Mr William has the Ladies ‘Queuing’ in the ‘Aisles’!

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Good Morrow, dear Reader,



How are you, today? I am ‘tip-top’, just like my idol, the peerless (Should be at least a ‘Knight’ by now, if not a ‘Peer of the Realm’!), the delightful Leslie Phillips, OBE  and occasionally, Bar. My lawyer, the rather nervy, Robin B’stard, points out that the sainted Leslie only consumes a little ‘digestif’ for medicinal purposes. Are all lawyers paranoid, or is it that everyone is actually out to ‘get’ them? My lawyer asks you to regard that as my personal, rhetorical and wholly, fictitious question. What an up-tight dork!?



Well, anyway, I am chipper in the extreme, ‘cos the ‘Ladies’ love me to death (Hopefully not literally or I’m stuffed and I don’t mean taxidermalogically! If that’s not the right word, I’m sure those of a ‘pedant’ bent will let me know, once you get your head out of your behind.) You see, I now have 7 ladies ‘on the go’ in my usual shopping centre, and thankfully they are blissfully happy and unaware that they are not ‘my one and only’, or anywhere near it.

They all work in different shops and, of course, ladies never tell each other secrets, or so a lady once told me; so I’m pretty safe. I just meander from shop to shop with my little trolley and they call out to me and virtually drag me in for a bit of ‘banter’, surprisingly, mostly initiated by them. I am such a gent, that I just play along. The married ones would, of course, leave their husbands for me, but I just couldn’t have that on my conscience; anyway, the fun is all in the ‘chase’. I don’t really want to catch anyone. They might want me to come and live with them and that would cramp my Gog (Grumpy ‘ol geezer/git) peace and tranquillity/matinee idol style!



Funnily enough, my hearing led to a little misunderstanding the other day: a lady of a certain vintage told me she used to be a ‘Tiller-Girl’. I got all unnecessary, until I twigged that she meant ‘till girl’ i.e. on the cash desk! What a kafuffle! I had already said, “Ding-dong” a la Leslie P. and I had to think on my feet to cover my boo-boo. I said that the ‘bells were ringing for me and my girl’! That’s torn it. Now she thinks I’m getting married, which won’t be happening this millennium or any other one!” My late wife and I were like 2 pots of yoghurt; we were ‘probiotic’. I’ll say no more. I’ll leave the serial marrying to Za Za Gabor and co. I couldn’t be doing with all of that hassle, not at 86!



Talking about ladies on the tills, I was paying for my food groceries this week and the lady gave me the receipt after a little bit of my famous repartee. I asked if she could ‘authenticate’ my till slip, as I thought the final total was ‘gynormous’. She clearly thought I was flirting and maybe even fishing for her phone number (Which, of course, I was), when she started scribbling and when I got it back, I read her signature and ‘xoxo’ on it. My daughter and granddaughter keep insisting that she was just being friendly, but they weren’t there and didn’t see the looks that were being exchanged! (Bit like a ‘Carry-On’ movie; ‘Ooh-er, missus etc.) I got so flustered that I went off without my loyalty card. She ran after me to give me it (Now you’re making up your own inyourendos!) and I was most grateful and flattered: she has my undivided ‘loyalty’ after that! ; although she didn’t have to run very far to catch me. Tortoises on their deathbeds have been known to overtake me, without getting out of puff! Wish I could say the same!



My parting comment was to call after her with a cheery, “I’ll be back some day soon to ‘authenticate’ your docket”! Yes, I did get some funny looks from the more conservative element in the shopping throng. The blokes just gave me a sly smile of approval. They could see that a master was ‘at work’ and they were, no doubt, a little envious. Anyway, I rang Berlusconi  to point out his ‘schoolgirl’ errors, if you know what I mean, but the man is a law unto himself, allegedly. (The nervy lawyer has a gun trained on his temple and he says he will only put it down, if I say ‘allegedly’. No cahones, that guy! Unlike me.) By the way, vis-à-vis, the ‘ol wedding thing, does one take a lady ‘up the aisle’ or ‘down’, or is it some sort of life-style choice? I’m sure you’ll know?



Talking about life-style choices (Boy, I’m getting smooth on these tenuous, but beautifully formed links), I have temporarily stopped my ‘See Food, Eat Food’ diet, promoted by Johnny Vegas  and a few other big lads and have changed to a ‘Seafood Only’ diet. It is ‘taking off’ well, although I seem to be growing gills and dreaming about mermaids! Anyway, it’s ‘Chocs away’, Captain! Food-wise, what about Lady Gaga  at the ‘Brits’ in the egg. She’s finally ‘cracked’, but she’s well out of her shell. Egg-stra-ordinary!
A lady came to dinner yesterday with a very interesting life-style. She’s a Buddhist. Well we chatted and when dinner was ready, I invited her to say ‘grace’. Well, I expected some words in English and, instead was ‘Bewitched, Bothered and Vajazzled’ to hear her chanting in ‘foreign’. It was great. I’m still coming down from my enlightened state. My karma’s much ‘calmer’ now!



