The Befouled Weakly News
26 July 2009 Good morning to you all – hope everything is good in your vicinity as it is in ours. Apologies, but I seem to be a bit behind schedule this morning so please forgive me if this seems somewhat more disjointed than normal. (I know – how can you tell?) In the description of our adventures attending Joe and Amandine’s wedding last weekend, I had to shelve one other piece of news of some significance and that was my “last” day of work for Oxfordshire County Council. Although my official “retirement” isn’t until the end of August, I have about three years of holiday time banked up so, in essence, I have finished. I’ve even been able to make a start on some of the “private” consultation work I am anticipating doing for the next couple of years – three schools, so far, have foolishly signed up for some advice and support next term – a few more and we should be able to feed ourselves for a few weeks or so. My colleagues had organised a nice little “send-off” which was one of the less-well kept secrets of the year. Amusingly, they had, in fact, failed to remember to invite me; fortunately, I had a clear space in my diary on Friday. They put on a “This is Your Life” type of sketch which was tolerably amusing and in which even Ms Playchute had a part to play (that bit was a surprise). As my line manager started describing my childhood, “Greg, you come from a large family, one of six children.” I made the observation that if he had my folks and five brothers and sisters behind the little screen ready to pop out with their reminiscences I would be impressed. Alas, it was only a number of former colleagues who had enthusiastically signed up in an attempt to provide some amusement at my expense. Fortunately, most of the more significant secrets remain safe although there was discussion about silver spray paint in a certain garage. There were loads of friends and former colleagues, a mountain of food and, all in all, it was a fine afternoon. The other piece of news this week? We were sitting at home on Sunday evening watching the highlights of the days’ action in le Tour de France when the phone rang. It was the hospital in Oxford enquiring where I was; they were expecting to do my surgery on Monday morning! Clearly the letter they sent had never arrived (one has to assume they did send it, I suppose but it certainly never reached its destination). So, after a hasty discussion and consultation with our respective diaries, it was mutually agreed that we would do the surgery this coming Friday. So, once again, you may need to find some alternative form of distraction for next Sunday morning – they expect to entertain me for the whole of the weekend. So, apart from that excitement, we (well, at least I) have been enjoying the magnificence of the achievements of those participating in le Tour this year. As you will undoubtedly know, Lance Armstrong is back after having been out of competitive bike racing for three or four years and looks like finishing third after the final stage this afternoon. The Spaniard, Alberto Contador, who won two years ago, is set to win again and Andy Schleck from Luxemburg will finish second. The two interesting aspects for those of us in the UK have been the performance of Mark Cavendish, a British sprinter, and Bradley Wiggins who is set to finish fourth in the overall classification. For Wiggins this has been beyond all expectation but he has ridden exceedingly well for the whole three weeks. He is excellent in the time trials and on the flattish stages but his climbing has been somewhat less than excellent in recent years. However, over the winter he lost quite a bit of weight and has transformed himself into a decent climber with a fourth place finish the result. Mark Cavendish, in contrast, is an out and out sprinter who, provided he is up with the race leaders at the end of a flattish stage, has got the strength and acceleration to win the stage. And win he certainly has in this year’s Tour – five stage victories so far and he is very, very keen to win this afternoon’s final stage on the Champs-Élysées in Paris. In just two years’ competing, he has already won nine stages (ten if he wins this afternoon) which is a new British record – the previous record was eight stage victories. Still a little way to go to equal Eddy Merckx’s record of 34 stage victories or, indeed, Lance Armstrong’s 22 stage wins. Cavendish will never win the race overall as he struggles to get up the mountains but on a flat sprint at the end of a stage he is virtually unbeatable. And so, another week races by – we’ll let you know how things work out. Love to you all, Greg A doctor, a priest and an engineer were trying to enjoy a morning of golf, but they were stuck behind an extremely slow group; those men missed every putt, had a hard time lining up shots, and occasionally even teed off in the wrong direction. The engineer fumed, "What's with these guys?" The doctor chimed in, "I don't know, but I've never seen such ineptitude!" The priest said, "Hey, here comes the pro. Let's have a word with him." They signal him over. "Hi, George," the priest says. "What's with that group ahead of us? They're delaying our game." The pro replied, "It's a sad, sad, story. That's a group of blind firefighters; they lost their sight saving our clubhouse from a fire last year, so we always let them play for free." The group fell silent in shame. The priest said, "That's awful! I will say a special prayer for them tonight and take up a collection with my congregation." The doctor added, "I'm going to contact my ophthalmologist buddy to see if there's anything he can do for them." And the engineer said, "Why can't they play at night?" A golfer set up his ball on the first tee, took a mighty swing and hit his ball into a clump of trees. He found his ball and saw an opening between two trees he thought he could hit through. Taking out his 3-wood, he took another mighty swing: the ball hit a tree, then bounced back into his forehead, killing him. As he approached the gates of Heaven, St. Peter saw him coming dressed for golf and asked "Were you a good golfer?" To which the man replied: "Got here in two, didn't I?" The bride came down the aisle and when she reached the altar, the groom was standing there with his golf bag and clubs at his side. She said: "What are your golf clubs doing here?" He looked her right in the eye and said, "This isn't going to take all day, is it?" An octogenarian who was an avid golfer moved to a new town and joined the local Country Club. He went to the Club for the first time to play, but was told that there wasn't anybody he could play with because everyone present was already out on the course. He repeated several times that he really wanted to play today. Finally, the assistant Pro said he would play with him and asked him how many strokes he wanted for a bet. The 80-year-old said, "I really don't need any strokes as I have been playing quite well. The only real problem I have is getting out of sand traps." And he did play well. Coming to the par-four 18th, they were all even. The Pro had a nice drive and was able to get on the green and two-putt for a par. The old man had a nice drive, but his approach shot landed in a sand trap next to the green. Playing from the bunker he hit a high ball, which landed on the green and rolled into the cup. Birdie, match and all the money! The Pro walked over to the sand trap where his opponent was still standing in the trap. He said: "Nice shot, but I thought you said you have a problem getting out of sand traps?" Replied the octogenarian, "I do. Would you please give me a hand?" A woman goes to the local newspaper office to see that the obituary for her recently deceased husband is published. The obit editor informs her that there is a charge of 50 cents per word. She pauses, reflects, and then she says, "Well then, let it read, 'Fred Brown died.'" Amused at the woman's thrift, the editor tells her that there is a seven-word minimum for all obituaries. She thinks it over and in a few seconds says, "In that case, let it read, 'Fred Brown died; golf clubs for sale.'" A 75-year-old woman went to the doctor for a check-up. The doctor told her she needed more cardiovascular activity and recommended that she engage in sexual activity three times a week. A bit embarrassed, she said to the doctor, "Please tell my husband." The doctor went out into the waiting room and told the husband that his wife needed sex three times a week. The 78-year-old husband replied, "Which days?" The doctor answered, "Monday, Wednesday, and Friday would be ideal." The husband said, "I can bring her on Monday, but on Wednesday and Friday I golf so she'll have to take the bus."
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