Tag Archives: Humour

Look What I Did!

18 Apr

 

Somebody went to hospital twenty-five years ago and all they brought back was this lousy mountain man.

DSCF4248

Happy birthday, Hairy Boy.

Love you xx

A Poem To Celebrate NaPoWriMo

15 Apr

It’s National Poetry Writing Month in the States; of course, the whole world is joining in, including me.  I’m writing like mad so I’ve been even more absent than usual.

By way of apology, here’s a poem I wrote eighteen months ago, which made me smile when I came across it in a notebook.  Something the whole family can enjoy.

 

Dog Walk On Bonar Park

Fresh-cut grass!

Here’s a pile – let’s wee on it
Here’s a pile – let’s wee on it
Here’s a pile – let’s wee on it
Here’s a pile – let’s wee on it
Here’s a pile – let’s wee on it
Here’s a pile – let’s wee on it
Here’s a pile – let’s wee on it
Here’s a pile – let’s wee on it

Can we go home now?
I’ve an empty ass.

*

*

Happy Birthday, Spud

15 Jan

Spud is nineteen today.  Happy birthday, my little potato cake.

He got there despite all the roasting I’ve given him, half-baked parent that I am. To be fair, though, I never beet him; and I yam a loving mother to my sweet potato.

He’s a chip off the old block because he’s a Golden Wonder to me, and never grates my nerves, fries my beans or sets me boiling.  I’ve done my best to raise a good crop and he hasn’t given me any hasselback, despite the many downright hash browns I’ve made.  We’ve had a lot of fun and latke, that’s for sure; though I sometimes leave him steaming, but that’s no skin off my nose.  Still, I don’t want to be peeling him off the walls.  He is my King Edward, after all; and he who pays the Maris Piper calls the tune.

Well, I’d better go – I hear him gnocching but he can’t come in because I’m typing this.  I don’t want him stewing; that will leave me having to sauté him out and it is his birthday.

Happy birthday, my darling little tater tot.  Here’s a birthday mashup for you:

 

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:

The Cvillean

The adventures of little read writing Hood

Guernsey Evacuees Oral History

An Overlooked British Evacuation

Janie's Place

Welcome to the Great White North....

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 1,130 other followers

%d bloggers like this: