Category Archives: Humour

Name the Baby

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At the end of the day at almost the end of a particularly busy week I have a very short joke and some photos of the highlights of my week for you.

 

The Baby Jesus

It was all quiet in the stable until the three wise men turned up on the scene. As they walked in one of them unwisely bumped his head on a low beam.

“Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed (which wasn’t a profanity in those days).

“Now that’s a much appropriate name than Fred!” said Mary to Joseph.

 

Ugly Duckling Gnomes

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All through the wintertime they hid themselves away, ashamed to show their faces, afraid of what others might say… until I found them there and very soon agreed, “Never were such a sorry lot of gnomes in greater need!”

After a while, and a bit of coaxing from shady corners of the garden, the gnomes began to trust me and see that I meant no harm but good; and once they realised that they were not being earmarked for the rubbish dump they began to come out of the woodwork and queue up on the garden table in the hope that I would choose them for a makeover (I think they feared I might get fed up with gnome painting). Even the frogs, toad, chameleon and Harry the plastic heron made their way into the line ~ they didn’t see why they should be discriminated against (must have heard us talking about “Big Brother Brussels”) ~ but they needn’t have worried because I love them all equally.

Today I sent most of the little rascals back into the garden where they are now happy to wait for the promised heatwave next weekend.

 

 

 

A “Quickie”

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This joke from Geoff had me laughing for a full ten minutes.

 

Just a “Quickie”!

An elderly man goes into a restaurant and is seated. All the waitresses are gorgeous. A particularly voluptuous blonde waitress with legs that seem to go on forever under a very short skirt comes over to his table to see if he is ready to order.

“What would you like, sir?” she smiles at the old man.

He looks at the menu and then scans her beautiful frame top to bottom before answering.

“ A quickie.”

The waitress turns and walks away in disgust but, after a while, she regains her composure and returns to take his order.

 “What would you like sir?” she asks courteously, minus the beautiful smile.

Again the old man checks her out thoroughly. He notices that her smile has gone and wonders if he had seemed impolite.

 “A quickie please – if you don’t mind.”

This time her anger gets the better of her. She slaps him across the face with a resounding ‘SMACK’ that can be heard all over the restaurant and storms off.

The old man sits there stupefied and somewhat embarrassed – everyone is looking at him.

A man sitting at the next table leans over and whispers, “Um, I think it’s pronounced ‘quiche’!”

Plastic Surgery at Home (For Gnomes)

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It’s that time of year here in England when, bucked by a sunny day, we go into the garden to weed, clean up and think about planting flowers. Yesterday was just such a day for me and, after planting some young bedding plants in the pots, I couldn’t help but notice the sorry state of my beloved gnomes, most of which were ashen-faced from lack of sunshine (and vitamin D after a terribly disappointing summer last year) or they were suffering from gnome eczema; in fact, some of them needed a complete face-lift. Luckily, I enjoy a bit of gnome cosmetic surgery and make-overs…

Pillow Talk (or The New Bed)

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Exactly what are pocket springs? Are they mini mousetraps that you keep in your pockets ready for the moment when you’re exceedingly bored and need something to wake you up? No, they are “de rigueur” in modern mattresses, the idea being that a person can move and turn in bed without disturbing his or her partner (unlike one of our old mattresses, which shakes like a gigantic jelly at the slightest movement… and Chris has restless legs!). Anyway, the more pocket springs, the merrier – and the more expensive. Recently Chris and I splashed out on a new pocket spring mattress and a cheap, but attractive, bed frame.

 

“I could just lie here and go to sleep,” says Mary.

“So you don’t think it’s too hard then?” I ask.

It is three o’clock in the afternoon and my sister and I are lying on the new bed in one of our guest bedrooms at the top of the house, testing it for comfort and strength (the bed, not the house). I have been a bit worried about the new pretty white bed since we purchased it, really cheaply; in fact, we went back to the store twice with questions about its credentials and fitness for purpose. Wouldn’t it be terrible if the bed collapsed under the strain of a well-built couple at a crucial moment? Which has happened at least once (to my knowledge) to my brother Henry and his girlfriend in Australia. But the man in the bed department assured Chris and me that our remarkably cheap bed was the strongest metal bed in the whole store. But is it comfortable?

“It’s ever so comfy,” Mary closes her eyes.

“The mattress has pocket springs,” I comfort myself, “but there isn’t much bounce – is there?”

“Good for sleep,” Mary catches my drift.

“And what about other things?” I query with a smile.

We’re rather weary after traipsing up to the top floor (fifty one steps from the ground floor) so it is with some effort of will that my sister and I muster the energy to attempt to make the mattress bounce. Soon we tire of the futile exercise and lay back languidly on the lifeless, but dreamily comfortable, pocket spring mattress.

“Oh dear,” I say, “not the best for love-making…”

“That’s not your worry, Sally,” Mary opens her eyes and smiles mischievously, “besides, the big lovers can sleep on Dad’s old bed – with the wobbly mattress – in the next room. And anyway, you have to remember the kids are a lot younger than us.”

Oh to be a Seagull

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I can’t say that I really like seagulls – they steal your chips and do their business on you just for fun – but you have to admire them, even envy them.