They say some people are eccentric. Well, as I said to my ‘trick-cyclist’ (Psychiatrist) friend, “Show me someone ‘normal’ and I will give him or her the biscuit.” He said he would, but he departed dejectedly saying that it might be a lifelong quest and doomed to ultimate failure. Bit pessimistic, I thought, but probably right! He was nearly weeping, like someone had trodden on his foot. Physician, heal thyself and all that, I thought. I hate to see a grown man cry, especially if it’s me (Or a girl, for that matter)!



We know, however, that life is hard. As my ‘ol dad used to say, before he shuffled off into the home for the bewildered, “Always carry a machete, ‘cos it’s a jungle out there!’ Wise words that ‘armed me for life? My dad was full of advice, none of which he heeded himself. He was really ‘full of it’. On the day I left home, he said, “Son, you may have no talent, brains or good looks…but good luck anyway!” Very helpful? My first foray into the world of work was quite rewarding, if almost insanely deadly (No ‘elf and safety police then!). I was a ‘Human Cannonball’ in a circus show. The money was good. I got paid by the mile and it catapulted my career into the stratosphere, literally!



Before I go and tend my arthritis from my early adventures and injuries in life, I want to mention a couple of things. Firstly, I hear there is now a possible cure for male pattern baldness. Well, I like being a ‘baldy’ with a comb-over. It catches the ladies’ eyes, although the eyes do tend to cross. Secondly, I misheard a lady on TV saying, “This recycling's gawn maad (She spoke like that). I’ve 9 ‘respectables’ now for rubbish!” Very PC? Then the weatherman said there would be ‘sunny smells’. I’ll just go out with a clothes peg on my nose. Must see that ear-man again. Finally, God, as you all know, is all knowing and all seeing. Clearly, he saw his way to go to ‘Specsavers!’



Yours egg-centricly, but ‘cracking’ them up in the ‘aisles’,

The blogging Gogfather!

Mr William gets all 'Steamed Up'!

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Good Morrow dear Reader,

How are you? I’m a bit steamed up. May I remind you that I am 86-- going on 12, as you know? Well, you see, things seem to happen to me. It’s ‘kismet’ or ‘kiss me quick’ or something. There was I, seeing the optician (If you’ll exsqueeze the pun), and it was a cold, damp day; the blonde eye-lady eyed me up and asked me to put on my specs. As you can see, I examined her hair colour, before examining her other qualifications, displayed on the wall, but that’s just yours truly.

By the way, my daughter keeps trying to tell me that there are few ‘natural’ blondes out there and most would be as grey as badgers without a little help. I think she’s just trying to rain on my parade. Waste of time that, ‘cos my glass is always half-full- in fact, It’s generally filled to overflowing, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, back at the optician’s, I pulled out my specs from my warm pocket and when I put them on, I was disconcerted to find they had completely steamed up. After getting over the shock of thinking I had suddenly gone blind, I twigged on. Well, needless to say, the eye-lady noticed and she grinned without saying a word about it. Maybe she was used to having that effect on ‘ol lads?

That was not my first embarrassing moment in life, as you might guess, and it certainly won’t be the last. There was the time in my youth, when my mum decided to sew my swimming badges onto my bathing trunks. I went to the local outdoor ‘frreeeezing’ pool, (You even had to break the ice to swim in summer. Well, it is Ireland, after all.), and it was only when I noticed that my frontage was attracting a lot of female attention and even some males had a gawp, that I looked down and realised that my dear mum had proudly sewn my gold medal badge right over my ‘bull’s eye’, so to speak.

What a palaver. Some people were giggling so much that they fell in and almost asphyxiated themselves! My ‘pride and joy’ shrank even more, as you can imagine, although my visage was a rosy red furnace. Bathers could have dried their towels on my face. It’s a wonder I actually ever spoke to a girl again, never mind having the happy married life I went on to enjoy!

Well, as my life coach, Ima Knowtall, says, ‘Tomorrow, today will be yesterday’. Yes, I know what she means, but she doesn’t know what it is like to have a bit of the ‘Berlusconi’ factor, ‘cos I’m part Italian. Sometimes I’m shy and sometimes I have a little bit of the head-staggers and say stuff without aforethought. I often realise shortly after I receive a funny look that something is awry. I said to a shop assistant yesterday, when she mentioned applying for promotion, that she should ‘expose herself to new experiences’. Well, you would have thought by the stares of the young lady and the other customers that I had just nipped the Queen’s behind!

