Of Mice And Lion

 

I thought it was April 1st the other day, when I turned on the news – apparently, there was a lion on the loose in Essex.  The stoic Brits interviewed didn’t run screaming in terror when they saw it; they went inside to get a camera.

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Then I read this in the Telegraph Online:

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A roaming “lion” which caused an extensive police operation after being spotted in a field in Essex is now believed to be a pet cat, with suspects including a ginger cat called Tom

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If it had been a big cat, there was plenty for it to feast on – from the Telegraph again:

London commuters were left fearing their toes may be nibbled by a gang of wild mice on the underground today…

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The sign was a prank, of course; but what I wouldn’t give to have seen hundreds of underground passengers with their trousers in their socks.

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A Tweet this morning:

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First black tights of the winter. Curse you, August, if that is indeed your real name

Jennifer Williams ‏@JenWilliamsMEN

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You remember I was supposed to be acting this week, for my church’s holiday club for 5-11 year-olds?  I was rather glad not to be there yesterday, when I read this Facebook status by my replacement:

Today’s bit of acting went well except for the fact that I swore on stage. My line was supposed to be about a “missing piece” and my good friend Spooner paid a visit with one of his “isms” and I said pi**ing miece instead.

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Also on Facebook:

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My cousin’s status this morning:

Got really emotional this morning at the petrol station, don’t know why really… just started filling up

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And another one from Facebook:

Related articles

• Farringdon tube mice cause rolled-trouser panic in London (theweek.co.uk)
• Police Fear Safety Of Essex Lion (ranknews.wordpress.com)
• Cartoon: Mac on the Essex Lion (englishblog.com)
• Essex Lion Story Provides Flimsy Pretext For All These Cute Pictures of Lion Cubs (newstatesman.com)
• Essex Lion Shows Up on Twitter, Gets More Than 36,000 Followers (mashable.com)

 

Spam Fritters

Image via Wikipedia

I’m still out of blogging ideas, so here’s a tidied-up re-blog from 2009:

 

Don’t you hate those awful cold-calling companies? They have the temerity to call at dinner time and then make you wait before they speak to you. Old ladies are frightened by them and young ladies irritated. Whenever I hear that pause, I hang up; so be warned: if you phone me and don’t start speaking the second I answer, then you have wasted your money and you’ll have to call back, talking all the time.

Spud knows how the Hub and I feel about such calls and has suggested that we have some fun with them, thus turning a negative into a positive, like his father always says. One night as we were eating the inevitable call came, wanting us to buy a house, a phone, a spare cat…

Caller: Hello, can I speak to the phone owner?

Hub: I don’t have a phone.

Caller: … …

Hub: Hello?

Caller: Can I please speak to the phone owner?

Hub: I don’t have one. [Relenting] I only have a mobile. Where are you calling from?

Caller: Talk Talk.

Hub: I remember them! From the Eighties! [Sings] Talk talk! All youdotome is talk talk!

Caller: … …

Hub: [Still singing, and enjoying it]

Caller: Umm, are you a singer?

Hub: [Modestly] Not any more.

Caller: You’re very good. [The Hub chooses to hear this as the truth and not flattery]

Hub: Thank you. I used to be in a band called Hub & the Termites; have you heard of us?

Caller: [Embarrassed] No, I’m sorry.

Hub: I thought you would have; we had a little colony following us.

Caller: … …

Hub: Where are you calling from?

Caller: Talk Talk.

Hub: Not your company; what country?

Caller: South Africa.

Hub: [Delighted] No kidding! [Breaks into excited and extended Afrikaans chatter. Lots of sighing at the other end while she waits to start her spiel.] We’re in Alberton!

Caller: Alberton?

Hub: Yes, just south of Jo’burg.

Caller: [Is utterly confused because she’s in a call centre in South Africa, selling phones to Brits in the UK, and doesn’t understand how she got through to a local number] Umm. I’m sorry; I must have the wrong number. Thank you for your time. Goodbye.

Hub, Spud, Me: [Hysterical laughter and rolling around]

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The best thing is, she will never be quite sure if she was the victim of a prank, because what are the odds of calling England and getting a broad Mancunian who speaks fluent Afrikaans and knows Jo’burg so well?

A favourite one of mine was when someone called, trying to sell us new windows, and the Hub told them we didn’t need them because we live in a cave. A stunned silence is worth a thousand words.

Then there was the time the Hub called my Dad, used a fake accent and asked to speak to Miss Wall.

Dad: Sorry, there’s no-one of that name here.

Hub: Mrs Wall?

Dad: Nope, no Mrs Wall.

