For Rosa.
When Clive James wrote a few months ago of being ‘stuck with the embarrassment of still being alive’, it struck a particular chord with me – as a number of people thought it might, judging by the number of e-mails I received giving me a link to the piece.
As it happens, I am just coming up, next week, to a year past the day when I was told that the cancer had returned, for the third time; this time to both lungs. It was the first time the term ‘Terminal’ had been used, and I admit defeat trying to put into words how heavily that word hangs in the air.
It is not that ‘terminal’ implies death – we all know we will die. Perhaps ‘Terminus’ might be more appropriate, for that date marks the day on which, like Number Eleven buses, Doctors reverse back into their garage and remind you to take all your luggage with you…from then on, they avert their gaze if you ask questions, shuffle their notes, and invite you to continue your journey on foot – alone. Unless they can see value in you as a guinea pig for new drugs…
People react differently. Some like the Macmillan adverts, fall backwards, flailing arms, unable to cope without ‘support’. Personally, when the Palliative Care team as they are now known, arrived, I mentally stood on the nearest chair and screamed for someone to catch and evict them…I was wrong. Now that I need their help, I realise just how fantastic they are. Totally different to other Doctors. Not concerned with whether you might, in time, become addicted to some drug or other – if it works, if it helps, it’s yours. Carpe Diem might well be their dictum.
The trouble with Carpe Diem, or the usual mantra of ‘live every day as though it is your last’ is that, as Clive has discovered, if you know that ‘today’ is to be your last then splurging your last 100 quid on a bottle of vintage Champagne is a damn good idea. If you can’t be sure, then using the 100 quid to pay the gas bill, with winter chills approaching, might be a better idea…
The other problem with that ‘terminal’ diagnosis is that it instantly puts a bloody great wall between you and the rest of the human race – apart from the select few that, like you, live on in the terminal village. ‘Other’ people will cheerfully tell you that ‘you look well’, or even ‘I’m sure you’ll be better soon’. We are, quite literally, the village of the damned. Lepers in the land of hope. The only truly honest conversations we ever have are with the other inmates.
Rosa was another inmate.
The normal reticence towards revealing anything about other patients was cautiously abandoned when Rosa was diagnosed, a year after me. The six people they had gathered from across France, all diagnosed with the same rare cancer, Leiomyosarcoma, were to be joined by a seventh. Not only that, but this patient had also, like myself, managed to contract Leiomyosarcoma of the womb, without having a womb! Well, I said, she was self evidently female! Not only female, but turned out to be English as well! They contacted both of us to ask if we would like to be in touch with each other – we would.
Rosa blew my mind the first time she wrote to me. I had just penned an article on Coronation Street and the picture she sent me was the one here – taken outside the Rover’s Return when she, a professional magician, had been part of the ‘entertainment’ to celebrate their 50th anniversary. The coincidences were starting to pile up – and we became firm friends. We didn’t meet that often, lived hundreds of miles apart, but the e-mails flew backwards and forward.
She was funny, and witty, and most of all, gritty. So unlike, I have to say, our fellow French patients, who, to put it politely, made the most of being ill. That didn’t stop Rosa from berating me. Looking back over our e-mails today, I see I was taken to task for not following her to Niort to a holistic healer who ‘was wonderful’; soon I was in trouble for not living on pulverised wheatgrass and raw quail’s eggs. I was bombarded with adverts for juicers – when Rosa came to stay with us, Mr G could barely lift her case – packed with industrial juicer and kilograms of organic carrots.
Then she was going off to China to have her tongue painted green (some miracle cure that ‘the Australians swear by’ – that never happened) but at the first sign of the dreaded lung mets, she was fund raising from generous family and friends, of whom she had many, to finance two trips to Dresden to a specialist clinic. She was horrified that I didn’t follow suit when I too developed lung mets. Finally, come last Christmas, she discovered cannabis oil – the wonder cure. £3,000 every month for some special medical variety. She never did convince me to follow suit. She was stoned out of her mind for the first couple of weeks, till she learned that she was supposed to take par anus…we laughed ourselves silly over that.
The last time we spoke, it was to tell her that I was going on the Lord Nelson, my sailing week from Hell. When I returned, there was no answer to her phone. I thought maybe she was taking her young son back to his Father in France. Sadly no. She died on September 11th. The bright spark that was Rosa is no more.
