The Unfaithful Wife

Once again I have a joke from Roland… does he make them up? All I can say is that I hope he keeps them coming because my dear old Mum loves them!

 

The Unfaithful Wife and the Suspicious Husband

 

The suspicious husband had good grounds to be suspicious of his wife. After twenty long years of marriage there were certain little tell-tale signs of change afoot… There was the drastic diet, the gym workouts, the Botox and “Fillers” (at first the husband thought she meant Polyfiller), the car maintenance classes, “Sociology for Beginners”, also the “Let’s Learn Spanish”, “French” and “Italian” classes.

“I need to find myself!” the bored wife had declared, before going on a night out with the girls.

“So where can I find you maid?” asked the husband.

She flounced out without bothering to answer.

This sort of behaviour had been going on for a quite a time. At last, one evening, upon noticing how surprisingly pretty and well-dressed she was – considering the wife was going out for her ladies “Honiton Lace-making class” – the suspicious husband could contain himself no longer…

“You be seeing a man – baint you? Be honest maid.” (the husband, having being born and bred in Widdicombe-in-the-Moor, had a strong Devonshire accent) “Be it my friend Tom? I’ll bet it’s Tom. You always liked him.” (Not Tom Cobbly, I hasten to tell you.)

“Don’t be absurd!” the wife remarked in an uppity manner that she wouldn’t have used in the old days before her sociology classes (in the past she would have told him not to be mad).

“Well, if tiddn’ Tom” (if it isn’t tom), “Who be ee? Be ee my old friend Dick?”

“Dick? Your friend Dick from Widdecombe?” (not to be confused with Dick Whittington) sneered the now glamorous wife, “I wouldn’t touch him with a barge pole!”

“P’r’aps not, no,” the suspicious husband pondered, “what about my other good mate ‘arry?  Ee be a ladies’ man. ‘Ave you been ‘aving it off wi’ ‘Arry maid?”

“Don’t you think I have any friends of my own?” answered the incensed, and not uncensured, unfaithful wife.

 

Strangers on the Ford

It was mid-afternoon, the sun was out and Chris and I wanted to cycle over to the ford, sit on the little road bridge that spans the ford, and dip our feet in the cool water – that’s why I wore  thong sandals (flip flops in England but I’m an Aussie). But when we arrived – oh no! – someone was in our spot and it didn’t look like he had any intention of budging. He wore shorts, a tee-shirt and a hat, and was sat cross-legged like a Buddha (though he lacked the big stomach); his eyes were shut and his left hand rested on the border collie sat beside him. He seemed not to hear our arrival.

We parked our bikes and I took a couple of video clips of Chris ringing my new red and white spotted bicycle bell, which we had bought this morning, and of which I am very pleased (it’s very pretty and loud!). The sound of my new bell aroused the man sat in our spot and I noticed he looked our way, but only for a moment and then he closed his eyes again.

Just as we approached the water streaming across the road an old lady had come down the hill and rounded the corner; soon she stood at the end of the bridge. The sitting man made to stand up and make way for the lady.

“No, no,” she said, “don’t get up, there’s plenty of room for me to walk past you.”

They smiled at each other and I thought, “He can’t be a bad sort if he was prepared to move for the lady.” That thought made me bolder and I took off my thongs, looked at him and asked:

“Is that a sheep dog?”

He nodded and gave a half-smile.

“Mind if I sit by you on the bridge and dangle my feet in the water?”

He was a quiet man but was amiable enough and indicated his assent with a wave of his hand.

At first I sat at the end of the bridge and Chris, who had joined me, had to sit on a clump of grass a foot or two away from the bridge. The white haired lady stood and rested against the stone wall at the other end of the bridge.

“This is one of my favourite spots,” declared the old lady with a radiant smile.

“It’s ours too,” I spoke for us both and looked at the Buddha man.

He nodded and smiled benevolently.

“Is it a girl?” I asked as I patted his dog.

“Yes, her name is Shadow,” he replied.

For the next hour half or so the lady chatted to us about her life – where she lived, her age (eighty- seven), the parish church, some of the people she knew (and we knew), and the pleasure of walking in our beautiful countryside so close to our town. The man sat cross-legged on the bridge said very little – or perhaps he said nothing more at all – but he looked at the old lady kindly and nodded and smiled at us all. I moved closer to Shadow the border collie in order to pet her more easily and Chris moved closer to me so that he was almost on the bridge. The whole while my happy feet played in the delicious cool water.

