No Fee

In contrasting the people who do something wrong against those who take full advantage of that to rant with pictures and videos on the internet, I was reminded of the story of Fee.

Fee worked in a bank. I think her real given name was Fiona, but I’m not sure. She was late teens or early twenties, strawberry blonde, and while generally slim, she facially retained her youthful  chubbiness. A pal, though, thought her ‘puffy’. She was neither a great beauty nor terribly ugly, her only remarkable feature was her slightly large nose, and that’s being picky.

Anyway, I had a flat. I was young and one of the first to move out of the parental nest, so my place was always full of friends. I was introduced to Fee one evening, and we wete all just lounging about watching telly, drinking beer, and snacking. We were going out later, so this was just killing time.

Fee asked if I had a bathroom. I nodded toward the hallway. She rose and followed my nod.

Half an hour later, she had not returned. I became curious and decided to check it out.

The bathroom door was locked shut.

I chapped the door softly,

“You alright?” I enquired.

“Yeah, fine; I’ll be out in a sec.” She said.

I went back to the couch.

Five minutes later Fee entered the room in my bathrobe. She’d had a bath! She inserted herself on the couch, her hair in my towel.

I was amazed. And speechless.

This was a weird girl indeed. She was running to different rules from the rest of us. I visited the loo, and there on the floor was Fee’s bra, knickers, socks, jeans and top. An odd person, I thought.

This was confirmed later on, when watching a plastic looking celebrity on the telly, and someone raised the question of cosmetic surgery. Fee immediately stated that she was definitely going ahead with her own operation.

This was news to everyone, and the discussion got going. Some were all for it, some were dead against it. Everyone, I can assure you, thought she was getting a nose job, when she suddenly announced,

“But I have hated my ears since kindergarten”.

Fee’s reality was like a breath of fresh air to me – and ever since, I have made the point never to assume that we are all equal or think in the same way.

Name & Shame

Poor Old Madonna – she stumbled on live telly, poor thing. She’ll never live it down. It’s a world of Schadenfreude these days.

But she’s not alone… everyone is at risk. Even YOU. The internet tells me this.

But you know what – I’ve had enough.

I’m not perfect, a fact that will probably one day be filmed and uploaded to my eternal embarrassment or shame.I don’t know who is worse – those who park “selfishly” or those who write an angry, sweary, note, put it on the windscreen, take a photograph of it, and then upload it. Or else get all confrontational while putting it all on video to share with the entire world.

They are reducing the number of parking spaces but there are more cars. Spaces are smaller as cars are bigger. It is a government conspiracy.

I’m sick of name and shame videos and pictures about bad parking, littering, dog fouling, or whatever. It’s all a plot to distract us from real issues.

How can anyone be considerate when they are under such a general threat. We’re turning against ourselves, it’s dog eat dog and everyone for themselves!

It’s just not right that we should be afraid all the time in case we make a mistake and it becomes an internet meme, goes viral or gets you a fine or jailtime. Let’s get back to being afraid of criminals and terrorists instead of “normal people”. let’s return to despising governments, the taxman, traffic wardens and “the authorities”, we need to stick together, not grass and snitch and clype.

Overhear

I came across some old notes on ridiculous things overheard in the office and thought I’d share them here.

–“How are you doing, Peter?”
–“Still slavering away”

***

(Looking at wedding dress pictures)…

Angela- “I’d like that one if it had more sleeves.”
Ian- “How many arms have you got?”

***

“Sandy had rolls on prawns with Rosie Marie Sauce.”

***

“Ian and his girlfriend are going to her work’s dance. Ian’s ‘phoning ’round the florists for a courgette for her.”

***

(Talking about Archie McPherson being punched while commentating at Rangers v Celtic match for Radio Clyde)

“He carried on like a true professional, and the viewers had no idea he had been attacked.”

***

“I’m going to take Liz for a splash-up meal!”

***

–“I’m going to do some painting”

–“Oh! Painting by colours, er, I mean numbers.”

***

“We get a quarterly charge every month.”

***

–“Will you give me a lift to work?”

–“What’s wrong with your car?”

–“I left it at work.”

–“What do you mean?”

–“I forgot I had the car at work, and scrounged a lift home!”

***

(After talking to an Italian client on the ‘phone)…

“I just managed to get my brains into gear before opening my mouth… I nearly said ‘Buenas Noches’, but that’s Spanish – it means ‘How are you?'”

***

“See that Plough Hotel – every time I  go there, the Bacardi’s flat.”

***

(Talking about the Flowerpot Men)…

–“I’ve heard about them, but I’ve never actually seen them on telly.”

–“Neither have I, but I saw them on telly this morning.”

***

“See trying to get into Stuart’s drawers… it’s awful hard.”

***

“Just you write a memo to heid-the-bread about it!”

***

(Discussing a night-out)…

–“What are we doing for food tomorrow? Are we going for a Chinese, or an Indian or what?”

–“I think we should go for a pizza; I can’t stand all that foreign stuff.”

***

“Did you read that in the paper about the guy that was charged with sexual assault on a dolphin – aye – he got off wi’ it.”

***

(Friday at 3pm)…

–“Has anyone heard any more about us finishing at one o’clock?”

–“What – today?”

***

–“Jim, what’s Arne’s other name?”

“Which Arne?”

“Arne Sorvik.”

***

“I got lost in Kirkintilloch. Instead of going left, straight-on, or right… I went left!”

