Posted in Humor, Humour, Uncategorized, tagged Blogs, Britain, Funny, Humor, Humour, Old Age, Random, Tanning on July 1, 2013| 10 Comments »
Hello Oily,
Tanning shops – where do you stand on the debate?
Leslie, Burnt Oak
Oily Replies;
Leslie;
No standing, I lie prostrate before them, I owe my success, my livelihood and the canyon like crevices on my face to my daily tanning sessions. You will never see a pale Oily.
Cook my little mahogany minx, cook!!
Oily
Posted in Stories, Writing, tagged Ageing, Childhood, Health, Humor, Humour, Old Age, Short Stories, Stories, Travel, Writers on June 18, 2013| 15 Comments »
The Despatcher manoeuvred the wheelchair into the Carriage’s disabled bay. “Many thanks,” said the chair’s occupant, an elderly woman. Another woman in early middle age, fussed around her.
“All part of the service!” replied the Despatcher, “Enjoy your trip to the seaside.”
“He was a bit rough,” the old woman said to her companion, “Nearly had my eye out with his whistle.”
The companion said nothing. She took off her wire framed glasses and wiped the lenses on the dark grey fleece she was wearing. She looked tired and in all honesty fed up.
The Despatcher took several minutes to free the chair ramp. Once he had released it, he let out a pert peep on his whistle and the train pulled away.
The old woman carried a small potted plant in her liver spotted hands. I could not tell you what type of plant it was. It was colourful. She stroked the plant and said, “Like the view Arthur? I told you we would make one more train journey together.”
My daughter Millie looked up from her colouring book and tugged at the cuff of my shirt.
“Daddy,”
“Yes?”
“That old woman. Is she going to die?”
“No. Not yet darling. But it won’t be long by the look of things.”
“Thought so. Can I have some more chocolate?”
I handed Millie her third segment of Chocolate Orange. My wife had forbade chocolate on our excursion to the Zoo, but we don’t often go on trips together and why can’t a Dad spoil his little Princess? Besides, who doesn’t like to tap and unwrap?
The old woman looked at me and said, “That child will be sick if you keep giving her chocolate.”
“Mother!”
A smile spread across the old woman’s craggy features. The top set of her bleached dentures rattled slightly as she spoke to Millie, “Hello my dear. Where are you going? “
“Zoo. To see the Penguins,” Millie replied.
“I think you are the prettiest child I have ever seen!” Said the old woman, “But if you keep eating all that chocolate you may develop chronic diabetes and become morbidly obese. Not to mention lose your teeth!”
She smiled broadly. Her left hand fell off.
“Bloody Germans.”
I gasped and broke wind. I hoped nobody noticed. Millie laughed.
Her flushed companion reattached the prosthetic and said to me, “Sorry about that, it’s a bit worn and loose.”
“That’s OK,” I replied, unsure what to say.
The old woman, checking the quality of the reattachment, asked Millie what her name was, “Millie? That’s a lovely name. My name is Mary and this is my daughter Eileen.”
“You’re old. Are you going to die soon? My Dad thinks you are.”
Mary laughed “Death comes to us all Millie my dear. I am prepared, but hopefully not for a day or two. We have a trip to the seaside first! Do you like the seaside?”
“Yes!” replied Millie, “Sandcastles!”
“North Cornwall usually,” I said. I lied, normally it is Devon.
“Your Daddy is a bit fat isn’t he Millie? Does he smoke? The stains on his teeth tell me he does.”
“No,” I replied, before Millie could say anything. I had given up for New Year. I was pleased with my willpower, apart from when I had a crafty one.
Mary turned to her daughter, “Any news about Betty?”
“Lot better.”
“Did she find her eye?”
“In the freezer.”
“She’s so careless that girl.”
Mary looked down at the plant, “How are you Arthur?”
I swear the plant shook gently in response.
“That’s good.” Mary shaded the plant with her hand. A flapping tongue of handkerchief protruded from the sleeve of the white cardigan she wore. I shuddered at the thought of mucus on my wrist.
“Is Dad OK?” Eileen asked. Mary looked wistful, “Grand. He’s excited about being on a train again. He loved his trains. The hours he spent in the loft with his train set. ……What he couldn’t recreate in Papier Mache……….. Do you remember that time he got his head stuck in his replica Channel Tunnel!”
“How could we forget!” Eileen appeared to relax in her mother’s company.
“Never liked the Sun much though.Brought him out in hives.”
“I know Mum.”
