A bloody clever entry from our Rachel!
Keep em coming
jgsheffield@hotmail.com
Father's Day
My father died back in 1989.
He was telling a joke at the breakfast table, or so the story goes.
I never knew what the punchline was.
Anyhow I guess I've saved 27 years' worth of father's day card costs.
Over the past two decades I have sort of inherited a new dad. My father in law is a genial, self effacing old buffer, who has a easy manner, and a rather small selection of terrible jokes .
Richard often reminds me of Nigel Bruce's Watson in those 1940's Americanised Sherlock Holmes, films, for he is a cheerful, slightly bemused and sociable old guy, a character which perhaps belies the fact he has the chutzpah to be able to drive over the entirety of Europe and beyond without batting a single eyelash.
So today, when Dads all across Britain are opening a card with a picture of a golf trolley on it, I send my father in law very best wishes for the day!
Have a good one Richard........
What are your best father stories? It's over to you..........
Dirty Little Secrets
I have a confession to make.
I have kept a secret for weeks now.
It's a dirty little secret.
Every day, I sneak out. Sometimes at dawn, sometimes at dusk and I creep out of the cottage and into the churchyard.
No one is about at these times.
No one can see my dirty secret.
I rummage around my pocket for the things I need. And I scan the churchgate for any sudden movement. I Cannot possibly carry out my secret activity when any living soul is around.
Only when I am alone can the deed be done.
The dirty,dirty deed.
I am ashamed.
I am worried I could get caught.
I am disgusted..........
So do you want to know my dirty, dirty secret?
Do you really want to know?
Do ya?
Well, I'll tell you.....
For weeks now, Albert has been tip toe-ing off to the graveyard to have a sneaky poo in the only grave which has a rectangle of earth on it, instead of turf .
I caught him several times and now have to sneak to the grave daily to give it a " spring clean"
Hey ho
I have kept a secret for weeks now.
It's a dirty little secret.
Every day, I sneak out. Sometimes at dawn, sometimes at dusk and I creep out of the cottage and into the churchyard.
No one is about at these times.
No one can see my dirty secret.
I rummage around my pocket for the things I need. And I scan the churchgate for any sudden movement. I Cannot possibly carry out my secret activity when any living soul is around.
Only when I am alone can the deed be done.
The dirty,dirty deed.
I am ashamed.
I am worried I could get caught.
I am disgusted..........
So do you want to know my dirty, dirty secret?
Do you really want to know?
Do ya?
Well, I'll tell you.....
For weeks now, Albert has been tip toe-ing off to the graveyard to have a sneaky poo in the only grave which has a rectangle of earth on it, instead of turf .
I caught him several times and now have to sneak to the grave daily to give it a " spring clean"
Hey ho
The Private Life Of The Taxi
The most scary taxi trip I ever took was a mad cap journey from Midtown Manhattan to Little Italy . The taxi driver gunned it down one of the roughest roads I have ever had the misfortune to travel along and the Prof and I basically went weightless in the back of the cab as we sped Downtown .
The Yellow Taxis of New York are not built for guys my size
Last night in the early hours of this morning, I had to catch a taxi home from Rhyl. The driver was cheerful enough but was acting as dispatcher and driver of what was essentially just a two man enterprise, and so we roared homeward bound well over the speed limit with him answering phone calls every few seconds or so on his hand held
This was at one o'clock in the morning.
" Pick up now in Denbigh to Towyn to return at 4 am"
( Apparantly a regular " shag trip" after a bottle of wine)
" Pick up from one part of Prestatyn to another and return"
( Apparantly a drug pick up)
And "another pick up from one part of Rhyl to overnight shop and return"
( alcohol pick up)
" customer stopped at a service till then did a runner without paying"
All this within our ten minute journey home.
No matter where you live, there seems an underclass, an underworld of activities far, far removed from what you know and feel comfortable with. It's a world of deals, of antisocial behaviour, of drugs and " life on the edge" and sitting in the passenger seat of a speeding taxi, I caught the tiniest of glimpses of this world last night.
Not nice!
Anyhow I will leave you with the first Entry to the INTERNATIONAL NOVELTY VEG/ FRUIT COMPETITION ..thanks to Karen D.
The Yellow Taxis of New York are not built for guys my size
Last night in the early hours of this morning, I had to catch a taxi home from Rhyl. The driver was cheerful enough but was acting as dispatcher and driver of what was essentially just a two man enterprise, and so we roared homeward bound well over the speed limit with him answering phone calls every few seconds or so on his hand held
This was at one o'clock in the morning.
