Saturday, 5 February 2011

Mr William is a 'Home Bird'!

paysage/Bretagne(22)PaimpolImage 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!
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