“I’m glad I could bring him. He loved the seaside. Hated the water, the sand and the Sun of course, but loved everything else. And he didn’t need a ticket, him being a pot plant now. Loved Violets he did. I think he needs a drop of Baby Bio by the looks of things. I do miss him Eileen.”
“I know Mum. We all do.”
Mary stroked the petals of the pot plant or Arthur as I now thought of it. She appeared deep in thought, “Yes love. He certainly loved his train set. And having his way with me. He was insatiable. Right up to his Seventieth. No wonder I ended up in this Chair!”
“Mother!”
Mary pulled the handkerchief from her cardigan sleeve, wiped a tear and blew her nose before rehousing it. Again I shuddered at the thought of damp mucus on my skin.
“Daddy,” Millie asked,
“Yes?” I dreaded the question.
“How long will it be before I am old?”
“A long time yet.”
I was relieved. She hadn’t asked that question.
“Daddy,”
“Yes,”
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
It was by the Lion’s den that Millie asked me what insatiable meant. I bought her an ice cream. She forgot to ask again.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Advice, Car Maintenance, Funny, Humor, Marriage, Old Age, Sex on October 9, 2012| 10 Comments »
Double Entendres? I should coco!
Dear Aunty,
My wife and I have been married for over 80 years and are now both in our hundreds. I am happy to sit by the fire, rest my lumbago whilst Maude files my bunions. However Maude has recently started vehicle maintenance classes at the local college.
Whilst I have no objection I am disturbed by her constant references to giving my “starting handle a good tug” and checking that my “crank” is in working order. This isn’t the women I married all those years ago.
Any advice?
Henry Ford
Snodland
Aunty Bill Replies;
Dear Henry
Whilst the delights of filing your Bunions must give her untold pleasure, Maude obviously desires more in the twilight of her years.Show an interest in her new found direction. Tell her if you can buff her headlamps she can by all means give your starting handle a tug. Next time you’re both working on that dodgy gearbox of hers ask if she can pass you the spanners as she tightens your nuts.
With time you’ll see the pleasure she derives from getting down and dirty with a set of jump leads (be careful there though old timer) and use the opportunity to regularly check her big end is in working order.
There’s more to life than Lumbago and bunions (to paraphrase Morrissey)
Toot toot!
Billemina
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Broken Hearts, Death, Ham Sandwiches, Loss, Love, Old Age, Trains, Travel, Writing on December 8, 2011| 17 Comments »
He re-read the notice in the Obituary column, “…long battle with illness…bravely fought…loving wife, mother and grandmother.” The family asked for donations for the Hospice rather than flowers to be sent.
It was easier to count the lost years in decades. At least five of them. Where had the time and life gone? The wraiths of despair and sadness caused his heart to skip a beat and momentarily he felt his soul slip away from him.
He had loved her. Utterly. But he had never possessed the courage to tell her. Now he had lost her. For good.
“Feint heart never won fair lady.” He hated that saying.
The train manager announced, “Ladies and Gentlemen, we are now approaching Doncaster station. Please ensure that you take all your belongings with you. Thank you for traveling with Great Eastern and have a safe onward journey.”
It would be another two hours to home. To the town he had moved to in order to escape the broken heart and confusion he had felt.
Her smell and taste lived in him once more. He put the newspaper down.
Why had she bought it? Did she know?
He studied his hands. Finger joints throbbed with arthritic discomfort but he clenched them tightly into fists. Shards of pain filled his mind, but at least it acted as a distraction.
His wife returned.
“They didn’t have any ham so I got you a chicken salad instead. Is that OK?”
“Fine thanks.”
“You look like you have seen a ghost.” She said.
“Just tired from the trip. Nothing to worry about.”
She searched the carrier bag and tutted.
“I didn’t pick any milk up for the tea. Could you nip back to the buffet car for some?”
“OK.” He lifted himself out of the seat, his replacement hip still stiff and uncomfortable. But he was glad to stretch his legs and move. He threw the grief over his shoulder, sagging slightly under its weight.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“Just the milk. It was nice to see your sister. She’s definitely visiting us Boxing Day and staying for a couple of nights. Anita can meet her at the station.”
She picked the paper up and casually examined the front page, “Anything in the paper?” she asked.
“No. Not really.” He made his way to the buffet car.
She hoped he had read the news. His sister had told her when they were washing up after dinner last night. She was pleased and sad in equal measure. But above all she hoped he would no longer cry out for Audrey in his sleep.
All of them deserved some peace now.
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