Tuesday, 25 October 2011

Mr William is right on the 'Button'?

Mr William is Right on the ‘Button’?

Good Morrow long-suffering and highly perceptive Reader,

I have been suffering for a long time with a few things and my ‘perceptive’ senses have been wonky! You might have the perception that I’m totally out of my senses permanently? Well, you’re not entirely wrong. I have the memory of a demented goldfish with early onset Alzheimer’s, who has amnesia after a nasty bump on the noggin and has had a mind wipe by a maniacal scientist! That’s on a good day! I can hear or say something and then it’s gone completely. You know it’s so bad that I can hear or say something and then it’s gone completely! Mind you, ladies say I’ve got a way with words…yes, when I boob, I’ve ‘got away with it’ by using the ol’ Irish gift of the gab!

Trouble with memory, though, is that you don’t know you’ve forgotten. Now my smarmy son-in-law, yes, the smart-ass, who claims to help you read my diary on the ‘World Interweb’ or whatever, has dredged up a recent health warning for citizens of the senior persuasion. Seems, if he is to be believed, (I’ll let you be the judge and jury of that!) that ol’ geezers and gals like me, who want a few snifters, have to knock the alcohol on the head for at least 3 days every week or it will worsen our memory and other nasties that I have blocked out (Due to my dodgy memory! I find sticking my fingers in my ear and screeching loudly also helps.)

Anyway, I told the party-pooper that he was talking ‘poop’, as it hadn’t affected my memory. Well, his eyebrows went up and covered his bald patch! (He can talk anyway; he drinks ‘Canada dry’, if you know what I mean? We are all ‘blind’ to our own faults and he’s made a career out of it!) Any rate, if I have to cut back on one of my only pleasures, I’ll be miserable. I might live longer, but it’ll feel even longer! Is someone out there trying to spoil my fun? I can’t afford to waste days at my age, not having fun. Do I want my liver to outlive me? Sorry if I seem to not be PC, but see how you feel at 87 and come and see me then! I’ll be waiting for your visit in a home for the slightly bewildered, but I’ll remember about this. I’ll write it on the back of my hand and never wash it again! (No comments, please!)

That was when he reminded me I had forgotten to go to the church ‘breakfast’. Well, that was a ‘wake-up call’, ironically and literally. You see, I did forget the  fry-up brekkie in question and that really ‘cooked my bacon’! Two reasons, the shock of forgetting and then the ‘mea culpa’ feeling when the rev rang and asked after me. I must confess, even though I’m not a Catholic, that I wondered what I had done when the vicar rang. I had a guilty conscience, but couldn’t remember why. What had he heard? Did I misrule Libya for the last 42 years and couldn’t remember? I even get worried when a letter arrives from the government in case they are after me for something I haven’t remembered doing.  Any rate, that was all ok, but I reckoned I had to do something about the memory thing and made an appointment with Doc. Ima Gunna-Killyall.  Due to a kafuffle at the clinic, they palmed me off with a locum called Isla Finish-yeoff (Part Russian, I gather.)

Anyway, the doc checked my memory with some asinine questions like what day it was and who the Prime Minister is. When I told her it was Tony Blair and that she should be better informed on matters like this, she said I was a ‘fun guy’. Better than being a ‘fungi’, I thought and tittered to myself. She gave me the benefit of the doubt on the memory thing, but said she thought my hearing did not seem so good. I said that was rubbish after she repeated it until I could make out her gibberish. I thought it would be ear-trumpet territory; turned out it was just old age and a little ‘fungi’! That’s sorted now! Have you ever wondered about the word ‘patient’? I know the Latin root about suffering and all that, but it’s apt at the doc’s. I would put it like this. You patiently wait in the ‘patients’ waiting room’ and begin to lose your patience 45 minutes past your appointment time. It all helps you to be a patient patient!

I do try to be a good patient, but I do put my foot in it sometimes, especially with the podiatrist. She was blonde again and I remarked that I was glad she had gone back to her ‘natural’ colour. She scowled so much, you would have thought I had broken wind!  Reminds me; my pal asked me recently if I had a ‘wind-break’; he was going on a beach staycation. I quipped that I barely get a ‘loo-break’ these days. (What do you want? Shakespeare? Anyway, seems he may not have written all his stuff!) She also told me she does ‘brazilians’. My daughter nearly had a connery for some reason when I told her this, until I explained that she had recently done the feet of the Brazilian football team. No doubt, that helped them score better?

So, any road, my daughter suggested I get a ‘panic’ button in case of falls etc. I panicked when she said it. How doddery am I? Don’t answer that! Suppose I could get one and chat to the nice lady on the help-line. I could kid her on I was ‘falling’ for her? It’s all re-arranging deckchairs on the Titanic, if you ask me. If your ship is going down with all hands, then the only button I want is the James Bond ‘ejector seat’! By the way, I’ve got my parking badge now. It’ll be useful, but I was musing the other day, as is my wont, as to whether I could use it for priority at the ‘Pearly Gates’? Well, there must be a long line at busy times and I might get fast-tracked with my badge to chat with St. Peter. Hoping he’ll let me in, but imagine if Gadaffi was in the queue, trying to sneak in, wearing a false beard! Would they spot him? Well, the Bible says, “Those that live by the sword will die by the sword.”, but did it have to be on widescreen TV on a continuous loop? Leave that with you, dear reader?

Before I go and have my soup, (Hopefully it has cooled down after I blew on it after eating chilli. It turned into a volcano!) I must tell you the sad story of the demise of my favourite jacket. Yes, it had to be ‘buried’ in the clothes’ recycler. I did the eulogy especially for you Latin scholars, “Hic jacet my jacket! RIP”. Moving on swiftly, I want to warn all you would-be and actual writers out there of the salutary tale of the scribbler who didn’t proof-read his stuff before publication. He meant to write, “He gave his friend a sly wink.” Let’s just say he got his vowels mixed up and the friend got a helping hand he wasn’t expecting! How about that for a ‘happy finish’? That’s what that writer said to cover his tracks!

Well, off I go, swinging low, trying to keep my chin up and live life to the full. I may sway a little and forget stuff; also you’ll have to shout into my good ear, if you want me to hear you, but I remember this; I won’t go quietly or mournfully into the night. I’ll go out with a bang, laughing all the way!

Yours occasionally wavering, yet always ‘on the button’,

The blogging Gogfather!

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