Tag Archives: humor

Two tone dog is back!


I mistimed our walk to the beach today and although I’d checked the tide times before I set off the tide had come in much faster than I expected (rookie tourist error). There was no beach and the sea was too rough to risk a swim from the steps so Douggie the doggie and I  went for a walk to a local country park instead.

Douggie found a muddy stream. It reminded me of when we used to walk on the moors and he’d go bog snorkelling.

He found a lovely muddy ditch to wallow in and then he pushed his way through a bunch of nettles and weeds, getting himself tangled halfway through so I had to delve in to help free him. He came out covered in those little sticky balls that get tangled in his fur. What a mess. Every time anyone walked past us, always with a big grin on their faces, I silently prayed that he wouldn’t shake.

There’s going to be a lot of grooming going on when he’s finally dried out. Yuk!It was funny to watch and I loved watching him wallow, he was having a great time but it’s fair to say that I don’t miss two tone dog. Give me the beach any day.

two tone dog

Talking of the beach. We had a huge Irish family staying with us at Boofuls Lodging Emporium a couple of weeks ago. One of the family stopped me to ask if there was a beach nearby. I was a bit surpirsed that she asked becaseu they’d been withh us a few days and I thought she’d have sussed it out at this stage. “Yes of course, we have a huge beach, just down the road. I’m surprised you haven;t already seen it.”

“Oh yes”, she replied, “there was a beach there the other day but it’s gone. It’s all covered in water now.”

It took everything I had not to laugh out loud but it got even better.

“Ok, it must be high tide, let me check my tide tide app for you. Oh yes, it’s high tide right now.””Well. All I want is to lie on a beach. Sure, is there not another beach here I can lie on.”

“Ummm. No. I’m pretty sure it’s high tide on all the beaches just now. Best try again in a couple of hours when the water has receded a bit.”

You know, I should play poker. My poker face is BRILLIANT. When I got to the pricvacy of the linen room though I laughed and laughed till the tears ran down my legs!

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A Sunday Giggle


Wonderful translations from Around the World:
In a Bangkok temple:

IT IS FORBIDDEN TO ENTER A WOMAN, EVEN A FOREIGNER, IF DRESSED AS A MAN.

Cocktail lounge, Norway :

LADIES ARE REQUESTED NOT TO HAVE CHILDREN IN THE BAR.

Doctors office, Rome :

SPECIALIST IN WOMEN AND OTHER DISEASES.

Dry cleaners, Bangkok :

DROP YOUR TROUSERS HERE FOR THE BEST RESULTS.

In a Nairobi restaurant:

CUSTOMERS WHO FIND OUR WAITRESSES RUDE OUGHT TO SEE THE MANAGER.

On the main road to Mombasa , leaving Nairobi:

TAKE NOTICE: WHEN THIS SIGN IS UNDER WATER,THIS ROAD IS IMPASSABLE.

On a poster at Kencom:

ARE YOU AN ADULT THAT CANNOT READ? IF SO WE CAN HELP.

In a City restaurant:

OPEN SEVEN DAYS A WEEK AND WEEKENDS.

In a cemetery:

PERSONS ARE PROHIBITED FROM PICKING FLOWERS
FROM ANY BUT THEIR OWN GRAVES .

Tokyo hotel’s rules and regulations:

GUESTS ARE REQUESTED NOT TO SMOKE OR DO OTHER DISGUSTING BEHAVIOURS IN BED.

On the menu of a Swiss restaurant:

OUR WINES LEAVE YOU NOTHING TO HOPE FOR.

In a Tokyo bar:

SPECIAL COCKTAILS FOR THE LADIES WITH NUTS.

Hotel, Yugoslavia:

THE FLATTENING OF UNDERWEAR WITH PLEASURE IS
THE JOB OF THE CHAMBERMAID.

Hotel, Japan:

YOU ARE INVITED TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THE CHAMBERMAID.

In the lobby of a Moscow hotel across from a Russian Orthodox monastery:

YOU ARE WELCOME TO VISIT THE CEMETERY WHERE FAMOUS RUSSIAN AND SOVIET COMPOSERS, ARTISTS AND WRITERS ARE
BURIED DAILY EXCEPT THURSDAY.

A sign posted in Germany’s Black Forest:

IT IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN ON OUR BLACK FOREST CAMPING SITE THAT PEOPLE OF DIFFERENT SEX, FOR INSTANCE, MEN AND WOMEN,
LIVE TOGETHER IN ONE TENT UNLESS THEY ARE MARRIED WITH EACH OTHER FOR THIS PURPOSE.