Hub: How about Mr Wall?

Dad: No [Patient but grinding his teeth], I’m sorry, there’s no Mr Wall.

Hub: Are there any walls there?

Dad: No.

Hub: Then how does your roof stay on?

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The Hub is a minx.

Two Bits

We had a good laugh tonight. Just as we were about to sit down to dinner, the Hub’s mobile rang. The Hub was washing his hands so I answered, thinking it would be Tory Boy because he is the only person who phones his Dad, Hubbynomates. No, it was one of those overseas cold callers, trying to not sell us debt relief. Unfortunately, I was too slow to hang up when I heard the giveaway pause so I was stuck listening to him. Unless I am in a rare foul mood, I can’t be rude to these annoying people who are just trying to make a living.

Hearing my uninterested ‘Uh-huh’s and noticing the tears running down my cheeks as my dinner went cold, the Hub tipped me the wink and suddenly began screaming, ‘You think you can steal my phone and get away with it I’ll show you,’ along with thud and punch sound effects. Next thing I know, I’m screaming as if he’s beating me up.

What did our cold caller do? He hung up! No policeman called or came to our door to arrest the Hub and cart me off in ambulance. I could have done with one; it hurt to laugh so much.

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I have been having a dopey couple of weeks. I noticed this morning that the fabric softener I have been using is, in fact, soap powder. I call it ‘soap powder’ because no-one knows what I mean when I say ‘soap liquid.’ Whatever it is, it can’t be very good quality because I have obviously been rinsing my clothes by washing them again, and there’s no residue that we’ve noticed. That’s 99p I won’t see again.

Don’t Call Us; We’ll Call You

Don’t you hate those awful cold-calling companies?  They have the temerity to call at dinner time and then make you wait before they speak to you.  Old ladies are frightened by them and young ladies irritated.   Whenever I hear that pause, I hang up; so be warned: if you phone me and don’t start speaking the second I pick up, then you have wasted your money and you’ll have to call back, talking all the time. 

Spud knows how the Hub and I feel about such calls and has suggested that we have some fun with them, thus turning a negative into a positive, like his father always says.  Last night as we were eating the inevitable call came, wanting us to buy a house, a phone, a spare cat.  The Hub had just finished so Spud told him to have some fun:

Caller: Hello, can I speak to the phone owner?

Hub: I don’t have a phone.

Caller: … …

Hub: Hello?

Caller: Can I please speak to the phone owner?

Hub: I don’t have one.  [Relenting]  I only have a mobile.  Where are you calling from?

Caller: Talk Talk.

Hub: I remember them!  From the Eighties!  [Sings] Talk talk!  All youdotome is talk talk!

Caller: … …

Hub: [Still singing, and enjoying it]

Caller: Umm, are you a singer?

Hub: [Modestly] Not any more.

Caller: You’re very good. [The Hub chooses to hear this as the truth and not flattery]

Hub: Thank you.  I used to be in a band called Hub & the Termites; have you heard of us?

Caller: [Embarrassed] No, I’m sorry.

Hub: I thought you would have; we had a little colony following us.

Caller: … …

Hub: Where are you calling from?

Caller: Talk Talk.

Hub: Not your company; what country?

Caller: South Africa.

Hub: [Delighted] No kidding! [Breaks into excited and extended Afrikaans chatter.  Lots of sighing at the other end while she waits to start her spiel].  We’re in Alberton!

Caller: Alberton?

Hub: Yes, just south of Jo’burg.

Caller: [Is utterly confused because she’s in a call centre in South Africa, selling phones to Brits in the UK, and doesn’t understand how she got through to a local number]  Umm.  I’m sorry; I must have the wrong number.  Thank you for your time.  Goodbye.

Hub, Spud, Me: [Hysterical laughter and rolling around]

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The best thing is, she will never be quite sure if she was the victim of a prank, because what are the odds of calling England and getting a broad Mancunian who speaks fluent Afrikaans and knows Jo’burg so well?

A favourite one of mine was when someone called, trying to sell us new windows, and the Hub told them we didn’t need them because we live in a cave.   A stunned silence is worth a thousand words.

Then there was the time he called my Dad and asked to speak to Miss Wall.

Dad: Sorry, there’s no-one of that name here. 

Hub: Mrs Wall?

Dad: Nope, no Mrs Wall.

Hub: How about Mr Wall?

Dad: No [Patient but grinding his teeth], I’m sorry, there’s no Mr Wall.

Hub: Are there any walls there?

Dad: No.

Hub: Then how does your roof stay on?

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The Hub is a minx.