Tag Archives: humor

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.

You have to love the English Language.


I saw this on Facebook this morning and decided to steal it because  the sentence at the end made me laugh. I’m such a nerd.

Source; https://www.facebook.com/grammarly
Source; https://www.facebook.com/grammarly

 

Still on the subject of language, I was texting Gembolina last night declining an invitation to a barbecue as I will be working at a horse show. I will quite literally be shooting the horses! Anyway, moving on before you phone the RSPCA, good old predictive text changed it to “I’ll be smirking at a horse show.’

Cue: a good ten minutes of me crying with laughter as I got a mental image of me standing in the show ring with my arms folded and smirking at the events as they unfold.

So funny…..what? Oh, just funny to me then? Dang!

 

Can you do me a favour?


It always makes me nervous when my younger  brother asks me if I can do him a favour. It usually never ends well for me, or for whoever else he asks. He has a way of delegating jobs he’d rather not do himself.

He gets away with murder because he’s a nice guy and a bit disarming. I’m generally immune to it since I’ve known him all his life but then I sigh, tell myself he’s my little bro and get drawn in to his bizarre plans, as I said, usually to my detriment.

 He  has bones that will break if you so much as give them a long, hard look.  He’s registered disabled now and and not very good on his legs. Getting from A to B generally involves cadging lifts, getting a taxi or using the local disability transport. He lives with a little dog called King who’s an eclectic mix of breeds, most likely a chihuahua and a King Charles spaniel. He’s totally blind and fair to say he’s knocking on a bit.  At the last reckoning he was about twelve years old, the dog I’m taking about now, not my brother.

Over Christmas my sister went to see him, my brother, not the dog, and he asked her for a favour – would  she cut his toenails?

 Ohhhhhh noooooo!!!!  Eeeeeeewwwww!!!!!!!!

She, and I, went queasy at the thought of it. If you’d seen his toenails you’d know what I mean.  Disgusting! Poor sis has been keeping out of his way ever since Christmas in case he asks her again. I did gently  suggest to him that there are chiropodists for that kind of thing but he wasn’t for taking me on at all. I don’t know if he’d had them done yet, I daren’t ask. He stopped short of asking me to do it though. I think the look  on my face gave him the answer before he’d even asked the question.

So, instead he requested  that I  cut his hair because he couldn’t get to     i.e. couldn’t be bothered going to  the barber’s. ” I don’t know how to cut hair” I wailed at him. “It’ll be right, just cut it straight across.”

Good Lord, he looked like Friar Tuck when I’d finished. A picture of sartorial elegance he is not. Did I mention I don’t do ‘hands on’ tasks? ( that sounds a bit rude. Move on along now, no happy endings here) I was shuddering for a week. Next time I’ll drag him out to the car and take him to the barber whether he likes it or not.

Last night he phoned me. Hhhmmmm, unusual. What’s he after?

Sure enough after a couple of minutes chit chat there it was;

“Ummmm, you couldn’t do me a massive favour could you.”

“I’ll try. Go on.”

“Well, King’s knocking on a bit now. He’s not going to last forever. Could you find me a bitch who’s a bit like him to mate him with? I’d like a pup from him.”

“WHAT? You want me to find someone who will be prepared to mate their prize pooch with your blind, geriatric, provenance unknown  dog to give them some bizarre new breed of dog that they’ll have a whole litter of? He’s not exactly a prime specimen of doghood, is he? Why don’t you just go to the rescue and get another dog from there? There are plenty looking for homes. “

Here it is folks, the bit that just draws you in:

“But I love him. I want a pup from him so when he dies I won’t feel like I’ve totally lost him. he’s special to me is King.”

Oh for Gawd’s sake! What am I going to do with him?  I’ll tell you what I won’t be doing though – walking up to the owners of dachshunds, spaniels, chihuahuas and the like and asking if they’d like a litter of pups from King, who I have to say I’m not even sure is up to the task.

This time, little brother, you’re on your own.

What would you do?

Auto correct fail


I’ve sent many a text message and got back a response of, ‘Huh?’ One of the best ones was on a job one day when I was leaving the bridal prep to set off the the church. I let Boofuls know via text message: I’m on my way to the church now.’  His reply, ‘what bitch?’ had me scratching my head until I read what autocorrect had put: ‘I’m on my way to the bitch.’ That had me giggling all the way through the service, and as it happened it was a portent of things to come with this particular bride.

Now I’ve learnt, mostly, to check the screen before hitting the send button.

While I was wasting yet more time on Facebook the other day I saw these autocorrect fails. Don’t click on the link until you’re mentally prepared for it. I had to stop reading at one point because I couldn’t breathe for laughing. What a brilliant way to start the day! Enjoy.

 

http://keep0smiling.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/even-more-very-funny-autocorrect-fails.html?m=1

What does ‘D’ mean?


What?

“Capital D, love. What does it mean?”

Suddenly, it all fell into place. Mr T our dancing teacher has been learning how to send and receive text messages. No mean feat for a man of his advancing years.  He’s from an era where phones were simply for talking on. The idea of a mobile phone was science fiction when he, and indeed I, were kids. How times change, eh?

Every now and then he’ll send me a message enquiring about if I’m watching  some sport fixture  knowing that I have zero interest in sport and enticing me to send  a sarky comment back. Something along the lines of; I would have watched it but I had to watch some paint dry.

He loves that. He’s easily amused, Mr T.

He sent me a joke the other week. Do you want to hear it?  Ok then.

A lady post an ad in the local paper…..looking for a man who won’t beat me or run away but is great in bed. The next day the doorbell rings. “Hi. I’m Fred. I’ve no arms so I’ll never hit you. I’ve no legs so I’ll never run away.”  The lady asks him what made him think he was  good in bed. His reply was,” How do you think I rang the bloody doorbell?”

Taaadaaaaa!!!

That was quite a good joke for Mr T. Some of them belie belief. Anyway, I sent a text back with a big smiley face to show my approval  😀

Within a couple of minutes, a couple of minutes in which I could just imagine him scratching his balls and wondering what the hell I’d sent him, I got a text back.

What does d mean, love?

I tried to explain but he just didn’t get it, so when we went to our next lesson I had to write it down  for him as he still hadn’t worked it out.  Still he didn’t get it. Then I turned the  page sideways. Then he got it.  I almost saw the lightbulb come on.  Aw, bless him 😀

He’s loads better at dancing than he is at technology and txting.

 

What I learnt today


So ok, I’m skipping a whole week of holiday news to tell you about this as it’s so important.

When you are playing crown green bowling you must remember that it’s not like golf where you tee off to start a game.

Being a relative newcomer to crown green bowling I committed a terrible faux pas today at the annual charity bowling competition when enquiring if it was my  turn to roll the jack. Apparently it’s not correct to  ask loudly ( or otherwise), ” Is it my turn to jack off yet?”

Cue: horrified looks all round. Boy, was my face red!