Hotel, Zurich :

BECAUSE OF THE IMPROPRIETY OF ENTERTAINING GUESTS OF THE OPPOSITE SEX IN THE BEDROOM, IT IS SUGGESTED THAT THE LOBBY BE USED FOR THIS PURPOSE.

Advertisement for donkey rides, Thailand :

WOULD YOU LIKE TO RIDE ON YOUR OWN ASS?

Airline ticket office, Copenhagen : ( only here ? ? ? )

WE TAKE YOUR BAGS AND SEND THEM IN ALL DIRECTIONS.

A laundry in Rome :

LADIES, LEAVE YOUR CLOTHES HERE AND SPEND THE AFTERNOON HAVING A GOOD TIME.

Snory Story Revisited


Heres a story I came across while I was looking back at a few old posts. It made me laugh out loud as I remembered it. I hope it makes you chuckle too.

Here’s a little snory story for you

Since weeknights have become a no alcohol zone in our house in an effort to economise, lose weight and generally get healthy, I’ve noticed a welcome but totally unexpected side effect. Boofuls no longer spends most nights snoring and I no longer spend most nights cursing, digging him in the ribs and shouting at him to ‘”Turn over and SHUDDUP!!” Usually followed by, “Right! That’s it! You’re p***ing me off now. Go and sleep in the spare room.”

Peace, perfect peace. I’m loving it. I’m loving getting up in the morning and not spending half the morning trying to get my poor brain out of it’s sleep deprived fog.

Weekends, however are the perfect reason to open a nice bottle of sauvignon blanc and partake of a wee drinkie.

Last Friday night, sauvignon blanc-ed to a nice fuzzy level, Boofuls and I retired to our bed.

Sure enough, within a few seconds – yes, that wasn’t a typo I did mean seconds, how that man can fall asleep so fast is beyond me. It’s like turning off a light – Boofuls was asleep and snoring gently. I’d decided to read a couple of chapters of my latest Harry Potter.

Within a few more seconds the snore fest had begun and the volume level began to rise. Soon it was reverberating around the bedroom and I was starting to suffer from sense of humour failure.

Now you may or may not know that I’m not a woman known for my tolerance. I let the cacophany continue for a few minutes with the occasional “shuddup” or “turn over”.  It was obvious he was dreaming by the twitching and muttering that was going on in between the snores but I soon got bored of listening to it and as normal announced. “Right! That’s it. You’re p***ing me off now, go and sleep in the spare room.”

He jumped, grunted and in the most pathetic voice you can imagine said, ” I can’t. I don’t know where it is.”

Oh how that tickled my funny bone! I was apopleptic with laughter and stuffing the duvet into my mouth in an attempt to not laugh out loud and wake him up too much.

” Well, love. Get out of bed, turn right, open the door and walk up the landing and it’s the first door on the right.” By now I thought he’d be fully woken up and noticing my sarcastic tone but instead he thanked me gratefully for my directions, got up and went on his way!

I laid there laughing till the tears poured down my face and my stomach ached. The following morning he didn’t remember a single thing about it.

Sausage Roulette


I love a good game of sausage roulette in the morning. I mean. Who doesn’t love a game of sausage roulette?

Right.

Wash your mind out right now!

Sausage roulette involving actual sausages from the butcher. Honestly, what are you? Twelve?

Never heard of it? It’s a game we hoteliers love to play on a daily basis. How many guests have we got in? How many are going to want sausages? How many shall I actually cook?

It can be a risky game. I’ve held my nerve on many occasions and won, doing a little victory lap around the kitchen with a roasting tin devoid of sausages held aloft. I’ve lost my nerve on many occasions and wished I’d held tight. I’ve never outright lost and needed a sausage and not had one but I’ve had sausages leftover on many occasions. Douggie the doggie never complains and neither do the staff.

This weekend I was going to win. No doubt about it. Three vegetarians, one vegan, four meat eaters. Strangely, I have discovered that the fewer guests we have the more likely they are to want a full English breakfast so I put in four sausages.

The vegetarian/vegan group came down to breakfast first. I stood in the kitchen awaiting their order, hand on the freezer door ready to pull out a pack of Linda McCartney’s.

“One scrambled egg on toast. One hash browns, tomato and beans. One hash browns mushrooms and beans and one full English.”

“Veggie full English?”
“No. Full English, bacon, sausage, the works.”