Did I tell you about my latest thing in church? Well, there I was, trying for all my might to concentrate on the vicar’s witterings, when I spied a label on the bloke in front of me’s jacket. He clearly had dressed for the Arctic, which, surprisingly, is quite far away from Northern Ireland. The label read, ‘South Pole Expedition 1990’. Anyway, I tackled him about the details of his ‘trek’ after the service, only to find that he had never set foot outside these islands. He said the label came with the coat. Well, that’s torn it! Next week, I’m getting a jacket with, ‘I was on the Moon 5 minutes before Armstrong’, plastered on the back for next week. What do you reckon?

Any road, before I go and check out the jacket, what about Mubarak? Could ‘Groundhog Day Phil’ tell us when Mubarak will ‘get outta town’? Also library closures a real possibility—what next, burning books? Whither culture? This will ‘wither’ culture! Hopefully you will join me in being a little philosophical about life. As my dad always used to say, ‘Your teeth are fine, but your gums will have to come out!’

Yours steaming but always ready to rock ‘n roll,

The blogging Gogfather!

Mr William is a 'Home Bird'!

Image by pier1970 via Flickr

Good Morrow, dear and esteemed reader,

I have been reflecting, not literally-I'm not a mirror, just mentally, that I really am a 'home bird' at heart. When I'm away for a while, I miss home. Could actually have done with an actual homing-bird the other day. My 'karma' was well and truly upset, but I'm 'calmer' now. (I find a pun a day helps you work, rest and play.)

Yes, you see, I went to a large shopping centre with a massive car park and forgot where I left the bally 'peepmobile'! Had to get the store security guy to help find it. He seemed to find it most amusing and smugly suggested I get it fitted with a 'homing' device or something he called an 'eye-phone nap' or something. Very bizarre!

I might have to invest in a homing pigeon, but where would I fit the 'eye-phone' thingy? Any suggestions? On second thoughts, don't make any suggestions-not after the ear-man told me where I could put my faulty hearing-aids. Cost me a grand and yet he says it's not his fault, if I can't hear the vicar mumbling at the front of church. I blame trendiness and 'PC gone mad' ( I don't mean a cop gone off the rails or would that be a train-driver? Help, I'm getting confused!). You see vicars used to get up into the pulpit and you could lip-read and quietly snooze. Now they rove about the church in slacks and a t-shirt. I can't even see them, never mind hear them!

Anyway, I love my home and I like nothing better than relaxing and reading the paper, watching TV and keeping up with the outside world from a safe haven. I adore the news and the rugby. Mind you, sometimes the news can be mystifying. For instance, I know that Mubarak is like a divorced husband, where the wife has an exclusion order against him, but he just won't leave. So far, so good, but now they say that 'Jordan' is in turmoil. Now how did Katy Price get involved with middle-east affairs? Affairs maybe, but surely not middle-eastern ones! Well, any rate, I love to sit down with a glass of wine and chill. I'm not exactly a wine 'buff' though. I have treated Chablis shabbily. Forgive me, for I have coiffed!

That reminds me.My tranquillity was well and truly shattered recently. I was in the bathroom doing my ablutions (Shaving, that was not an innuendo. It really is in your own minds). I was listening to the tennis, where 'Jockeyvich' was in the saddle and Murray was making me regret I was holding a cut-throat razor. I had a closer shave than Murray. I nearly blew a gasket! Anyway, next thing is I was having a relaxing pee and was mid-stream, if you know what I mean, when the doorbell rang. People have no sense of timing. My daughter and that son-in-law oik are always catching me 'on the throne'!

Any road, there was a right 'ding-dong'. The dog barked the house down. ( It can hear a pin drop. I can't even hear a brass band if it was in my living-room. Maybe I should send it to church to listen to the sermons and report back to me?) Craziness ensued, however. I felt I had better find out who was ringing so incessantly. Thing was, I was still in my jim-jams and the string that held them up had snapped. It gave up the ghost. I really must go on a diet.

So, I went down holding the trousers up with my elbows and answered the door to find my talkative and inquisitive neighbour on the doorstep. She said she had worried when I didn't answer the door and that's why she persisted. She then proceeded to prattle on, but the prob was that it had not occurred to me that the 'stable door was open, but the horse hadn't bolted'. You know, 'My zipper was set for Monica and not Hilary'. I hope you get the idea, 'cos there might be impressionable people reading and I don't wish to be too specific!

 Let's just say that suddenly her prattling stopped and she looked like she had swallowed a large fish and was choking. She just pointed at the 'offending' area and quickly beat a retreat, while mumbling about 'old geezers'. That's torn it, literally. I'll be the talk of the avenue. Can you get done for 'flashing'  in your own premises? Surely they can't touch you for it, if you'll pardon the expression?
Well, must fly, as I have to go and buy new pyjamas. Maybe I should just buy a boiler-suit and be done with it. Another 'PC gone mad' thing?

Yours flashily, but always with a homely side,

The blogging Gogfather!