Two hours ago I sat down at my laptop to write a funny blog post about… well, perhaps I shouldn’t tell you in advance or I’ll spoil the fun for next time. For now, suffice to say that it related to getting ready for a barbecue. (Tune in tomorrow.) Obviously, something distracted and detained me. It began when I downloaded photographs from my mobile phone into my computer – I was looking for some photographs to accompany today’s intended post – and I noticed there was a film clip amongst the photos. I put the clip into the “My Videos” file and viewed it. The film took such a long time to download that I wondered if there was something wrong with my computer. There wasn’t. I hadn’t turned off the record button properly and the film kept recording from the inside of my shoulder bag, which was quite funny because the camera focussed on a particular hole in the crocheted material and the image seemed to wink every time my bag moved slightly.

While I was in “My Videos” I found that many of the clips inside the file were unnamed, therefore I had to take a look at them before giving each a title and filing them away. As you might imagine, several were rather funny and one, in particular, stood out. And that is why I have chosen for today’s blog post the transcript of a humorous conversation that took place four years ago when I was in Australia.

My friend Lorelle and I had gone with Bill and Lita, my car enthusiast brother and his gorgeous wife, to a vintage and classic car show; we were driven in Bill’s 1957 F.C. Holden, which was to become part of the exhibition. While Bill had gone over to speak to some mates we girls walked around the show. A pretty blue sports car, with two men inside, pulled into the space in front of us and the driver let the engine purr for our delectation…

Me: (To Lorelle) Listen to that car – that’s a nice little engine.

Lorelle: Yeah. (Pauses) It’s a Porsche.

Me: Ooh, ooh (with pleasure and pride) a Porsche? I’m a Porch (pronounced as Porsche). That’s my surname (loudly for the benefit of the Porsche driver).

Lorelle: No, a Porsche (softly, to save my embarrassment).

Me: I know (aside to Lorelle). I could pronounce it like that – couldn’t I? (Pause.) That’s my maiden name! (Loudly for the driver to hear). I should have your car!

The driver, in his forties and wearing a sporty cap, gets out of the car.

Driver: (Looks at us and smiles.) Well, you can have it for a certain price.

Me: Really? Does that mean you want money? Or do you want servitude?

Driver: Both!  Both, with me. Both, with me.

Me: What? (I scoff.) A life-long slave?

Driver: (He tries to keep a straight face.) That’s what I’ve been looking for.

(A pause. Lorelle and I are probably turning to look at each other.)

Me: Well, I could be a good slave.

Driver: You all talk yourself up but when it comes to action, then you all seem to go missing.

Me: Oh you think so (laughing), probably. Probably after a few years anyway! (Pause.) Lovely car!

Driver: Thank you!

Finis.