“What? No. They can’t. They’re vegetarian.”
“Not today they’re not.”

Bugger. I set to making their breakfasts and then contemplated my hand in the game of sausage roulette. Four people due for breakfast. Only three sausages. Hold my nerve or cave?

I held my nerve. The next couple came down for breakfast. “Two full English, Please.”

I was starting to panic. Two guests, one sausage.

Then I remembered that I’d caught sight of the remaining couple when they checked in. Fair to say they enjoyed their food. I caved. In went another sausage.

The last couple came down. The washer upper, Lashes and I stood and waited with bated breath for the order to come in.

Boofuls came in with the order.

“You lose.”

Drectly


Since coming to live in Devon we have discovered that all of the tradesmen seem to work for the same company – Drectly.

We have come across Drectly plumbers, Drectly electrical, Drectly interiors, you name it. They all have one thing in common. Every time you phone them to book an appointment, every one of them tells you – I’ll be there Drectly.

Drectly can be any time between one hour and in the case of one Drectly plumber, three months and still no sign of him showing up.

It’s a very laid back approach to business, a bit mañana but with added pasties and cider.

Doorstop bereavin’


It’s no secret that we love living in south Devon. Now its autumn and we have a bit more time on our hands we’ve been getting out a bit more.  One thing I’ve noticed on our travels is that so many of the business names are so similar.

Salt Rock, Rock Salt, Rock Fish, Salt Water, Wierd Fish, On the Rocks, all names that have been carefully picked to conjure up images of the coast, the seaside, fresh fish, fantastic food, holidays, sailing and generally how good life is on the coast.

Trouble is they are all so similar that they all run together in my mind.

Can I recommend a good restaurant? Yeah. Try Rock Water er….I mean Salty Fish Water.  Eh? Oh no.  I mean Weird Cod Rocks. Or do I mean Rock Fish Balls or maybe Water Salt?

Come on guys. Come up with something a bit more memorable!

*****

Did I mention that Lashes and I have joined a choir? No? Wow! You must be the only people in the world who don’t know.

We are LOVING it.

One of the songs we are learning at the moment is ‘Don’t Stop Believin’.  Every week about fifty of us traipse up to the local village hall to warble away like little (and not so little ) rocking songbirds.

One of the choir members is a really lovely Chines lady who just beams all the way through the evening. She’s a delight to be around. Or so I thought. She sits in the alto section where Lashes sits. I sit in the soprano section so I’m never really near her when she’s singing.

Last week as we left the choir lashes glowered at me and announced that she wouldn’t be sitting near the Chinese woman again.

“She puts me right off.”
“Why’s that then? I thought she was lovely.”
“She is but her accent is so strong and her voice so loud I can’t tune her out.”

It turns out that this lovely lady booms out her own version of the lyrics:

‘Doorstop bereavin…hode on to a fee-ee-eeri-i-i-n’
street rife peepoh…ohhhhh-ohhh-OOHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!…

Strangers waitin’ up a’ dow’ a’ bourevar..shadows searching i’ a’ niiiiiiigh’

Bless her, I liked her even more when I discovered this.  I’m not going to be sitting near her anytine soon though.

Just as a Saturday treat, here is the original  version:

Bingo!


It’s official. Munki  now sounds posh. Well, to northern ears she definitely sounds posh. It’s amazing how quickly children can pick up a new accent.

I took her for a riding lesson on Saturday and she referred to the little pony she was riding as a ‘hoarse’ rather than as she would have done a year ago as a ‘hoe-iss’. I love it!!

However, it’s only on a surface level, as I realised recently.

If you live in the UK and have watched tv at any point at all in the last little while then you can’t fail to have seen that irritating advert for Gala Bingo. You know the one:

The one with amply proportioned women  singing Gala la la. Gala la la. Gala la la hey hey hey BINGO!’

Sorry. That will be in your head all day now. Irritating but effective advertising.

Anyway, Munki was singing it in the bath. I was listening and chuckling away to myself. The I heard THIS:

“Gala la la. Gala la la. Gala la la hey hey hey BINGAW!”

Haha. Not quite so posh after all then.

She went away on a school trip week last week. Not exactly a safari adventure, they were about half an hour away but they loved it. Trying to make the most of child free time we suggested a grown up meal in a grown up restaurant.

Lashes of course had other ideas. She and her dad, Boofuls are partial to a game of bingo and have been out a few times to our local bingo emporium since we’ve lived here. I have been happy to babysit and get the house to myself. Bingo? I’d rather put pins in my eyes.

