It rained again this morning, and so I painted at my easel. The sun came out in the afternoon but by that time I was too engrossed to stop painting and go for a cycle ride as intended. Here are some photographs of my painting so far…

“Would you mind stopping the car so that I can take some photo’s of the river?” I asked.

Chris pulled into a lay-by off the busy Teignmouth to Newton Abbot road and he stayed in the car. Ten minutes later I was across on the other side and wending my way down some steps that led under the railway bridge and out onto the mud and sand that was more riverbed than riverbank. Luckily the tide was out and I was able to get the view I was hankering for. The men on the dredging barge out in the middle of the river might well have wondered why a lone woman had descended upon that little nugget of riverbed and decided to take photo’s of them at work – they may have mistaken me for the dredging barge police, hence they kept just far enough away for me to require a telephoto lens in order to capture their faces on camera; as it was they were quite safe because I had only my little mobile phone camera with me… and I do not work for the dredging barge police.

One always like to make one’s mark – doesn’t one? See if you can spot the difference in the pretty scenes of the River Teign.

Owing to the inclement weather yesterday afternoon Chris and I forwent our usual cycle ride and instead, took a nice walk… in the rain. I loved it but Chris was not so happy in his two waterproof jackets (they aren’t really waterproof – even when you wear one on top of the other), although he cheered up a bit when I sang him the Piña colada song (If you like piña coladas and getting caught in the rain, If you’re not into yoga, if you have half a brain, If you like making love at midnight…).

We were walking down a country lane, which is becoming less and less like a country lane since two big developers started building housing estates. We passed the new Barratt site where building is well under way, but new to my eyes because I’ve been away; and as we rounded the corner we couldn’t help but notice the big red and white sign on the pavement… What can it mean?  I took some photographs to show you. I have deleted the one of Chris looking decidedly wet and grumpy. And just click on the YouTube frame below showing Rupert Holmes if you would like to be reminded of the Piña Colada song.

I must be on a list. I often get begging emails from Burkina-Fasco that reach me via my Spam box. Rarely do I open them because I know from experience what they will say roughly but this one tickled my fancy – I really like her name!

Here is the first paragraph…

Hello Dearest One,

Compliments of the day, I am Miss. Tummy Johnson, 23 years old lady, a Sociology student from Guinea Bissau university and a daughter of late Mr. Paul Johnson who was the former deputy minister of national security under the leadership of president Kumba Yalla who is now facing judgement at the international court of justice for war crime and abusing human rights. I am constrained to contact you because of the maltreatment i am receiving from my step mother who planned to take away all my fathers treasury and assets from me since the unexpected death of my Father. Meanwhile I had wanted to travel to Europe but she hid my international passport and other valuable travelling documents but fortunately for me she couldn’t discover where I kept my fathers file. I am now writing you from Ouagadougou Burkina-Faso where I escaped for my life and now seeking asylum in a private charity organization under St Johns Catholic Church here in Burkina-Faso.

And so on…

Chris dreamed about me on Friday night. That in itself is not necessarily funny, so why did he wake up laughing his head off? I had better explain…

Undoubtedly, the strange dream was sparked by events the evening before. You see, earlier on we had gone to pick up our friend, Ron, from Bournemouth Airport and on the way home we were all starving so we thought we’d stop off at Honiton (forty-five minutes from home) for some excellent fish and chips. We arrived a little before closing, too late to sit in the restaurant area. Chris stayed with the car (on double yellow lines), Ron went off to the bathroom and I walked up to the take-away counter. A pleasant lady took my order for three pieces of cod and small chips while the man ahead of me on my side of the counter looked on bemused.

“Oh, sorry, did I queue jump?,” I apologised, “I thought you had ordered already.”

“It’s alright,” he said laughing.

“I’ll serve you your’s first,” the lady said, grasping the situation and putting things to right in an instant.

She wrapped the lone piece of cod resting in the hot cabinet, along with a portion of chips, and gave it to the man.

“And I’ll pay for fish and chips for my friends over there,” he said waving an arm in the direction of three other men standing by the window.