“Well, I had better go on my way now,” said the lady.

“What’s your name?” I asked, standing up to shake her hand.

“Muriel,” she held my hand.

“I’m Sally,” I said.

“And I’m Chris,” Chris stood.

“I’m Adrian,” said the Buddha man holding out his hand to each of us in turn.

Muriel walked on and Chris and I collected our bikes. I sounded my new bell and Adrian looked over and waved. We soon caught up with Muriel. Of course, she heard us coming and made a comic bow as I passed by, my bright red bell ringing and Chris’s horn honking.

 

Nun of That! (A Joke)

I don’t know where our friend Roly in Australia gets them from but they come regularly; here is the latest…

Something Funny in the Nunnery

The Mother Superior of a progressive convent called the hundred nuns to assembly in order to bring up the matter of a shocking discovery that had been brought to her attention.

“Sisters,” Mother Superior began in her Irish brogue, “somet’ing disturbing was found in the convent grounds this very mornin'”.

“Oh?” said the hundred nuns in unison.

“Now I’ll be tellin’ you all what it is in a moment but I’ve no doubt that one of you novices have an inkling of to what I’m referring. Firstly, I shall remind you that, even though some of you may have come to the convent under duress from your families, and though we are a progressive order with a modern take on the habits we wear, and we have softened our stand on archaic rules that no longer fit in with current expectations and lifestyles, we nevertheless, dear sisters, must maintain a modicum of modesty and decorum befitting our status as wives of our dear Lord. The first foreign object to be found in the chapel garden by the maze was a pair of Y-fronts!”

“Oh no!” gasped ninety-nine nuns.

“He he,” came a little giggle.

“And beside the Y-fronts on the grass was somet’in’ even worse – a used condom!” exclaimed Mother Superior.

“Oh no!” cried ninety-nine nuns in unison. (Followed by a few “Oh Lord”s and several “Hail Mary”s.)

“He he,” came the giggle again.

“Oh yes!” said Mother Superior, “but worse still, to be sure, is the fact that the used condom had a hole in it!”

“Oh no!” wailed one nun.

“He he,” sniggered the ninety-nine.

“You Make me Feel so Young…”

I know my blog post title sounds like the line from a song, or even a song title (find lyrics and Frank Sinatra Youtube link at end of post), but, actually, I was quoting my niece Katie. Not that Katie meant I made her feel so young – I’m nearly as old (hate that word!) as her mother – even though I’ll admit to being rather happy-go-lucky and young at heart. But no, my beautiful young niece was telling me about one of her experiences as a carer for the elderly in a local care home where she still works…

One of the old gentlemen was called John. He was an eighty-six year old with dementia and had a wife who was twenty years younger and living it up in Spain, America and Barbados, the latter being the country where one of their grown up children now lived. The wife had found it hard to cope with her aged husband’s loss of mental faculty and had seen fit to entrust her husband to the nursing home and the tender care of an even younger woman in the form of Katie. Now my niece, unlike John’s wife, could not afford to go gallivanting around the world, and instead, made the most of her lot and thoroughly enjoyed her job as a carer.

The old fellow, although at a loss in some departments, recognised the true goodness (as well as the beauty) of our lovely Katie and he was smitten.

“Is that an engagement ring?” he asked, spying a ring on the ring finger of her right hand.

“Oh no,” answered Kate, “wrong hand for an engagement ring.”

“In that case would you do me the honour of marrying me?”

“No John,” began Kate, “What about your wife?”

“Wife? Wife? Do I have a wife? Oh, I had quite forgotten that I had a wife already! If only I didn’t have a wife I would ask you to marry me,” the old fellow replied wistfully.

“But, aside from you being married, don’t you think you’re too old for me?” asked Kate.

“How old are you?” asked John.

“Twenty-nine,” answered Kate.

“Well that’s not too outlandish,” said John, “I’m only forty-five!”

“John,” admonished Katie, “You’re all of eighty-six!”

“No! Am I really? Oh dear… but you make me feel so young…”

 

Katie and some other angels cared for the old gentleman until he left this world last year. I could tell from the look in my niece’s eyes and the smile on her lips as she recounted her story that John had enriched her life as much as she had enriched his. Now if he, too, could see that smile wouldn’t he be a happy individual?