“Let’s all have a grown up night at bingo. It’s not often we all get to go out together”.  Not wanting to be a party pooper, I agreed, having been assured that it’s different now and it’s LOADS of fun.

We turned up at the bingo hall. Right mum, we have to get you registered. Me, Boofuls, Lashes and Lashes’ beau, The Prof, all stood at the enrolment desk. Who’s enrolling then, is it you?” the chap on the desk enquired to The Prof. “Actually, it’s me.” I volunteered and then laughed out loud as his eyebrows flew up so high they nearly fell off his head.

“I’m the last one you thought it would be, aren’t I?”

He agreed that I was and enquired as to how had I’d got to my age without going to bingo. Easily, I thought, it’s more painful than pins in my eyes. I didn’t say it out loud as I didn’t want to offend him or upset Lashes who was clearly enjoying having us all there.

It’s changed a bit since I last played bingo many, many years ago when my bezzie forced me to go as birthday treat. Birthday punishment more like! I remember spending the afternoon terrified of speaking too loudly and incurring the wrath of the assembled matriarchs, or calling out ‘house’ at the wrong time, getting all hot and bothered about  keeping up with scanning and marking my tickets quickly enough to keep up with the caller who spoke at a speed I didn’t even think was possible. The whole event was terrifying and not one I’ve been keen to repeat. How on earth could that be called entertainment?

Now they have electronic screens and you don’t have to do anything except watch it and press ‘claim’ when you  win. Exciting, eh? NOPE!

There are the big money games though where you have to tap the screen when a number pops up. Ooh, that must be exciting, eh?

SNORE!!!!

The chicken and chips were quite good though and to be honest, it all became a lot less boring when I won a tenner. Shame I didn’t win the four grand, I might have been persuaded to go back for a second visit.

It’s my birthday this week.  Happy birthday to me. I’ll be 21 and a few months old. How many months. I don’t know – I can’t count that high.

My natural inclination has always been to moan and bitch about getting older but I don’t do that any more as that’s an option my little brother no longer has and it seems a bit crass to complain about being alive when he isn’t.  So now I enjoy life to the full (except for bingo) and make loads of new friends, explore the beaches and learn new skills.  Life is good, enjoy it while you can!

That was the week that was


This week alone we have had no internet which is a bit of a blow when your diary and booking system is all on online.

We’ve had no  phone.  Useful when you’re running a business.

Also, terrifyingly, we discovered we had no insurance cover. We’d put in a claim for a tv and it was overturned. It seems that due to an item in the small print we’d actually not been covered for weeks. OMFG!!!!

Thank God it was only a tv we’d claimed for and not a major claim. I’m not sure if it was some sort of celestial joke that caused the fire alarms to go off that day for no reason but I can tell you that I nearly dropped dead of fright right there on the spot.

You’ll be glad to know that it’s all sorted out now. I fucking hate insurance companies!

We had a gas leak, that was fun.

It’s a good job I clean behind the cooker at ridiculously regular intervals or it could all have been very nasty. While I was on the floor cleaning the pipes on ‘clean behind the cooker Monday’ which also turned into ‘clean behind the cooker Tuesday’ because I’d slopped food around that day. I heard hissing and noticed bubbles where the soapy water had touched the hole in the pipe.

The plumber was duly called who said he’ d come the following day. “The following day?!?” ” Can you smell gas?”  he enquired.

Well, no but…. “well it’s not gas then. It’ll be fine. Turns out it was gas and a bad one at that. The gas board’s emergency number was called and the genius gas man spent a good two hours fixing it while I made contingency plans about how to feed 26 people with no hob or oven to cook with.

While all that was going on we also had  guests keeping drugs in their room.  Boofuls had to have a word with them. Even he was a bit surprised when they said they’d store it at the parent’s house.

Electrical equipment has been falling over and dying like flies. We have about six vacuum cleaners and not one of them works properly.  It makes vacuuming ginormous bedrooms a bit of a pain to be honest.

Poor old Boofuls has spent far too much time this week holding, fixing and re-routing cables trying to make the tv in room 14 work.

We completely ran out of bedding as the laundry has consistently failed to return our linen to us. At one point they’d lost 20 double duvet covers. We suggested to them that we use their contract linen until they find our lost linen and they agreed to deliver it all the following day. Guess what? Yup. No linen.  We couldn’t make up a single matching bed set. Sigh. They turned up two days later at 8.45  this morning while we were serving breakfast. They couldn’t have picked a worse time to turn up. The driver just smirked when I voiced my discontent. I could have hit him round the head with a frying pan!