“No no, you go ahead with your’s and we’ll buy our own,” three jolly gentlemen answered their objections in unison.

“He must have had a win!” one of them said to me by way of explanation.

“That’s just what I was thinking,” I replied jocularly.

The first man went to the end of the counter and opened his parcel of fish and chips.

“Are they nice?” I asked.

“Have a try,” he responded, pushing the package closer to me and pulling back the white wrapping paper to reveal the golden and crispy delights within.

“I am hungry,” I said, “Are you sure?”

He nodded at the same time as I picked up a large chip.

“Delicious,” I added.

He offered me another just as Ron joined us.

“Is this your dad?” asked the man.

“No, Ron is my friend and neighbour,” I explained.

“That’s funny,” he said, “because that’s my name too.”

“But we call him Rabbit…” exclaimed the other chaps.

There was much laughing and a guessing game ensued, however I didn’t learn why they called him Rabbit. Our fish and chips were ready and a rather nonplussed Ron seemed eager to escort me back to the car. As you might have imagined the good-hearted fellows in the fish and chip shop were a tad on the merry side.

Now, I awoke on Saturday morning to the sound of Chris laughing.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“Well, I’ve just had this fantastical dream about you, ” Chris began and continued, “It was in two parts – you know how dreams can go from one thing to another without any rationale? – and in the first part you were driving a boat on an open stretch of water. There were two men with you in your boat, which was being pursued by another speedboat. You were having a great time speeding through the sea and throwing boxes and all sorts of rubbish at the other boat; it was a bit like Patriot Games (the film), when Sean Bean is being chased by Harrison Ford – and you were loving it.”

I imagined the scene and nodded my agreement.

“The second part has nothing to do with the previous one, but this was the one that was so amazing… You were coming out of a pub, you were in the middle with two men either side of you, linked arm in arm, and all five of you were singing “Oh, Sister Josephine”. You and the men sang the verses in unison but when it came to the chorus the men sang in harmony. You were word-perfect and I marvelled, especially as I didn’t even know if you knew that old song by Jake Thackray. And while you sang, a crowd gathered; and when you had finished the crowd applauded rapturously. You looked over at me and shrugged your shoulders, at the same time as raising your arms and opening your palms, as if to say, “One night with me!” Then I awoke and tried to think of the words to “Oh, Sister Josephine”… and I couldn’t think of any!”

I hasten to add that the fellows from the fish and chip shop at Honiton didn’t invite me to sing with them, and I wouldn’t have known the words in any case. But Chris and I checked it out on YouTube and it is a very amusing song – perhaps even more so if you could dream of me, flanked by two men either side, singing it outside a pub!

Jake Thackray – Sister Josephine – YouTube

► 2:34► 2:34

www.youtube.com/watch?v=FE-BKrAAZGc‎

Dec 1, 2008 – Uploaded by Joe Stead

Sister Josephine, Jake Thackray 1981. #music. Oh, Sister

 

Lyrics to Sister Josephine
What do all these policemen mean
By coming to the convent in a grim limousine
After Sister Josephine?
While you, Sister Josephine,
You sit with your boots up on the altar screen.
You smoke one last cigar.
What a funny nun you are!The policemen say that Josephine’s a burglar in disguise,
Big bad Norman – fifteen years on the run.
The sisters disbelieve it: No, that can’t be Josephine;
Just think about her tenderness towards the younger nuns.Oh, Sister Josephine,
They’re searching the chapel where you’ve been seen,
The nooks and the crannies of the nun’s canteen
After Sister Josephine.
While you, Sister Josephine,
You sip one farewell Benedictine
Before your au revoir.
A right funny nun you are!

Admittedly her hands are big and hairy
And embellished with a curious tattoo.
Admittedly her voice is on the deep side,
And she seems to shave more often than the other sisters do.

Oh, Sister Josephine,
Founder of the convent pontoon team,
They’re looking through your bundles of rare magazines
After Sister Josephine.
While you, Sister Josephine,
You give a goodbye sniff of benzedrine
To the convent budgerigar.
A bloody funny nun you are!