This morning Chris drew back the bedroom curtains onto a beautiful blustery, sunshiny day; the waves sparkled and the sky was a picturesque blue and white; and the seagulls loved it. They hovered and darted to their hearts’ content and I opened the window to take photos to my heart’s content. Of course, the door blew shut with a mighty bang and the seagulls decided not to hover quite so close as before to the noisy place with the woman at the window.

“Sorry if it’s a bit cold for you with the window open,” I said to Chris who had gone back to bed to have his cup of tea.

“I’m used to it,” he said, pulling the the duvet over him.

That’s true. I may be a terrible wife but hopefully I redeem myself by being a thoughtful blogger?

 

A Little “Yew” Time

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Well, there hasn’t been much “me time” recently, not even time for writing blog posts of more than a few sentences. There has been a birthday (my niece Katie gave birth to beautiful little Annalise on the fourteenth) and birthdays (a nephew and niece, my old school-friend Sally); our anniversary (eighteen years of married bliss); and we’ve had visitors, and lots of work to do on the house in preparation for more visitors; and I’ve had a bit of bad back from all the work! Still no time tonight for more than a few sentences but here are some photos. Hope you like the rather ugly “ew” tree that threatens to block the footpath going down to Dawlish town.

Shabby Chic?

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Now no woman of any age really wants to be a shabby chick (hen, or old boiler) but generally we don’t mind being a stylish “Shabby Chic”. This morning, when I looked at myself in the mirror, I wasn’t quite sure… At the time I was dressed in my Australian yellow, green and aqua harem trousers, a plain yellow sun top and short-sleeved white cardigan. Oh, I used to love those harem trousers – three or four years ago when they were fresh and new – but now they are definitely tired. We were only going to our local Sainbury’s store, nevertheless…

“Do I look a bit poor in this outfit?” I asked Chris.

“You look…” my beloved husband paused to find the appropriate word (that wouldn’t offend) before finishing his sentence with, “unique!”

“Not shabby unique by any chance?” I queried.

“Certainly not!” he grinned, “but if you were wearing a woolly coat over the top… do you think you would be ‘Shabby Sheep’?”

Keep Young and Beautiful

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I expect you sometimes wonder how my slimming diet is going… Well, yes, I’m still on a diet of sorts, ever watchful of all that goes into my mouth. Do I ever succumb to temptation? Why of course, which is why I’m always on a diet. I’m just not very good at it. I lose a bit and gain a bit, weigh myself every morning (to keep myself in check) and promise myself that I will be good, which I am (for the most part). Nevertheless, I keep pretty much the same weight, according to which country I’m in – Australia (slimmer) or England (not so slim).

The other morning Chris saw me naked on the bathroom scales. He probably noticed that I was exhaling at the time and he smiled very sweetly at me.

“Why bother when you stay the same?” he asked.

“Because I wouldn’t be the same if I didn’t bother,” I answered with a smile (actually I was quite happy that he hadn’t noticed I was having a heavy morning!).

Later on that day my sister and my niece Katie called in to see us – Katie came in before Mary, who had to find a parking space farther down our road.

“You look nice!” said Katie observing my cute little pink jerkin top.

“Thank you,” I beamed, “it’s new – it was half price and I couldn’t resist trying it on even though it’s a small size. What size do you reckon it is?”

Now at this point I should inform you that my niece is around thirty-eight weeks pregnant and about ready to drop; whilst I, on the other hand, am simply naturally cuddly. All the same, Katie understands the size issue we women all seem to share.

“Well,” she began, “as you’re mentioning it, it has to be really small… Is it a size eight?”

“No, too big,” I dismissed the suggestion with a giggle.

“Size six then?”

“Nope, you’ll never guess – it’s for an eleven-year-old!” I told her gleefully.

“And it fits well”, Katie enthused.

“It doesn’t do up of course but it does fit well – doesn’t it!

“Looks like that’s how it was designed to be worn,” Katie nodded with approval.

Then Mary arrived.

“Mum,” said Katie to her mum, “look at Aunty Sally’s nice new top – it’s only a size ’11 year old’.

“How marvellous, ” said Mary, marvelling at my voluptuous figure inside the figure-hugging pink top.

“And you know that if it’s for eleven year old girls…” my niece paused.

“Yes,” said my sister, “it means you must be slim Sally!”

My thoughts exactly!

Annie Lennox – Keep Young and Beautiful (with lyrics …

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sf4z1iNRYMY
18 Mar 2014 – Uploaded by PippoOfEarth

Annie Lennox – Keep Young and Beautiful (with lyrics).

Hail Thee Well

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Ah, it’s good to be back at Rosie’s farm for the day. The girls – Inca, Malachi and Sasha – were pleased to see me and they wolfed down the Cumberland sausages that nobody else wanted; the three goats seemed not to mind at all the week old lettuce and spinach, even on a  cold day; the llamas said, “Hay, how are you this morning?”; the chubby lamb recognised me in an instant and ran to meet me at the gate (as well as a caring ewe – just to make sure that I was no abductor); the sun was shining… intermittently, and then it hailed twice whilst I was out with the dogs. The hail was nice and dry, and looked like white sherbet pips – so much less menacing than hail the size of golf balls! And the spring flowers were beautiful!

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Hail Thee Well