It’s not all doom and gloom though.  The breakfast order tickets coming into the kitchen often make me laugh out loud when I see the various abbreviations Lashes uses.

Generally we have B=bacon, E=egg, Be= beans, you get the idea, all very straight forward. The perfect breakfast is a FE, full English. Seven items, no messing about with fiddly stuff.

Of course it never goes that smoothly. It still makes me titter like a schoolboy when I get a ticket that says Nom  Nob. Can you guess what it means? This week we also had a Nom Not Nob. Teehee. Then of course we got the cryptic ticket which blew my brain.

Lashes had written:

Table 17

EBTS

FE – no HB/M/Be

OK. EBTS that’s easy,  it’s egg, bacon, tomato,sausage

Next breakfast: I stared and stared at the ticket and the two plates. It wouldn’t compute.  FE without hash browns, mushrooms and beans. This shouldn’t be so difficult, get it together woman!

OH!I’VE GOT IT!

FE no hb/m/be is EXACTLY the same breakfast as EBTS!!! Oh my God! Write it the same way, woman! I was so confused!

Heh.

On Tuesday we decided to have Prosecco Tuesday after we’d finished cleaning the rooms. Our little chambermaid can’t believe her luck! She’s never worked anywhere that has prosecco after work.

It’s not a bad old life, really.

What’s in your drawers?


So what have you got in your drawers?

Oo-er, steady on Mrs! I meant literal drawers not yer underpinnings, as my mother would have called them. Good grief woman! I know what you’ve got in those drawers, let’s never discuss that again! *shakes head to get that image out of my mind*

Every house has a drawer of plenty, you know, the place where you keep all the bits and bobs. Bits of string, fuses, hair grips. It’s the first place you look when anyone asks, ‘have you got a ….?’

Now, in our teeny temporary flat  we haven’t really got a drawer of plenty since it’s a holiday let and not a real home but we do have a drawer of’ I’ll not be needing that again.’

It was with a huge amount of pleasure and smugness that I filled this particular drawer with all of my cold weather clothing, the padded trousers, the fluffy hat and thick walking socks. Now we live in ‘The English Riviera’ there’ll be no more need for this stuff, I thought. At worst I’ll be needing a light jumper from now on.

How wrong can you be?

One morning last week  I got up and strolled down to the garden in my dressing gown so the dog could have a wee.  Just so we’re clear, the dressing gown isn’t paramount to the action of the dog weeing, it’s just what I happened to be wearing at the time since it was still stupid o’clock in the a.m. The action of poochie weeing isn’t influenced in the slightest by my clothing choices.

So, back to the plot…Imagine my shock and horror when an unexpected icy blast of wind swirled round my ankles. I pulled my dressing gown closer round me and chivvied Douggie the doggie to stop messing about and ‘go pee’. He lifted his leg on command and I could see the shock on his face as the same icy blast caught him round his now exposed nether regions. He was clearly thinking the same as me, ‘What the hell’s going on? We were promised balmy, warm weather, sunny winter days and absolutely no rain’. We’ve been conned!

Totally unimpressed was I as I pulled the thermal trousers and Miss Marple hat, which I’d bought on a previous visit when I’d been caught out by the cold, out of the drawer in readiness for our walk. My Deputy Dawg hat with the earflaps, the one I usually wear for dog walking is still packed up in storage with 95% of our other belongings so MIss Marple saved the day.

It was an eclectic mix of clothing I wore that day, wellies, anorak and Miss Marple knitted hat with a jaunty crocheted flower on the side accented with a little feather. The locals must have thought that we northern folk have no sense of sartorial elegance.

How did they know I was from the north? It was probably because I walk round calling out “Ti reyt cocker? and singing “On Ilkley Moor baht ‘at”

For my non English, and southern, bloggy friends I’l translate for you:

‘Ti reyt cocker’ translates as  ‘How are you this morning?’

‘On Ilkley Moor baht ‘at’ means on Ilkley Moor ( a place in Yorkshire ) without a hat’. 

Once the walk got underway and I’d warmed up a bit I soon recovered from my distress  at the cold weather. Douggie and I yomped  along the coastal path at a rate of knots listening to the sound of the  waves as they crashed against the rocks. It was all very dramatic and invigorating. Worth looking like Miss Marple for.

Ok, I won’t move back up north after all. I still prefer it here.