" Pick up now in Denbigh to Towyn to return at 4 am"
( Apparantly a regular " shag trip" after a bottle of wine)
" Pick up from one part of Prestatyn to another and return"
( Apparantly a drug pick up)
And "another pick up from one part of Rhyl to overnight shop and return"
( alcohol pick up)
" customer stopped at a service till then did a runner without paying"
All this within our ten minute journey home.
No matter where you live, there seems an underclass, an underworld of activities far, far removed from what you know and feel comfortable with. It's a world of deals, of antisocial behaviour, of drugs and " life on the edge" and sitting in the passenger seat of a speeding taxi, I caught the tiniest of glimpses of this world last night.
Not nice!
Anyhow I will leave you with the first Entry to the INTERNATIONAL NOVELTY VEG/ FRUIT COMPETITION ..thanks to Karen D.
Calling All Photos!
Rachel's Melon Boobs went down a storm with MrButler
Job done.
Now today I thought I would put out my yearly request for novelty veg/fruit photos!
The International Novelty Fruit/ Veg Photo Competition is now an official class in the Trelawnyd Flower Show. All you have to do is to design and make your novelty exhibit, it can be anything you like.....an animal, a person, a car, boobs in a bra! whatever! Then you photograph it and send me the photo in an email.
I shall print the photo out to A4 size and the photo will decorate the Memorial Hall on the day of the show.
Our Nationally renowned vegetable judge Mr Norman Butler will judge the best photo on the day of the show and the winner will be sent a special prize and rosette on behalf of the Flower Show Committee.
Please send your entries to me on jgsheffield@hotmail.com
I shall post all entries on Going Gently
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| Last Year's Domestic Classes |
The Kindness Of Strangers
Winnie, William and George all sat down and made themselves comfortable when Mrs Simmons marched into view at the Lych gate. Meeting her in the village means a long conversation, usually about nothing in particular, and the older dogs know that they are about to loose at least half an hour of their lives when she appears.
Mrs Simmons was widowed just over a year ago in actual fact I gave the eulogy at her husband's funeral and like any widow, she has found the first year of bereavement a difficult one.
Recently she went on her first holiday to see a friend somewhere in the south Midlands and I found myself listening to a rather meandering story of how several rail connections were cancelled and how her journey was made complicated by replacement buses.
I zoned out of the conversation until she told me how she got into conversation with a teenager called Kai on his way to a waitering job in Birmingham.
The delays had made him too late to pick up his shift, so with spare time to kill, Kai took charge of Mrs Simmons, carrying her bags from train to train and train to bus making sure she made her connections on time while she no doubt , talked his leg off all of the time they were together.
Mrs Simmons was obviously energised by their meeting and by his kindness to her and before they parted she slipped a twenty pound note into his hand " to compensate him for his lost tips"
Teenager and old Welsh lady hugged long and hard before they each went on their way.
Both better off for their meeting.
It was a nice story.
And an important one for Mrs Simmons to retell.
For only after the dogs had stopped yawning and we had moved on did I realise that Mrs Simmons had shared nothing about the holiday itself nor about her anniversary visit to her husband's headstone.
That little moment of kindness was so much more important .
Stormy Tuesday
It has been thundery and very wet today.
Everything feels damp and slightly depressing, I was going to drive to Theatre Clwyd this evening
But the weather remains too irritating for me to stomach a spray soaked A 55.
Earlier I took myself off to Marks & Spencers and bought myself a choux bun for tea and had to chuckle to myself as a small child horrified it's mother by throwing up all over ( and inside) the self service till!
It did amuse me!
The barf was one of those true projectile ones that only small kids and possessed pre teenage girls can achieve
On My Own
I went partly because I adore Patricia Clarkson and partly because I heard her co star Ben Kingsley being interviewed about the movie on Front Row.
He has a rather attractive and economical way of describing his work
I am used in going to art house movies on my own, and to be honest , it's a lovely pastime to have, but sometimes, I do long to talk about the movie with someone as soon as the last reel is over.
Today, as I was walking out of the deserted cinema, I spied just one woman exiting her seat and as I passed her, I tried to engage her with a gushing " Wasn't Clarkson wonderful?"
The woman looked puzzled........." who?" She said
Fucking Welsh audiences!
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