 

Frank Sinatra – You Make Me Feel So Young Lyrics

You make me feel so young.
You make me feel as though spring has sprung.
And every time I see you grin,
I’m such a happy individual.

The moment that you speak,
I want to go and play hide and seek.
I wanna go and bounce the moon,
Just like a toy balloon.

You and I
Are just like a couple of tots,
Running across a meadow
Pickin’ up lots of forget-me-nots.

You make me feel so young.
You make me feel there are songs to be sung,
Bells to be rung,
And a wonderful fling to be flung.

And even when I’m old and gray,
I’m going to feel the way I do today
Because you make me feel so young.

You make me feel so young.
You make me feel as though spring has sprung.
And every time I see you grin,
I’m such a happy individual.

The moment that you speak,
I want to go and play hide and seek.
I wanna go and bounce the moon,
Just like a toy balloon.

You and I
Are just like a couple of tots,
Running across a meadow
Pickin’ up lots of forget-me-nots.

You make me feel so young.
You make me feel there are songs to be sung,
Bells to be rung,
And a wonderful fling to be flung.

And even when I’m old and gray,
I’m going to feel the way I do today
Because you make me feel so young.

Songwriters: MYROW, JOSEF/GORDON, MACK
You Make Me Feel So Young lyrics © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.

 

You Make Me Feel So Young (Frank Sinatra – with Lyrics …

www.youtube.com/watch?v=vIHWmW1eyUg

31 Aug 2012 – Uploaded by Sinatra Fan

You Make Me Feel So Young (Frank Sinatra – with Lyrics). 

Look Again (or “Is There a Doctor in the Church?”)

Chris and I went to church this morning. We don’t normally go to church but there were good reasons to go, mainly because my sister Mary couldn’t go with her broken leg (and the other one in agony through too much hopping around) and her husband Geoff has a bad knee after knocking it into a table and now his knobbly knee could match Chris’s bad knee, which is still  swollen after his bike accident  (but he’s not in pain anymore); Katie, who has a broken finger, was working so she couldn’t attend  – and somebody had to represent her as she’s going to be married in the church next June – and besides which, the vicar comes to that particular church only one Sunday in four. Hence, we went to pretty Mamhead Church on the Mamhead House estate (where recently the pop star Peter Andre married his doctor’s doctor daughter).

Our farmer friend Rosie (coincidentally, also a doctor’s daughter and our doctor’s wife!), also the church warden, greeted us and I recognised a few faces in the congregation. No sooner had the service begun than a young couple with a little girl came in and sat three pews ahead and to the right of us. All settled, I counted twenty-five (including Chris and me) in the pews, plus the organist, and the choir of four, and Ken the vicar (or is he a canon? – certainly not a loose cannon!); the church was not quite half full.

Although the church is small, the service was conducted in the Anglican High Church tradition to which I am unaccustomed (considering that I was Christened in an inter-denomination church near the South Australian border and spent the Sunday mornings of my childhood at either Gumdale Gospel Hall or the Salvation Army Hall), therefore I had to read the “conversation” from the sheet supplied. I noted that Chris knew the words by heart – well, I suppose he should do for both his paternal grandfather and uncle were vicars (and one a canon – not a loose cannon!), whilst his father, by coincidence, was yet another doctor.

After the “conversations” (not exactly conversions), hymns, prayers and banns, a man arose from his pew and read an extract from the bible. I thought to myself, “He’s rather like Jules Holland” (the English musician and television presenter).

The reading served as a prelude to the vicar’s own bible reading and the sermon.

Ken the vicar (or canon – as Chris suspects) has a marvellous rich voice, perfect diction and great projection – no need for microphones – and could easily have taken to the stage, had he not chosen the grander stage and humbler profession of his calling. The vicar read about King Herod’s banquet and Salome’s request to have John the Baptist’s head brought to her on a charger; then he conjectured on the reasons for Herod’s assent to such an unwarranted act upon a man for whom the king had some sympathy. Of course, Herod was “drunk” and more afraid of the opprobrium of his people than of God; and Salome was a “beautiful moronic step-daughter” under the thrall of her vengeful mother, who had felt slighted by John the Baptist’s views on her marriage to her brother-in-law the king. The vicar emphasised Herod’s lack of imagination in trying to come up with a just solution to his problem, and later he applied the same reasoning to more topical  world events and tragedies. He urged us to “look again” when we see something disturbing and try to see what is hidden beneath the facade. The wonderful sermon brought laughter and tears to our small but rapt congregation.