Over the past four years, four of the original six of us have died. The fifth I know not. Rosa and I represented the success stories. Do I feel embarrassed to still be here? You bet; and guilty too. I don’t have a young son. More than that – it feels incredibly lonely. I’ve never given in to self-pity before, but yesterday the tears flowed. For myself, as much as Rosa, I’m ashamed to admit. It was planting bulbs that brought it on. Will I see them come up? I don’t know.
There’s no one else who understands that invisible wall between you and people who innocently say things like ‘I might be able to do it next month’, or ‘perhaps after Christmas’. Terminal means that you can never plan anything in advance ever again. It’s a weird limbo land.
This probably isn’t the post you were expecting. I should have been covering Yentob and Batman answering questions, or maybe Graham Ovenden’s art collection being destroyed – but funnily enough, I don’t care about either event enough…
Give me your best jokes, a few puns; remind me what great fun this blog can be. Ms Raccoon is feeling very sorry for herself. She needs cheering up (so don’t, for God’s sake, mention #CSA!).
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October 15, 2015 at 9:13 am -
So sorry to hear this.
Cheer yourself up with details of the Camilla n’ Alan Show later on today…
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October 15, 2015 at 9:17 am -
My grandad told me this riddle when I was about 5 or 6 and it took years before I understood it;
Question – Why is a moth flying round a candle like a gate?
Answer – Because if it keeps on it singes it’s wings.
Hope you like it, best wishes Anna.
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October 15, 2015 at 9:44 am -
And with a quick ‘abracadabra’, the landlady once more serves up another magical cocktail of humour, pathos and generally raw emotion for the faithful punters. Maybe, in respect, and to mark her character, it might be called The FunDeRosa
Prayers go with you, Anna
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October 15, 2015 at 9:47 am -
“£3,000 every month for some special medical variety”
It would have been about £30 a month for some special variety from a gentleman at the local pub.
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October 15, 2015 at 9:53 am -
Yes, but that’s because it’s been pre-used when being brought into the country.
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October 15, 2015 at 3:34 pm -
Assuming it was the fabled ‘Phoenix Tears’ then the cost wasn’t because of the variety of cannabis used but the process of making it which I believe involves seeping of large quantities of leaf then slowly distilling then further alchemy to get the final Phoenix Tears oil. I looked into it when I was told that I had an ‘an ill defined density’ in my lungs : http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-e4h_x3wx7-0/T3SoCwIoEMI/AAAAAAAAAAo/80gOb3HpIjY/s1600/Deathblog1.gif
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October 15, 2015 at 9:54 am -
I think I would also have got on very well with Rosa. Having only ever used alternative therapy, and have friends who also use it for cancer. Looking through all the alternatives, I would have told Rosa about Turmeric, with black pepper, Vitamin D, and recently aspirin. Large bags of turmeric are only about £2 in the world food sections of supermarkets. My friend Zelda puts some rapeseed oil in a frying pan, then turmeric, and black pepper. She fries a slice of bread in this. Heat and oil, and black pepper work together. She takes Laberts Turmeric as well sometimes but that is more expensive. Very sad to hear about Rosa, but I still think we would have loved going to health food markets together, and sharing information.
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October 15, 2015 at 9:57 am -
You do know she specialised in disappearing acts?
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October 15, 2015 at 9:58 am -
Yes, I forgot to add that Rosa also tried to put Tumeric in everything we ate when she stayed with us – she was certainly on the Tumeric kick!
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October 15, 2015 at 4:18 pm -
Many years ago, in Germany, a friend of mine, younger than me, was dying from one of the nastier forms of Leukemia (although I’m told there are no ‘take 2 paracetamol’ varieties of blood cancer) . He presented at his GP with constipation so bad that it was almost time for surgical action on impaction. Not, as one might reasonably suppose, due to opiate based painkillers. This was in the pre-internet era and some female member of his rather large family had supplied him with some Frau’s Realm/ Fräulein’s Weekly articles about how Bananas Cure Cancer!.
His GP, so appropriately named Dr.Fell (cos he was a right CWord IMO) , sat my mate down and explained that if bananas or another foodstuff/plant/herb etc could CURE CANCER then it would be front page news on every newspaper in the world. I’ve always remembered my poor old mate with his banana-impaction everytime I hear about some new ‘alternative’ cure for some disease.
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October 15, 2015 at 10:06 am -
Old but Golden ,A man goes to the doctor. “Doctor” he says, “I can’t stop humming ‘Green Green Grass of Home’ What’s wrong with me?”
