Thursday, 17 November 2011

Man Friday and Betty Crocker

Yester, we got a new foster dog from charity.  He is a Rottweiler/Labrador cross puppy; dunno what breed that is exactly, mebbes a Rottador?

Anyhow, Ira from the charity said that cos he was a stray with no name, that we could name him ourselves.  So, Man Friday immediately goes: 'Ah! Stray with no name, gotta be Clint Eastwood.'  I'm like: 'I think not.'

See, I had other plans.  Ro, my sister, had reminded me about our Mum's favourite green-grocer who was called Ronnie Cashbolt, bless him.  So I said: 'No, we'll call him Cashbolt in Mr Cashbolt's memory.'

Dunno why, the dog doesn't look like a green-grocer, or even Mr Cashbolt (there's a picture of the dog at the bottom of the page so you can see that he doesn't look a bit like Mr Cashbolt).

Anyway, when Man Friday told Ira the dog's new name, she was all: 'Oh no, it makes the dog sound like a thug.' (Mr Cashbolt would've had the right hump about that; lucky he's dead).

So, we called him Ronnie (Mr C-B's first name).  Trouble is we've now got Ronnie and Connie; you call one and the pair of 'em come running.

Ronnie is the sweetest puppy but the size of godzilla.  Also (we only found this out after) not house trained in the slightest.  Poor Man Friday is running all over the place with the kitchen towel and the anti-bac spray.  He said to me the other day: 'You can see why housewives get so stressed out.'  But then proceeded to go and make mushroom pate (patay) - makes a rod for his own back.  That said, it was bloody marvellous.

Young Ronnie's story is a bit sad: the park warden down Liverpool Road Park saw him wandering about over a few days, realised he was a stray and took him home.  Then the park warden rang the council and asked if they could take him into the dog pound and they said: 'Toof!  We haven't got enough council houses, mate, let alone kennels.'

So there's old parkie with godzilla puppy, crapping all over his house and his wife's coming back from a weekend away from her sister's.  Lucky enough, he finds the alldogsmatter number, rings them, they ring us and Man Friday picks him up.

Amazingly, he has had his knackers cut off - last thing I need to see first thing in the morgen is a ruddy great ball and winkle set wobbling round my house.

Enough dog news.

Guess what?  An agent took me on!  A lovely lady from California called Annie Bomke.  Honest to god, I nearly died naked on the floor when she said yes.  Talk about a tonic for the soul!  Well, I've sent off my contract already before she can realise that she's signed Carol Dance instead of a real writer called Darryl Pants, or something similar.

Nah, seriously, well chuffed.  Tell you though, I haven't even got a publisher yet and already I'm getting stiffed for nuggets.  Oh.  The thing I have to really change about the book is that I have to write footnotes for all the 'Briticisms'!

So, here's a start:
Died Naked on the Floor - shocked
Stiffed for a nugget - asked to lend money
Nugget - a pound coin
Well chuffed - very happy
Knackers - testicles
Ball and winkle set - penis and testicles
Got the right hump - most unhappy
Green-grocer - bloke that sells fruit and veg (etables)

Blimey, you don't realise, do you?  Oh, here we go again:
Blimey - blind me
Cor - god
Cor Blimey - god blind me

1 comment:

  1. Ronnie and Connie - you have me in stitches. I'm so pleased about the book, well done mate. Listen to me.. 'pleased'! ecstatic, overjoyed, yippeeee. Congratulations and celebrations, I want the world to know I'm happy as can be...