During another “conversation”, which Chris knew well but I mouthed while searching for the place on the printed sheet, I noticed a little blonde head and bright blue eyes looking at me from the front pew to the right and I waved, then blew her a kiss. The tiny three year old kept turning away with shyness, then turning back out of curiosity. At last she decided that I was a good, if mute, audience to all her antics. She opened the door to her family’s pew and looked for my approval, which I gave with a wink, and she showed me her wellington boots. What a cutie-pie! She wore a white sleeved top under a navy blue dress  with a white sailing boat pattern, hot pink tights and yellow Wellingtons with stripes of red and green at their tops. For a while she amused herself, and me, by slipping off the pew step onto the floor. At length, she tired of the step and turned her attention to the hinged door of the pew…

The tot looked and looked. She opened and shut the swing door. At last, while the congregation gave thanks and “amen”, the sweet child found the hidden purpose of the otherwise fairly superfluous pew door; she clung to the top corner, drew up her pink and yellow legs, and swung back and forth as the door opened and shut! Her mother was not so vastly amused as I but, moments later – before we all rose to sing – the triumphant child held up a bar of something tasty and beamed at me.

“How great thou art, how great thou art!” we all sang (and I joined in too because I knew this one from the Aled Jones CD).

 

I was going to finish my blog post there but I have a funny post script to add…

Over coffee and biscuits I chatted to the little girl.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Andy Pandy,” I thought she answered.

“Andy Pandy?” I looked at her mum, hoping to find the hidden alternative.

“Henny Penny,” said her mum laughing, “her name is Henrietta.”

“Oh, I see,” I smiled, bending down to the little one, “I have a brother called Henry and we all used to call him Hen or Henbone. My name is Sally and my nickname is Salbone. I have a sister called Mary but we have a different nickname for her – can you guess what it is?”

“Lazybones!” said Henny Penny.

Our Mayflower will be very amused when I tell her!

P.P.S.

A closer look and a chat with the man who looked and sounded like Jules Holland revealed that he was none other than our youngest daughter’s former employer and art lover who had bought two of my paintings about twenty years ago.

 

 

The Three-Legged Dog and the Ant-Bite

When our friend Roland in Australia hasn’t any work on of a Friday there is a good chance that he’ll be taking his grandson Mason out for the day. If you are a regular visitor to this blog that name will probably ring a bell for I have written many times about my lovely “Mason Days”. You may remember photographs of Mason as a baby, covered with beautiful frangipani and hibiscus flowers, in his pram as I took him out for walks. It does my heart good to note that, now he is older, the adorable little boy has an appreciation of flowers, which one wouldn’t normally expect to find in a two and a half year old (when I see him pick up a frangipani, smell it and pass it to me I think, “That’s my boy!”).

My brother Henry, too, loves the little chap. We still laugh about the occasion, a few months ago, that Mason wasn’t very well with a chesty cough and we were all down at Wynnum seafront; Mason had overheard Roland and I saying that we thought he needed to see a doctor and the poorly child became adamant that he should see a doctor immediately.

“Why don’t you ask someone here to pretend to be a doctor?” Roland whispered in my ear.

“Uncle Henry is a doctor!” I said loudly.

“So he is!,” and Roland turned to his old friend and asked, “Doctor Henry, would you mind examining young Mason?”

That is how Uncle Henry became “Doctor Henry” and why my brother is revered still in the eyes of the youngster who now associates Wynnum seafront play park with informal medical appointments and fun whales that spurt water.

Of course, it’s winter in Queensland at present and the water spurts have been turned off until the weather gets hotter, but Roland and Mason still enjoy to visit Doctor Henry and their old haunts (even though it has been inordinately cold and windy of late). Only two days ago Roland and Mason decided to brave the weather and take a brisk walk along the beach at Wynnum (the dried up whales had lost their appeal). In the distance was a lady with a dog…

“Look at that dog, Mason,” said Roland bending down and pointing, “Do you see that he has only three legs?”

“And one head!” said Mason observantly.

 

Sometime later, back at Granddad’s house, Roland was concerned that Mason had not “performed” during the day.

“Be sure to let me know if you need the toilet,” said Grampy (not to be confused with “Grumpy”), “because you’re a big boy and ought to be out of nappies now. Do you need to go?”

