Good morning.
What excitement there was this week seems to have occurred on Wednesday evening between about 9.50 and 10.30 pm. It’s a good job we can constrain our excitement to one forty-minute stretch during the week. Otherwise, we would be exhausted.
Ms Playchute and I were watching the tail end of a programme on the television (and, as most of you will know, 9.50 is decidedly late for the two of us; normally we would have been tucked up in bed by then but, for some reason, we felt compelled to watch some rubbish which didn’t finish until 10.00). So, we are quietly watching the television when the doorbell rings to which my immediate reaction is, “Who the &*$)”&^%)&*$^* is that at this time of night?!??!”
It turned out to be a young lady informing us that she had just guided some sheep – a mother and two lambs – into our garden and would we kindly look after them. You know, the sort of thing which tends to happen of a Wednesday evening in beautiful downtown Byfield.
It seems that the sheep from the field just to the south of us had managed to find a gap in the hedge next to the road and some had managed to escape. This particular young lady who was standing on our doorstep had managed to narrowly avoid them as she drove down the hill but, as she carefully drove past them she heard the car behind her slam on its brakes and then heard the car behind that one slam into the back of it. At that point, it seems, she decided to stop and try to herd the sheep off the road back into the field. Naturally, however, the sheep were keen to go in any direction other than back into the field (to be fair, they probably couldn’t find their way back into the field through the hedge) and so they started trotting down the road towards our place.
Fortunately, the young lady managed to persuade them to venture into our driveway and close the gate behind them so that at least they wouldn’t be the cause of any more altercations.
Not surprisingly, the sheep were not overly delighted to be confined on our driveway and so they meandered through the garage and into the back garden where they discovered heaven. We didn’t notice them for a few seconds while the young lady was explaining the circumstances of their arrival. However, as soon as we went to check on them Pen discovered that they were very happily settled in our back garden and were delightedly sampling the various flowers, shrubs and vegetables on offer.
So, the next activity was to get them back through the garage and on to the driveway where they could be confined and kept safe without devouring Lady Penelope’s produce. You know how easily sheep dog perform this kind of activity? Well, let’s just say that neither Pen nor I are particularly adept at shepherding. These sheep would not go back through the garage. I can understand why – it’s dark, full of clutter and it’s certainly not immediately obvious to the sheep, I guess, that their circumstances will be any better if and when they do go through the garage.
About then Pete and Sal’s Nina and a friend arrive to enquire as to the cause of all the commotion. They are conscripted into the sheep dog trials taking place in the back garden but still the four of us are utterly unable to persuade these sheep to make their way back through the garden. At least while we are driving them all over the back garden they are not devouring everything so I guess that’s one bonus.
After about ten minutes or so of this, the farmer from down the road arrives and enquires whether we have any of his sheep to which we are delighted to announce that we do and are attempting to persuade them to make their way through the garage. After looking at us as if we were partly if not completely deranged, he turns to the sheep, announces, “Come on!” and off they go (sheepily, as it were) – meekly following him as if they have been naughty at school or involved in some mischief and they’ve just been told off by their mum or school teacher.
Perhaps not surprisingly as he is a complete prat, the farmer was decidedly less than fulsome or effusive in his appreciation of our assistance in keeping his sheep safe and led them off without even so much as a “thank you.” Clearly, I should have collected a sharp knife and prepared some lamb chops while we were waiting.
Love to you all,
Greg
An 8 year old girl goes to her dad who is working in the yard and asks, "Daddy, what's sex"?
The father is surprised that she would ask such a question, but decides that if she is old enough to ask the question, then she is old enough to get a straight answer.
He tells her about the birds and the bees; the egg and the sperm; and the male and female. When he has finished explaining, the little girl is looking at him with her mouth opened, so the father asks her, "why did you ask this question"?
The little girl explains that "Mom told me to tell you that dinner would be ready in just a couple of secs".
This from our friend Jane Reay, with whom we went cycling in France. Never having personally experienced this particular activity (or, at least not in these particular circumstances), I cannot swear for its accuracy:
Does this ring a bell with anyone? When you need to visit a public loo there is invariably a line of women waiting, you smile politely and take your place in the line, it finally gets to your turn, you check for feet under the cubicle doors.
Every cubicle is occupied.
But eventually a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the cubicle.
You get in to find the door won’t lock. It doesn't matter, the wait has been so long and you are about to wet your pants! The dispenser for the modern "seat covers" is handy, but empty. You would hang your bag on the door hook if there was one, but there isn't so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck, yank down your pants and assume "the position".
In this position your ageing, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake. You would love to sit down, but you certainly hadn’t taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "the position".
To take your mind off your trembling thighs for a moment you reach for the toilet paper dispenser and your worst nightmare it’s empty, the toilet roll dispenser is empty. You hover looking around in the hope there's a new roll behind you no such luck. Your thighs start to shake more. Then you remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday the one that’s still in your handbag, which is now burning your neck & shoulders with the weight. So you contort your arm into a very unnatural position and start to fumble around in the deep dark depths of your handbag for that small rumpled used tissue no bigger than your thumbnail.
Someone pushes your cubicle door and because the latch doesn't work the door hits your head, which is bent forward from you holding your bag around your neck while you are rummaging for that used tissue, the door takes you by surprise and you start to lose your balance and topple backwards. "Occupied!" you scream, as you reach to push the door shut and drop the precious, tiny, crumpled tissue you had only just managed to retrieve with your index finger into an 'unknown' puddle on the floor.
If that isn't enough you lose your balance altogether, or just give up and... sit down ... directly onto the TOILET SEAT.
Yes, - it's wet! You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late.
Your thighs and bottom have made contact with every imaginable germ & life form that lives on the uncovered seat.
By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of cold water like a fire hose into the bowl which causes a spray of fine mist that completely covers your bum and runs downs your legs along with all the various life forms and down into your dishevelled pants which have now dropped to your ankles with your hems soaking up that puddle from the floor. The flush seems to suck everything down with such force that you grab onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too.
At this point you give up. You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe your self with a piece of gum wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.
You cannot figure out how to operate the tap, so run your hands underneath it grateful for the two drops of water there and around the basin itself. You go to the towel dispenser past the line of women still waiting, where of course there are no paper towels so you more onto the hand blower, which yes you've guessed it that doesn't work either!
You're no longer able to smile politely to the women, but there's an unspoken understanding between you all.
A kind soul at the very end of the line of women points out that you have a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. Where was that when you NEEDED IT??? You yank the paper from your shoe, plonk it in the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this".
As you exit you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used and left the men's. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your handbag hanging around your neck?"
This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with public loos. It also helps explain to the men why it really does take us women so long and it also answers that commonly asked question why do women always go to the loos in pairs?
It's so your friend can hold the door, hang onto your bag and pass you tissue under the door!
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