Mr. William is the 'Man with the Golden Pun'?
Dear shiny and no doubt 'good as gold' Reader,
Yours truly, the extremely old Mister Peeps, is clearly a man with the ol' Midas touch. Yep, everything I touch turns to gold and what's more, they can't 'touch' ya for it; at least not on my planet, which my son-in-law says is in the Zanussi quadrant and is populated with space cadets like me! Charming?!
My golden touch, you ask? Well, I could be wrong, but my James Bond matinee idol good looks and my liquid gold voice (Together with my innate modesty) have opened up so many doors to untold treasures that I feel I must be a 'golden boy'. Still not convinced? You want proof? It's simple, even for my remaining 2 brain cells. By the way, who says alcohol kills off the mental wotsits of the elderly? Try me? 2+2=? Easy! It's ¥*#€$.
Now let's move on ! The proof of my golden powers was demonstrated when I shook my dentist's hand, clearly a golden handshake, and he has now written to offer me a golden crown! It was gonna be a bridge, but that woulda been too far. Ha! Yes, my dentist, Phil McAvity and his lovely assistant, Miss Ima Brick-Privy, have clearly recognized my regal bearing (and fat wallet, according to my ever vigilant daughter) and want to coronate me for my lifetime of achievement, as I cruise through my golden years. Funnily enough, the son-in-law that reckons this diary would languish in obscurity without his 'input' as he calls it, says he has wanted to 'crown' me for years. See! He's obviously not as stupid as he looks.
Anyway, I got this letter about the 'golden' tooth and I read it twice, rang my daughter and she was rather sceptical. Nothing new there? She said if they were still doing golden teeth, she was Genghis Khan. Always thought she leant a little to the right, but I'd no idea it had reached Maggie Thatcher proportions. Even Genghis baulked at extracting a 'poll tax' from his enslaved minions! I jest. Respects to the Baroness' family on her death and to the 'Iron Lady' who became our first female PM! My daughter is not into politics since that nice Mr. Blair took us into war with Iraq and Dave 'Camera-on' told us we are all 'in it together'. Yep, Dave's in a millionaire yacht with the other richies and the rest of us are sinking fast in our 'Titanic' disaster of a double-dip depressed economy. Pity that Brown sold off our family silver in the form of our gold bars for a bargain basement price. Should have gone for a 'Cash 4 Gold' type outfit and he might have saved the country's shirt?
Rant over. Yes, my daughter said it couldn't be a gold tooth and would come and read the letter. Well, when she and the dozy twonk husband rolled up, I had 'mislaid' the bally thing! I was sure it was in my coat pocket, so I had a 'raincoat' check and nada. Oops! This led to scurrilous comments along the lines that I had misread the letter. Needless to say, I stood my corner, but with a bit of 'horse trading' we agreed that if I was wrong, they could whip my behind with a riding crop. I've never won anything, but I know a sure fire bet when I see one, so no risk of getting my ass whooped. Was I right? I'll keep you in suspenders till the end.
Another metal object I had to get my teeth into this week was my blinking dishwasher, which was leaking more water than the Titanic just before it dived to the bottom of the Atlantic. This is exactly where I felt like chucking the bally thing. You see, I knew there was something amiss, when it started moaning and shrieking like a banshee on the spin cycle. I tried to calm it down with my best talking counseling by telling it to 'pull itself together or it was toast'! (Surely some mixed metaphors are appropriate?), but to no avail. It had a complete breakdown, unlike me. I just had a meltdown! Mind you, I'm rarely depressed. My psycho, sorry psyche won't let me.
Any road, the engineer rolled up with his big spanner and proceeded to wrench my heart out by declaring the appliance 'knackered' (A technical term, I think?) and out of warranty. Well, I could have done with a rub down with his oily rag, 'cos the whole kerfuffle was going to cost me a gold ransom. Where do you get hold of an alchemist these days to change my dingy base metal stuff into gold sovereigns? Son-in-law said he would 'goggle' it and mumbled something about ol' geezers and 'terminally confused dot com'. Do you know what he's rabbiting on about?
Anyway, I mined my remaining gold reserves and came up with the shekels for a new auto-dish scrubber. Tell you what though, blooming thing appeared with a sign on it, 'Take care! Danger of Flooding!' I nearly had a 'wikileak' and manned my lifeboat. Had I bought a dishwasher or Noah's Ark #2? Thankfully I gingerly put my toe in the water and there has been no shipwreck since. Like me, the dishwasher has been a diamond geezer, rather than just a geyser!
Meanwhile, after weathering recent storms, I have a pot of gold at the end of my rainbow. Yes, my favourite restaurant is putting on a 'fashion' show soon. I'm not after a new mini skirt or bikini myself, but I'm up for watching nice ladies going down the aisle in them and not in the matrimonial sense. Thing is, I'll have to persuade my daughter to accompany me, so that they don't get the outrageous idea that I'm only there to William 'Peep' at the models' shapely forms. As if?
By the by, did I tell you my dear departed wife and I got to celebrate our golden wedding anniversary before she had to go before me to be with our Lord. She was a ruby beyond price and I miss her every day. Until I see her again, I will follow my rainbow and hope my crock of gold is not just a crock.
In the meantime, I have to now 'fess up'. The new tooth will not be golden. I must have read the letter with rose
Yours soon to be rosy-cheeked, yet relishing his golden years,
The blogging GogFather (An equal opportunities grumpy ol' git)