“No Granddad,” replied Mason with innocent eyes.

It sometimes happens that when you put an idea in someone’s mind… things just seem to happen.

Mason disappeared behind a lounge-room chair and his grandfather heard sobbing.

“Mason, what’s the matter? Have you done something in your nappy?”

“No,” Mason popped his head over the arm of the chair, “an ant bit me on the arm!”

The genius child, without any trace of an ant bite, did not receive the sympathy he had hoped for but neither was he scolded too harshly; and his grandfather tried not to laugh too much as he performed the dreaded nappy-change!

 

Joey and His Mum

Is there anything cuter than a young animal with its mother? Young wallabies and kangaroos take their time before making  their first public appearance but now this joey, or “Joseph” as our friend ROJ (Spanish for Roy?) calls him, is quite big enough to hop around on his own, without weighing his mum down.

In order to keep the scene vital and interesting I sped up the two video clips I had joined together; as a consequence Roy now has a funny high pitched voice (hope he doesn’t mind!). You will note that I also managed to insert some highly appropriate music (well, quite apt – there isn’t much difference between kangaroos and wallabies!).

I guess you’ll realise that, with a little help from my friends, I’m embarking on becoming a film-maker/editor… Somehow I don’t think anyone in the business will be very worried! My films will be extremely short – I don’t think I have the patience to wait for Youtube processing times.

Just click on the blue title – “JOEY AND HIS MUM” or the wallaby and, if all goes to plan, you’ll be able to see the masterpiece!

  1. “Joey and his Mum” by ROJ

    Nearly every day wallabies visit ROJ’s garden and he’s taken to videoing them. Our friend feared the films might be a bit slow so I …

 

 

Swans in the Estuary

The tide was out when Chris and I cycled over to Cockwood Harbour late this afternoon. I often say to Chris, “How come the tide is always out whenever we cycle to Cockwood?” Of course, it can’t be so but it seems to be the case. In fact, the tide came in last night while we were having dinner at the Anchor Inn, but then we had come by car, not bicycle, so perhaps it doesn’t count.

There is one advantage to arriving at the harbour when the tide is out – you can walk under the railway bridge and, from the other side, you can look at Exmouth across the estuary. If you are lucky, as we were today, you may also see the flock of swans that go with the tide as it ebbs and flows in and out of the pretty harbour.

Rosie, Oh Rosie!

Rosie, oh Rosie! She’s been through quite a lot during her first eleven months but now she’s home from hospital and the world looks rosy again. Little Rosie was a bit overwhelmed to find aunties, uncles, grandparents, cousins and siblings (nearly all the clan) waiting to welcome her home yesterday afternoon. We had all forgathered at Katie’s house and James set up the Karaoke system for our entertainment; it was rather touching to hear Geoff singing the old Don Partridge song, “Rosie”, to his darling granddaughter. After that James played “Rosanna” and Rosie even managed to smile at her cousin and aunties. Just click on ROSIE HOME below to see the clip on Youtube….

  1. Rosie Home

    Little Rosie arrived home from hospital to find nearly all her family awaiting her. Overwhelmed at first, she soon became …
    • NEW

Art Treasures Bought for a Song

This joke comes from the trove accumulated by Roland (alias the Birdman from Brisbane)…

The Millionaire’s Wife Buys Art Treasures

A Californian multi-millionaire receives a phone call from his lawyer.

“You’d better get down to my office real quick,” began the hot-shot lawyer with some urgency in his voice, “there’s something important that I need to discuss with you!”

“What’s up Sam?” asked the millionaire.

“I’d rather not talk about it on the phone – let’s just say it’s about art, something your wife bought recently,” said the lawyer mysteriously.

Half an hour later the millionaire was led into the lawyer’s office.

“Now tell me what this is all about Sam,” insisted the millionaire.

“Sure, well I’ve been racking my brains trying to think of how to tell you. Now the good news is that your wife recently paid $500 a piece for two artworks that she reckons are worth at least $3,000,000 – possibly more,” the lawyer paused.

“Sounds like a pretty shrewd move on Ruthie’s part but why did I have to come down here? Why couldn’t she tell me the good news herself? And what’s the bad news?” the millionaire was baffled.

“Well I’m coming to that. You see, the pictures are both shots of you making love to your secretary…”