Good morning on a somewhat grey day in beautiful downtown Byfield. Not sure where summer went but Autumn has truly arrived in the UK – the leaves have turned and are now dropping and Ms Playchute has been out in the garden hacking down all manner of vegetation. Yesterday we were obliged to make three trips to the recycling centre to dispose of the Boston Ivy/Virginia Creeper and Clematis remains – the compost heap that we have would have been overwhelmed by the quantity of debris but the recycling centre turns it into compost which they then sell back to you. What a great idea!

It was while driving home on the second or third occasion that we listened to an intriguing snippet from a radio programme – a live demonstration of tango dancing (remember, this is radio). The guest, a young woman, was being interviewed about the origins of tango and it was, I have to confess, very interesting. We all know it was developed in Argentina, I dare say, but I had not realised that it was largely associated with the brothels (although, I suppose one might have guessed). Argentina was populated by large numbers of single men and there were very few opportunities to meet young women, other than by paying for the privilege at the brothel. Since the brothels were so popular, they began providing musical entertainment for the men waiting (in much the same way as jazz developed in New Orleans, it seems) and this led to the development of tango dancing, generally between men, it seems.

Now this was all fair enough and, as I say, a very interesting radio programme. But what happened next was, as they say, one of those moments made for radio. The presenter asked the guest if she would teach her some tango steps. So, after explaining that the basic principle in dancing the tango was to keep one’s heart immediately in front of one’s partner’s heart – it doesn’t matter what the feet do, just keep your heart in front of your partner’s – the two women dispensed with their microphones and began to shuffle about the studio. Remember, this is radio! So, what we the listener hears is a bit of muffled conversation – the studio mike is picking up some of the conversation – no music but a bit of shuffling about and the occasional instruction, “Don’t worry about your feet – they’ll know what to do when I lead....” After listening to this for a few minutes, Pen and I looked at one another with a somewhat quizzical expression and burst out laughing. I would suggest it could only happen on the BBC but I’m sure there have been similarly enlightening moments on radio stations around the globe.

I am in the midst of reading Bill Bryson’s “Made in America” about the development of American English which I hadn’t read before and which is very interesting. Lots of expressions, including some of which we think as quintessentially English, developed, in fact, in America. One section I found particularly interesting (and amusing) concerned the manner in which places were named. With apologies to my mother and anyone else of a saintly disposition, Bryson writes:

“When the naming was left to unofficial sources, as with the towns that sprang up around the mining camps in California, the results were generally livelier. California briefly revelled in such arresting geographic designations as Murderer’s Gulch, Guano Hill, Chucklehead Diggings, Delirium Tremens, Whisky Diggings, You Bet, Chicken Thief Flat, Poker Flat, Git-Up-And-Git, Dead Mule, One Eye, Hell-out-for-Noon City, Puke and Shitbritches Creek. The practice was by no means confined to California. The whole of the West was soon doted with colourful nomenclature – Tombstone, Arizona; Cripple Creek, Colorado; Whiskey Dick Mountain, Washington; Dead Bastard Peak, Wyoming; and others beyond counting. Often the more colourful of these names were later quietly changed for reasons that don’t always require elucidation, as with Two its, California, and Shit-House Mountain, Arizona. Once, doubtless in consequence of the loneliness of western life, the West had more Nipple Mountains, Tit Buttes and the like than you could shake a stick at. Today we must make do with the Teton Mountains, whose mammary implications are evident only to those who are proficient in French. Colourful appellations are not a uniquely western phenomenon, however, Lunenberg County, Virginia once boasted a Fucking Creek and a Tickle Cunt Branch, North Carolina had a Coldass Creek and Kentucky still proudly boasts a Sugar Tit.”

Wouldn’t you love to live in one of those places?

Love to you all,

Greg

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On the first day of their honeymoon, the blonde bride slipped into a sexy but sweet nightie and, with great anticipation, crawled into bed.

When her husband wasn't shortly behind her, she got up and went looking for him -- and found that her new Catholic husband had settled down on the couch.

She asked him why he was apparently not going to make love to her.

"I thought you realized," he replied. "It's Lent."

"What?!" she shrieked, almost in tears. "Why, that is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard!"

"Well, you asked, and that's the answer," he said, going back to his book.

"But..." she said. "Who did you lend it to, and for how long?"

---

Upset over a newlywed squabble with my husband, I went to my mother to complain. Trying to console me, my dad said that men are not all like this all the time.

"Nonsense," I said. "Men are good for only one thing!"

"Yes," my mother interjected, "but how often do you have to parallel park?"

---

After waiting more than an hour and a half for her date, the young lady decided she had been stood up. Exasperated, she changed from her dinner dress into pyjamas and slippers, fixed some popcorn and resigned herself to an evening of TV.

No sooner had she flopped down in front of the TV than her door bell rang. There stood her date. He took one look at her and gasped, "I'm two hours late - and you're still not ready?"

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The only time the world beats a path to your door is when you're in the bathroom.

My mind not only wanders; sometimes it leaves completely.