Longing for “The First of May”, no doubt.

A gentleman is on the 6.15 Victoria to Belmont train (London). He is sat on one of those seats that has people sitting opposite him and a table in-between. He is coming back from a meeting with his old pals from the days when he lived and worked in ‘Town’. He draws his mobile phone from his pocket and goes to his Whatsapp messages – he knew there were some awaiting his attention but until now he has not had a quiet moment… He has been looking forward to the train journey back to John and Barbara’s so that he could enjoy reading the messages in private.

“That’s different,” he thinks as he opens his Whatsapp, “two verbal messages and one text. With a bit of luck she’ll be talking softly.”

He presses the arrow to begin play and music emanates from his phone:

“When you rise in the morning sun, I feel you touch me in the pouring rain…” a woman sings along badly and loudly.

All eyes are upon the gentleman who now feels embarrassed.

“I’m sorry,” he looks around apologetically, “it’s my wife in Australia – on the karaoke.”

He begins to turn down the volume on his phone when he is stopped by the lady next to him:

“Oh don’t turn it down, we can hardly hear – please turn it up.”

“Yes, do turn it up,” agreed the man opposite and some people over on the other side of the aisle.

And that is how the passengers on a particular carriage of the 6.15 train to Belmont were thus treated, firstly, to a rendition of “How Deep is Your Love”, which was followed – between Whaddon and West Croyden – by “I Got to Get a Message to You” (it was a Bee Gees’ CD). Apparently, they all loved it and were smiling and tapping their feet. Chris, and his fellow passengers, got the message alright; and in a matter of two days I shall be joining him and our dear friends Barbara and John in Belmont. If you’re on my Qantas flight tomorrow night, don’t worry – I shan’t be singing love songs badly… not unless you ask for an encore.

(If you’re a Bee Gees aficionado you will recognise that “How Deep is Your Love” doesn’t begin with “When you rise in the morning sun..” – at least not in the official lyrics (below) but they were the actual words on the screen! Nevertheless, the new words made a kind of sense as I rose in the morning sun of Australia while Chris was in the pouring rain and cold of England. The photograph of windy Belmont Station at 6.30am and 4 degrees makes the point.)

“How Deep Is Your Love” 

A dear friend of mine, slightly more interested in ornithology than orthology (one’s a bird watcher, the other a word botcher), was having a chat with me on the phone this evening. We were discussing my run in with a bluebottle (Portugeuse Man-of-War) whilst I was up on the Sunshine Coast last week, and the sudden and dramatic onset of anaphylactic shock, which followed quickly after the sting.

“You know,” said my thoughtful friend, “I’ve been thinking about it and you really shouldn’t be without an ‘Epi-pen’ thingy in your last two weeks in Australia. What if you were stung by a wasp? What if something else in the bush stings you and you get emphalactic shock?”

“Anaphylactic shock,” I corrected.

“Well,” he paused, “you may call it that but I spell it differently!”

(On the quiet, I always have to look up the spelling myself!”)

I was searching on the table, for a lid I couldn’t feel…

(My own alternative version to the second line to “The Windmills of Your Mind”.)

Dinner was over and Bill was the first to spring up and start clearing the table. Seeing that my brother was so helpful I thought I, too, would do my bit. In front of me was a plastic container half filled with corn and my eyes scanned the table for the lid. Not really thinking too hard about it, my hand stretched out to retrieve the lid and, to my surprise, found nothing… but the circular design on the tablecloth!

“I’ve done that before, too,” my sister-in-law Lita laughed.

“The other day I thought the hand cream I used was rather funny and sudsy – it was shampoo!”.

I know, I really “should’ve gone to Specsavers!”

Where is that lid?

There you are – behind the coasters!

“Doctor, doctor, I hurt all over!” complained the attractive blonde.

“Well tell me all about it,” said the doctor, ” and show me where it hurts.”

“Ouch,” she cried as she touched her left calf. “Ahh!” she screamed, prodding her right hip. “Ow, ow, ow,” she woofed, gently pressing a finger against her shoulder.

“It sounds painful,” the doctor commiserated.

“Sure is,” the girl seemed pleased to be taken seriously by the experienced professional. “What on Earth is the matter with me? Do you know?”

“It’s hard to say for certain without giving you an X-ray, my dear, but I’m pretty confident that you have a broken finger…”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Did I ever tell you about the time I went to see my lovely doctor about a little problem I was having with my right leg?

“How can I help you Sally?” he asked.

“Well, it’s rather embarrassing,” I began, “and you’ll think I’m imagining things…”

“Try me,” he said, “I’ve heard most things in my time.”

“Okay,” I conceded, “my leg won’t shut up!”

“Very odd,” my doctor stifled a laugh.

“It’s no laughing matter,” I retorted, “just humour me by bending down and listening to my ankle.”

“But Sally….”

“Please Slav…”

So my doctor kneeled down on the floor , which was a bit of an effort seeing as he’s a very tall chap, and he  held my ankle up to his ear. He was about to burst out laughing when my ankle whispered to him:

“Lend us fifty quid!”

“Oh dear,” said my doctor, putting my leg down.

“If you think that’s bad, Slav, just listen to my knee!” I invited.

Still kneeling down, my doctor put his ear close to my knee-cap.

“Lend us a hundred quid!” ordered my knee.

“Dear, dear, dear,” said my doctor tutting, “I’m afraid it’s much worse than I thought originally, Sally. I’m afraid your leg is broke in two places!”

Don’t you just love babies? They are all so beautiful – aren’t they? Well, at least their mothers think so. But, naturally, they can’t all be bonny bouncers and winners of baby competitions…

The other day I was taking a bus ride into Brisbane city centre when a lady came on board with her baby. The driver took one look at the babe in arms and pulled a face of revulsion.

“Ugly little bruiser!” said the driver to himself after the lady had walked a few steps down the aisle. All the same, his whisper was audible halfway down the bus to where I was sitting.

The furious woman plonked herself down in the seat just in front of me. The elderly gentleman next to her was a tad deaf and had missed the inadvertent insult.

“Are you alright?” the old man turned to her and adjusted his hearing aid.

“No I’m not. I’ve never been so insulted in my entire life. Why I’d like to give that driver a piece of my mind!” she added.

“Oh dear,” said the old man, “people nowadays think they can get away with anything. Why don’t you go back and give him a good telling off? I’ll hold your monkey for you…”

(Something like a joke in Brisbane’s Courier Mail newspaper a couple of weeks ago.)