Thursday, 29 March 2012

Kunta Kinte and Fear of Squirrels

This is my giant dog, Connie Brix:


She has passed out cold after going out in the garden and meeting a squirrel who was sitting in the middle of the path, eating a peanut, and staring at her with complete nonchalance.

Connie Brix stood stock still and watched the little blighter till he had finished the nut and buzzed orf to Casa del Squirrel (next door's tree).  Then she looked at me, came back in again and collapsed on the chair - I think it was 'the vapours'.


Then, I was in Waitrose and I heard some commotion behind me in the fizzy drinks section.  There was some middle-aged lady and her young kids (who were being a tad boisterous, but nothing on the Youth Offenders level) and then some much older (and severely more posh) old girl comes up behind her.  Now, the posh old girl looks like she's reaching for the cream soda, but the more common ladie's kids are in the way and not moving to one side to let an older lady past.  I mean, a bit cheeky but nothing that a good poke in the head wouldn't shift.

So, the posh old lady (who is white) goes to the common middle-aged lady (who is black): 'Could you please keep your children under control.'

And the black lady was obviously not in the best of moods and said something along the lines of: 'Why don't you shove it, you toffe-nosed old racist.'

By this time, I'm trying to blend in with the tonic water section.

And the old white lady went all red (!) and looked completely outraged.  She goes: 'How dare you call me a racist, how dare you! I've watched 'Roots' don't you know!'

And then there was a great deal of tutting and huffing from both parties as they went their separate ways.

Honestly, you don't expect this sort of thing in Waitrose.  Well...spose it's better than the fisticuffs you get in Morrisons over the marked-down baked goods.

By the way: I only just realised that Jordi LaForge from Star Trek WAS Kunta Kinte - the things you don't know, eh - there's just so many of 'em!

Saturday, 24 March 2012

Henry V opens hairdressers in Nag's Head

Well, cos of scabby head I decided to give my hair a trim.  So I got the kitchen scissors, went in front of bathroom mirror and intended on taking a couple of inches off.  Trouble was I wasn't holding the scissors at 180 degrees, seems they were more like 45 degrees (I never realised, I think i was singing the Banana Splits theme tune or somesuch).  Anyhow, I did one huge snip and suddenly realise what I've done cos the left side of my hair is shaped like a giant' V'.  So I thought, oh I'll tidy that up and cut the v-shape off.  Then I was left with one side of my head like Henry V and the other side like Johnny Ramone.

So I called in Man Friday to finish it off (in case I made it any worse and veered towards Sinead O'Connor).  He couldn't stop laughing and said I looked like a rather aged boy, thank you very much.

Now, when I cut it, it was wet.  So I thought, oh balls, to the doctor's scabby head advice and blow dryed it.  And then I looked in the mirror.  Dear oh dear, talk about if Henry V had a perm.

Here is the picture of me:



And here is Henry V, apres perm (looking as if he'd lost a schilling and found sixpence); and I'd like to assure readers that he very, very rarely is seen without a full mug of make-up - so no getting scared now:


I dunno about the  armour: not sure if stripey blue and pink knitwear cuts it on the battlefield.

I think I accidentally took off about four/five inches of me hair.  And I've got bloody Man Friday swanning round the gaff, with his luxuriant locks (dropping 'em in the soup and clogging the plughole, moan, moan!).  He's looking so much more like this:





Except wearing a MotorHead tee-shirt.




Wednesday, 21 March 2012

Two doctors, George, Henry and the scabby head

About a week back, my scalp started itching and flaking like mad and being completely non-functional as a head covering.  So I go to Dr Yeung and he has a look at it and says: 'poor old scabby head, eh' (it seems a bit familiar for a doctor, but I've known him since the Chin dynasty).

Turns out I've got the old sebborheic dermatitis again, so he gives me a prescription for a bottle of agony juice (steriod stuff) and that shampoo that smells like coat scuttles and carbolic soap.  And he says to me: 'Now, don't use any products apart from these two on yer head, until it all clears up.'

It's been three days now: no conditioner, no styling creme, no hairspray, no nothing.  I can't even use the hair-dryer, so I can hardly spend any time in  my office/cupboard cos my barnet would freeze up.  Oh, and I can't even wear a scarf to cover it up cos as Dr Yeung said: 'You need to give it a good airing.'

I look like the first Mrs. Rochester.

I just went out to the big dustbins today and, bloody typical, I saw about 8 million people that I know  (well, three).

Brizio pulled a horrified face and put his hand over his mouth.  'Oh no,' he said, 'have you had the nasty shock?'
George (who was walked Henry, wearing his 'Camelot' coat) said to me: 'Are you well, dear? Looks like you've had a nasty turn.'  So, I changed the subject and asked how Henry was and George said: 'The bald spots are getting worse, probably due to the embarassment,' and he looked at old Camelot whilst he was saying it.
Then I saw this odd woman (I think her name is Nita) who's got dyed orange hair and several horrid kids, all under the age of 10.  One of them (a particularly nasty looking oik aged about 5 - I know he was one of the buggers who threw the pebble at me: I saw the little sod!) - is called Norris. 