***

“At this exact moment in time last night…”

***

“We had a visit from my auntie… that’s my dad’s brother…”

***

–“Do you want a chicken sandwich?”

–“Oh, I don’t know; what’s on it?”

***

“They want us to alter the piping in that fast loop cabinet. You would have to be a ventriloquist to get in there.”

***

–“I’ve got a tolerance of three hundredths (0.03 inches).”

–“No, no, no; I wanted 30 thou (0.03 inches).”

***

–“Mary- do you know what a curfew is?”

–“Aye… that’s when everybody’s to be in bed for 8 o’clock.”

***

(At bedtime, after a hectic weekend)…

–“Oh, I’m tired, Mary.”

–“Aye, so am a’ – I woke up doonstairs, an’ we were both sleepin’.”

***

“Is this it then Jim… There’s only the two of us for this meeting – you, me, and Jim Morrison.”

***

–“Will you have a ‘phone in your new flat?”

–“Oh yes, incoming calls only… I’d feel safer with a phone.”

***

“In Norway, you are not allowed to drink with alcohol in you.”

***
“I remember Steve Gillespie’s Hen Night…”

***

–“Why does your clock flash between two different times?”

–“Because one of them is the date.”

***

“I’ve got two words for you, Davy – the first one begins with ‘F’, and the second one’s a swear word.”

***

–“I’m hungry!”

–“Go make a sandwich then.”

–“No, I’ll get something hot from the freezer.”

***

“Never kick a gift horse in the mouse.”

***

“Stephen’s fiancée was ill with vinyl meningitis.”

***

“We’ve still got an ace up oor kilt”

***

“I’m overtaking Steve’s desk”

***

“Oh just hold on; my pen’s run out of lead.”

***
“Before I remember, I’ll need to ‘phone.”

***
–“How come there’s 5 in one team, and 4 in the other team?”

–“Because there’re 9 of us.”

***

“My son’s away hill-walking with my car.”

***

“I’ve done it erse before the cart.”

***

Mayday

Offices are strange places indeed.

I’ve just come from an Office Safety Toolbox Talk.

I know less now it’s over than I did when it started.

I always thought you did things like:

  • Call 999
  • Give The Kiss Of Life
  • Do The Heimlich Manoeuveur
  • Improvise a Tourniquet

Who knew it had all changed? I had no idea we were not allowed to call it the Heimlich as it sounds too Jewish for Muslims or something. Anyway, it’s a no-no.

Tourniquets and kissing are out. Old hat.

The simple 999 telephone number is too simple for today’s world. We now have 101 for non emergency police and 112 for emergencies throughout Europe (except that it doesn’t work on a mobile phone without a SIM). And there’s something about 111 for the NHS. Maybe.

I’m sticking with 999. Stuff ’em.

There were loads of other weird stuff. I honestly have no idea anymore. Which is probably the Big Idea – we all do nothing – leave people to die or else do an expensive First Aider course.

Nice knowing ya.

The Bad Samaritan

At lunchtime today I mooched around the nearby shop as I often do.

The ladies know me now and there is Banter.

At the till queue I made an impulse buy of a Cadbury’s Ripple. I couldn’t help it; it was right there in front of me, and I was trapped in the queue.

However, the lady at the till tutted and put it back, asking,

“Don’t you know that this is 63p?”

I raised an eyebrow to show I can be reckless with funds when I want.

“Come on!” she declared, and dragged me by the hand into the aisles.

We returned with a three-pack of Ripples. As she rang it up, she winked,

“Three for a pound”

As I left, I realised that this is why dieting is impossible. There are just too many offers.  I just wanted a small choccy fix, and now I am armed to the back teeth with the stuff. But what can you do? You can’t say anything or she’d get upset.  She was trying to do me a favour, a good turn.

That’s the trouble with Good Samaritans. They are usually the only ones that feel better.

When I got back to the office, I offered the Ripples out, explaining that I got a deal. I managed to offload them all.

None for me, but I’m a pound lighter. Probably in both meanings of the word.

Taking the Hump

I was reminded today of a time a few years back – when I was younger, more carefree, childless and still unmarried.

I was driving a Jaguar and wearing a leather jacket. I was courting the girl who was unlucky enough to become my wife.

She was involved with an organisation in Govan, Glasgow, to which a local “character” belonged. This was Sandy The Ginger Haired Hunchback, and he took a shine to me and my ridiculous car.

One day before Christmas, Sandy limped up to give me a Christmas gift – one of his old leather jackets.

I was in shock for a beat, then vibrated between being massively insulted and dying of laughter. I managed to compose myself long enough to say:

“Thanks, Sandy; you shouldn’t have, I’m sure it will fit like a glove”.

Uh-hu hump

Strange Fillers

Yesterday was slightly more surreal than usual.

I decided to take a kettle of water to fill my car’s windscreen washers.

As I stood by the kettle in the office kitchen, a white-haired old chap decided to tell me about the time he got attacked.

hai karateHe then physically acted out his Jackie Chan style moves, complete with high kicks and kung fu grimaces.

Hmmm.

OK, so I left and reached the car – where a chap appeared at my side.

He was out smoking a rollup from the nearby Travelodge.

He was once a Danish spy he explained, and was involved in counter espionage before retiring to a farm on Bornholm where his wife died and he then took up with a young lass who was a deep sea diving photographer… the rest I cannot tell you as it’s classified…ffs