The Befouled Weakly News
23 December 2007
Profound apologies (particularly to Ms Pissed Off in Portland) for the tardy arrival of this weak’s Weakly News – we have been doing too many exciting things and have only just returned from grappling with the Christmas hordes at Tesco where we have purchased sufficient food for a fortnight’s fine dining but which will, actually, be exhausted by Tuesday lunchtime, I guess.
Then, as if that wasn’t enough excitement and entertainment for one evening, we meandered back towards Covent Garden for a fabulously festive feast at Wahaca, a Mexican restaurant which has recently opened to, admittedly, mixed reviews but which we found to be excellent. It’s rather like the experience we had of tapas in Spain with a plethora of nibbles and finger food arriving at your table in a seemingly endless stream, all of which was very good indeed. You can read one of the reviews here or Google it yourself for further enlightenment. And so, after a feast of entertainment and a further feast of fine Mexican food, it was back on the train to Banbury and home to bed prior to this morning’s excitement. Regrettably, this morning’s activities are what have delayed the arrival of this weak’s news – we set off about 9.00 to the airport where we collected our Ben who had decided, on a spur of the moment, to spend Christmas in the UK with us. Donna, unfortunately, is working but we are delighted to have his company even if our plans of bunkering down with a bottle of wine and a turkey sandwich on Christmas day have now been escalated to the extent that on the way back from the airport we were compelled to gird our loins and battle the teeming hordes at Tesco. Having filled one of the extra-large shopping trolleys to overflowing and parted with much of our life savings, we now have the makings of several feasts which, as I say, will take us until sometime Tuesday afternoon to make our way through. And so, I hope you will forgive the tardiness and I hope your festive celebrations turn out to be every bit as grand and enjoyable as you could possibly imagine. Ours have begun in fine fashion and we anticipate maintaining this taxing and demanding pace throughout. Wish us luck! Finally, I ran across this the other day which reminded me how grateful I am that Penelope is not a Black Widow. Love to you all, Greg What would have happened if on the first Christmas, there had been three wise women instead of three wise men? They would have: * asked for directions * arrived on time * helped deliver the baby * cleaned the stable * brought more practical gifts, and * made a casserole. But, women shouldn't necessarily gloat about these truths, since there are several other truths here. After they left, they'd be saying to each other: * Did you see the sandals Mary was wearing with that gown? * Did you see the drummer boy?! He can beat my drum anytime. * That donkey they're riding has seen better days. * I hear that Joseph isn't even working right now. * Virgin? Hah! I knew her in school days! * That baby doesn't look anything like Joseph. * Wanna bet how long it will take to get your casserole dish back? "I had the strangest dream last night," Morris was telling his psychiatrist. "I saw my mother, but when she turned around to look at me, I noticed that she had your face. As you can imagine, I found this very disturbing. In fact I woke up immediately, and couldn't get back to sleep. "I just lay there in bed waiting for morning to come, and then I got up, drank a Coke, and came right over here for my appointment. I thought you could help me explain the meaning of this strange dream." The psychiatrist was silent for a full minute before responding, "A Coke? That's a breakfast?" A father, son and grandson go out to the country club for their weekly round of golf. Just as they reach the first tee, a beautiful young blonde woman carrying her bag of clubs approaches them. She explains that the member who brought her to the club for a round of golf had an emergency which called him away and asks the trio whether she can join them. Naturally, the guys all agree. Smiling, the blonde thanks them and says, "Look, fellas, I work in a topless bar as a dancer, so nothing shocks me anymore. If any of you wants to smoke cigars, have a beer, bet, swear or tell off-color stories or do anything that you normally do when playing a round together, go ahead. But I enjoy playing golf, consider myself pretty good at it, so don't try to coach me on how to play my shots." With that the guys agree to relax and invite her to drive first. All eyes are fastened on her shapely behind as she bends to place her ball on the tee. She then takes her driver and hits the ball 270 yards down the middle, right in front of the green. The father's mouth is agape. "That was beautiful," said the dad. The blonde puts her driver away and says, "I really didn't get into it and I should have faded it a little more." After the three guys hit their drives and their second shots (she was closest to the pin) the blonde takes out a nine iron and lofts the ball within five feet of the hole. The son says "damn, lady, you played that perfectly." The blonde frowns and says, "it was a little weak. I've left a tricky little putt." After the son buries a long putt for a par, dad two putts for a bogey and granddad overruns the green with his pitching wedge, chips back and putts for a double bogey, the blonde taps in the five-footer for a birdie. The guys all congratulate her on her fine game. She puts her putter back in the bag and says, "Thanks, but I really haven't played much lately, and I'm a little rusty. "Maybe I'll really get into this next drive." Having the honors, she drives first on the second hole and knocks the hell out of the ball, and it lands nearly 300 yards away smack in the middle of the fairway. For the rest of the round the statuesque blonde continues to amaze the guys, quietly and methodically shooting for par or less on every hole. When they get to the 18th green, the blonde is three under par, but has a very nasty 12-foot putt on an undulating green for a par. She turns to the three guys and says, "I really want to thank you all for not acting like a bunch of chauvinists and telling me what club to use or how to play a shot, but I need this putt for a 69 and I'd really like to break 70 on this course. If any one of you can tell me how to make par on this hole, I'll take him back to my apartment, pour some 25-year old Royal Salute Scotch in him, fix him dinner and then show him a good time the rest of the night." The yuppie son jumps at the thought. He strolls across the green, carefully eyes the line of the putt and finally says, "Honey, aim about 6 inches to the right of the hole and hit it firm. It will get over that little hump and break right into the cup." The father kneels down and sights the putt using his putter as a plumb. "Don't listen to the kid, darlin', you want to hit it softly 10 inches to the right and run it left down that little hogback, so it falls into the cup." The old gray haired grandfather walks over to the blonde's ball on the green, picks it up and hands it to her. "That's a gimme, sweetheart. Your car or mine?" I used to sell insurance door-to-door. One day I knocked on this one door and a 10 year-old kid answered. He had a beer in one hand and a lit cigar in the other. Shocked, I asked, "Are you parent's home?" He took a long, leisurely drag on the cigar and answered... "What do YOU think?" Back to Greg's Temporary Home Page
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Yesterday we set off on the 9.12 from Banbury to London for our annual Christmas outing with the Waltons and Sue and Stuart to ingest some culture. We started by visiting the National Portrait Gallery and wandered around the exhibition they have on at the moment on Pop Art Portraits. I have to confess that much of it left me somewhat underwhelmed but they did have a wall full of Andy Warhol’s Marilyns and some other pieces which were instantly recognisable as iconic pieces of the genre. Then, after a lunch in the Portrait Restaurant at the top of the gallery with an outstanding view over the London cityscape, we meandered along to the Gielgud Theatre to see a matinee performance of David Edgar’s adaptation of Nicholas Nickleby, the first part of which (yesterday) was outstanding; we are off to see the second part towards the end of January.