Tag Archives: Alarm clock

Joke 164

4 Sep

He kept an alarm clock in the back window of his car.  

He was always ahead of his time.

Sick O’Clocks

16 Jan

Spudupdate:

no-one turned up for the imaginary party which is just as well, because poor Spud is ill.  Think ‘wasting disease’ rather than ‘gastroenteritis’. 

He came back from the City game yesterday with a temperature and a grumpy mood, despite the win.  We sent him to bed and I even went as far as giving him two paracetamol: only given in extreme cases because I blame everything on wind and you don’t need pain killers for wind unless it turns out to be appendicitis, which it once did but you’ve heard that story so I’ll gloss over it. 

Checking on him thirty minutes later, I found him tearful because he was ‘wasting his birthday by lying in a dark room.’  He was much happier once he was allowed to lie on the bed and watch his brother play an X-Box game.  So much happier, in fact, that he sent his brother downstairs to play so that they could battle online.

Tory Boy came home specially for Spud’s birthday, because he’s a nice brother.  His flatmates won’t think he’s nice.  He has an alarm that is set to ‘Kill’ because nothing less will wake him, and he suddenly realised he forgot to switch it off before coming home for the weekend.  His room is locked and the alarm has no automatic cut-off, and he has it on good authority (fill in the swear words) that it can be heard on the third floor from his ground floor room.

I guess the moron gene doesn’t fall far from the apple tree: the Hub gave me a new alarm clock and I can turn it off and on but I can’t change the settings so, if I wanted to be up at eight on the weekend, for example, I have to get up at six-forty-five because that’s when my alarm is set.  Plus, it is gaining time and is already so fast that I’m actually being woken at six-thirty.  Another couple of weeks and I won’t need to bother going to bed because it will be getting-up time.

Time to get a new clock, I think.

Matters Arising

7 Sep
British Parliament and London Eye at night

Image via Wikipedia

Yesterday’s post raised a few comments that I thought I would answer here.

First of all, a big thank you to slpmartin, who always leaves such lovely comments, and yesterday’s was the nicest yet.  You should check out his poetry here; it’s well worth a look.

Tory Boy asked me to clarify that he didn’t shout at his brother at all.  But you knew that, didn’t you?  Those of you who have been reading my blog for more than a week must be aware that I never met an exaggeration I didn’t like.

Also Peter (a wonderful man) is his host and I should have got the reference because Tory Boy cleverly echoed my (a wonderful woman) interjections.  However, I can’t read code; that’s why there are never any metaphors in my poems.  But you should check out his blog, especially if you are interested in wine.  If you are more interested in whine, keep reading me.

Tory Boy promised to phone on Friday night but he was early by three and a half days because of disgruntled Londoners.  I believe London may be conspiring to keep my son from governing the nation because Sunday’s train was reluctant to arrive and when it did, it deposited him outside the country’s security HQ; the canteen prices in the Houses of Parliament rose significantly on his first day; and now there is a tube strike.   Actually, I’m grateful for that last one because I texted him about it and he was standing at the bus stop with time to kill and he phoned me.

He had a brilliant first day doing grunt work – everybody’s got to start somewhere and he enjoyed himself enormously; was fed by both his hosts and his colleagues; and it only took forty minutes from Wimbledon to London in spite of the bus, train and two tubes he had to take.

On his first day he also managed to be both late and early at the same time.  He slept through two alarm clocks, possibly because he is in such a lovely bedroom.  He raved about it, telling me more about the room than the Commons.  It is like a loft conversion except it was built that way and there was never a loft, and he banged his head six times yesterday on the sloping roof, particularly when he stumbled out of bed at 7:45 in a panic at being late on his first day.  He arrived at nine-thirty to find he wasn’t supposed to start until ten.  Phew!  and boy, do British governments have it hard….

I am instructed not to worry that he might be late again: yesterday was an aberration because he has always been able to get up when he has to; it is just that he is still struggling with his sleep pattern.  He has a plan – he has placed his alarm clocks under the sloping roof so he will crack his head on it when he tries to turn them off: that’s bound to wake him up.  I’ve made an appointment with my doctor when TB gets back to check for concussion and the idiot gene; but I must confess, I think it’s inspired.

My good friend Flo has asked the question: Is that a Boris Johnson barnet Tory Boy is sprouting? She is referring to the hair of our eccentric Conservative London Mayor, the man who offended Liverpool.  Have a look for yourself and tell me what you think:

 

 

Here are a few Boris quotes, from The Telegraph:

  • On his rivals in the Liberal Democrats: “The Lib Dems are not just empty. They are a void within a vacuum surrounded by a vast inanition.”
  • On The 2005 Conservative Leadership Contest: “I am supporting David Cameron purely out of cynical self-interest.”
  • And my personal favourite: In his Telegraph column December 2, 2004 on being sacked from the Tory front bench: “My friends, as I have discovered myself, there are no disasters, only opportunities. And, indeed, opportunities for fresh disasters.”

Here is Boris on Have I Got News For You:  

Boris Johnson is affectionately known as ‘BoJo’.  If  Tory Boy follows the same trend he will be known as ‘ToBo’ – which is what we call our dog.  Still, if the hairdo fits….

And finally:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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