Now this Nita had told me some long while ago that she thought Norris had a hearing problem.  Well, the doctor sent her to a specialist and the poor person examined the little beast had a word with his mother by herself, after the ordeal.
The specialist said: 'I'm happy to tell you that Norris has perfect hearing.'
Nita said: 'Then why doesn't he answer me when I call him?'
And the poor specialist (who'd probably had enough of ears and kids) said: 'I suspect he's bone idle.'

Now, whether the specialist actually said 'bone idle' or not, it was obviously something that totally incensed old Nita and, apparently, she said to the specialist something along the lines of 'how dare you' but with a lot of swearing in it.
I said: 'Well, at least he's not deaf.'
And Nita said: 'I don't believe a word of it, I'm getting a second opinion.'

I tell you: that kid doesn't need a hearing specialist, he needs a spell in the army.  I don't know why everyone thinks kids are so sweet and innocent; it's like they weren't kids themselves.  Sometimes I think that the only person who thinks like me is William Golding.

Tuesday, 13 March 2012

Dog and Bone!

Here's my dog, Connie Brix:





She is fast akip!


And here is my phone (for your delectation!):




The fully functional 'turny wurny' phone!


Oh, Man Friday ran out of spare lint roller 'rolls' and determined to 'make' one for himself.  He took a roll of sellotape and wound it round and round one hand.  Then he proceeded to pat down his black (and dog-hairy) jeans, saying: 'See?  This works just as well, Cal - and it saves a fortune.'  Then he patted himself down a little too hard over the 'ball and winkle' department, cried: 'oh bugger me!' and fell to his knees, tears in his eyes.


I know you shouldn't laugh...

Wednesday, 7 March 2012

Camelot, Frittatas and DeBiers


Man Friday has cooked up two huge frittatas in about four days – has eaten 75% of them himself – and was, inevitably, feeling ‘a little bunged up’.
 

Just to set the scene: we’ve got one of those bathrooms that doesn’t have a window, but has a very powerful and large fan thingie.  Oh, and it’s at the far end of the flat (where the khazi should be.  En suite bathroom – I should cocoa).

So, Man Friday’s on the loo and there’s a knock at the front door, I answer it and it’s only Unusual Brenda, from upstairs and she’s got a big plastic bag with her.  She says: ‘Sorry to bother you, but I’m worried about the coat.’

Turns out, she offered to make Henry (the ottoman dog) a coat, to cover up his bald spots.  And fair enough, she’s a very good seamstress.

However, she sits down on the sofa with me, gets the fabric out and dear god, it’s some sort of curtain material with a black background with huge blousey roses all over it.  She says to me: ‘So what do you think?’
 

I said: ‘I wouldn’t say it screams ‘dog’, Brenda.’  And she says: ‘That’s exactly what I thought, so I had a root around and found this,’ and she brings out a length of gold fringeing.  I didn’t know what to say but, lucky for me, she did – she said: ‘I was thinking this would give it a touch of Camelot.  Do you mind if I use Connie for a model?’
 

Connie Brix gave me a look that said: ‘No, please no.’  But she’d already sidled up to Brenda (looking for biscuits or such), so it was too late, and Brenda hung the material over her back and tried to arrange the fringeing.
 

Brenda said: ‘See what I mean?  It gives it more of a Camelot feel.’ 

I thought the dog looked like Divine’s greyhound; but I just nodded.

Next thing you know, Man Friday’s yelling out from behind the loo door: ‘Blimey, I’m cracking the pan here!  I might take some of these down deBier’s for a valuation!’
 

Now, I’m sitting there with my mouth wide open – but no words came out.  I didn’t know what to say.  Fortuitously, Connie Brix shook herself and knocked all the Camelot gear off.  So Brenda’s busy picking it off the floor and putting it in her bag and saying: ‘Oh dear, looks like I’ve come round at the wrong time.’
 

So, I shout out to Man Friday: ‘Brenda’s here!’

Then he only opens the bloody door and says: ‘You what?’

And poor old Brenda skedaddles to the front door with me and Connie Brix in pursuit.

I’m saying: ‘I’m so sorry.’

And she’s saying: ‘I didn’t mean to intrude in a time of trouble.’

I’m saying: ‘It’s no trouble.’

And she’s says: ‘It sounds like it to me.  Don’t you worry, I’ll be back,’ and runs out the door.

Man Friday shouts out: ‘Was that Brenda?’

I said: ‘Yep.’

He says: ‘Bugger.’


Brenda popped back down a few minutes later with two tablets in her hand.  She put her fingers to her lips, put the tablets in my hand and whispered: ‘Stool softeners,’ and ran back upstairs.


I made a cup of tea and poured a sherry in it.  Man Friday says he’s never eating another egg; I think he’d be better off not yelling out his particulars.
 

Also – what has Camelot got to do with dogs?  Did King Arthur have a dog, or something?