No longer will her snores ring through the chapel during prayers,
Nor her lustful moanings fill the stilly night.
No more empty bottles of altar wine come clunking from her cell.
No longer will the cloister toilet seat stand upright.

Oh, Sister Josephine,
Slipping through their fingers like Vaseline,
Leaving them to clutch your empty crinoline
After Sister Josephine.
While you, Sister Josephine,
Sprinting through the suburbs when last seen
Dressed only in your wimple and your rosary.
A right funny nun you seem to be!

[ These are Sister Josephine Lyrics on http://www.lyricsmania.com/ ]

Giant hungry duck with a penchant for old birds lies in wait for unsuspecting shoppers at Trago Mills, Newton Abbot.

This joke, passed on to me by my brother Robert, is perhaps his funniest submission yet. Or am I just in a jovial mood after Chris told me about his dream (next blog post)?

> A man is driving along a highway and sees a rabbit
> jump out across the middle of the road.
> He swerves to avoid hitting it, but unfortunately the
> rabbit jumps right in front of the car.
>
>
>
>
>
> The driver, a sensitive man as well as an animal
>
> lover, pulls over and gets out to see
> what has become of the rabbit.
> Much to his dismay, the rabbit is
>
> the Easter Bunny, and he is DEAD .
>
>
>
>
>
> The driver feels so awful that he begins to cry.
> A beautiful blonde woman driving down the highway
> sees a man crying on the side of the road
> and pulls over.
>
>
>
>
>
> She steps out of the car and asks the man
> what’s wrong.
>
>
>
>
>
> “I feel terrible,” ! he explains,
> “I accidentally hit the Easter Bunny with my car
>
>
> and KILLED HIM.”
>
>
>
>
>
> The blonde says,”Don’t worry.”
>
>
>
>
>
>
> She runs to her car and pulls out a spray can.
> She walks over to the limp, dead Easter Bunny,
> bends down, and sprays the contents onto him.
>
>
>
>
>
> The Easter Bunny jumps up, waves its paw at the
>
> two of them and hops off down the road.
>
>
>
>
>
> Ten feet away he stops, turns around and waves
>
> again, he hops down the road another 10 feet,
> turns and waves, hops another ten feet,
> turns and waves, and repeats this again and again
>
>
> and again and again, until he hops out of sight.
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> The man is astonished.
> He runs over to the woman and demands,
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> “What is in that can?
> What did you spray on the Easter Bunny ?”
>
>
>
>
>
> The woman turns the can around
> so that the man can read the label.
> It says..
>
>
>
>
>
> (Are you ready for this?)
> (You know you’re gonna be sorry)
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> (Last chance)
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> (OK, here it is)
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> It says,
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> “Hair Spray
> Restores life to dead hair,
> and adds permanent wave.”

Admittedly, after a couple of hours at the computer my eyes were perhaps a little email weary and “blogged out”.  Later, when I returned to my blogsite to moderate a follower’s reply, my mind was momentarily boggled as I read, “1 bugger likes this”!

There was an old woman

There was a young

There was a middle-aged

There was just a woman who swallowed a fly,

I’ll tell you why she swallowed a fly,

She’ll not die.

You see that woman, she was a bike rider,

She rode down a bridle path with hedges beside her,

And in the hedges were blossoms and flies,

They were in the air and in the skies,

Horrid flies.

The woman thought she was entirely prepared,

Full of care, sun-glasses she did weared,

But even she, such a seasoned rider,

Fell prey to the beasts in the hedges beside her,

Yet it wasn’t the flies to hit her eyes,

I’ll tell you why she swallowed the fly,

Not her demise.

The woman got caught on her way coming back,

Imagine that! not going but back,

Though she was prepared with glasses she weared,

An experienced rider with hedges beside her,

Open-mouthed, the woman gasped her way up the hill,

The  fly went straight in and he’s there still,

But at least it’s not a goat (nor a cow or a horse, of course) got stuck in her throat,

And it won’t kill…

We met Charlie this morning while we were out on our bikes. He’s two years old and coincidentally, at seven stone two pounds, weighs nearly the same as me. Isn’t he just gorgeous?