up).  The youngest child has made up for that by taking only what he thought he might need with him (not much); leaving what he wanted to hold on to but which was not essential for uni (even less); and chucking the rest (making a butter mountain look positively frugal).

So, with all of these differences, was my reaction the same to their leaving?  

No, it wasn’t.

With Tory Boy, I was caught up in his excitement and it was only when we said goodbye that I surprised everyone – not least, myself – when I burst into tears.

With Spud, I was tearful all week but didn’t sob (much) at our goodbye because I had become so crippled by holding it all in.  Of course, he didn’t see the tears flow in the car on the way home, having abandoned me for student dissipation.

Such a good look on me, don't you think?

Such a good look on me, don’t you think?

The boys do have some similarities. Tory Boy phoned on Sunday night and we had a conversation that I could have had with either one of them after an upsetting day:

Tory Boy:  I was worried about you; I wanted to know if you’re okay?

Mum:  I’m fine, thank you, sweetie. Managing, anyway.

Tory Boy.  Good, good…so: did you cry more for him or me?

 

 

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