“Easy” says the doctor. “You got Tom Jones syndrome.”
“Is that rare, doctor?”
“Well, it’s not unusual!”Boom, boom!
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October 15, 2015 at 10:08 am -
‘ More than that – it feels incredibly lonely. I’ve never given in to self-pity before, but yesterday the tears flowed. For myself, as much as Rosa, I’m ashamed to admit. It was planting bulbs that brought it on. Will I see them come up? I don’t know.’
This is the terrible truth about mourning. It’s us who care. Because the dead do not exist.
Cheer up Anna! You’ll live forever! x -
October 15, 2015 at 10:14 am -
There’s a bunch of doctors gathered together at a doctor’s convention one night. A male doctor notices a female doctor from across the room. The female doctor notices also and the next thing you know, they’re sitting next to each other by the end of dinner.
After dinner, the male asks the woman if she wants to go up to his hotel room.
”Sure,” the woman says. ”Let me go wash my hands first.”
After she washes her hands, they have sex. After they are finished, she washes her hands again.
This is really starting to annoy the male doctor so he says, ”You know, you must be a surgeon, because you keep washing your hands.”
Angry at this remark, the woman says, ”Well, you must be an anasthesiologist, because I didn’t feel a thing!”
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October 15, 2015 at 10:41 am -
Actually I am a pathologist and I am quite used to dealing with cold inert bodies.
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October 15, 2015 at 10:55 am -
“How interesting!” she says. “I’m really a psychiatrist, specialising in paraphilias. Lie down here, and feel free to tell me more…”
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October 15, 2015 at 10:14 am -
Sorry to hear you’re feeling down. One day a genie went up to a man on bat and told him, “Bring me three pieces of string from the hold and I will give you a million pounds, the lifelong devotion of the most beautiful girl in the world and three further wishes, however outrageous. The only condition is that you have to ask the three first three pieces of string to come with you and they mustn’t object. If they object, I won’t give you anything.
So the sailor went down to the hold and saw a piece of string lying on a table. “Piece of string!” he said. “Will you come with me as payment for the genie?” The piece of string just lay there and said nothing, so he picked it up and took it with him.
Then he saw another piece of string lying on a shelf and called out, “Piece of string, will you come with me as payment for the genie?” Again the piece of string just lay there and said and did nothing, so he picked that one up as well.
Finally, he saw another peice of string, a rather tatty piece of string that was coming unravelled at the ends, tied round the back of a chair in a clove hitch. “Piece of string!” cried the sailor, “Will you come with me to pay the genie, so that I can have a million pounds, a beautiful girlfriend and three wishes?” To which the piece of string replied –
“I’m a frayed knot!” -
October 15, 2015 at 10:21 am -
Don’t know if this will amuse or not-and tbh after reading today’s post I don’t feel particularly jocular- bit of a social faux pas on your part to remind us all of our own mortalities.
Age 17 or so I was at party. A ‘bring a bottle’ Surbiton party that my successful executive aunt ‘dragged’ me to (‘dragged’ as in she said ‘Dwarf there will be free booze and drugs’). I ended up, as far as I can recall, french kissing avec beaucoup de frottage with a very good looking OLD OLD woman of 37 who very clearly WANTED my god like body.
We didn’t however end up in bed, to my deep disappointment, because she was looking for a “serious longterm committed relationship” and she felt i just wanted a one night stand. Fair enough…except she had cancer and , according to her doctors, about 3 months to live.
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October 15, 2015 at 10:23 am -
Why did the Siamese twins move to England? So the other one could drive!
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October 15, 2015 at 10:26 am -
“She was stoned out of her mind for the first couple of weeks, till she learned that she was supposed to take par anus…we laughed ourselves silly over that.”
You weren’t the only ones. Thank you, that made this old codger laugh out loud too.
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October 15, 2015 at 2:46 pm -
If you laughed at the suppository joke, then you may be amused by this:
http://www.anus.com/etc/anal-fissure-bob/
On the other hand, you may like the story of the man prescribed suppositories, and told to ‘deal with them in the ordinary way’. A week later he was back at the surgery.
‘Eee Doctor,’ he said, ‘them pills wus bloody difficult to swaller. And what’s more, for all the bloody good they did, I might just as well ave stuffed em up me arse!’
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October 15, 2015 at 10:35 am -
When I was 14, I had a huge crush on a 16 year old grammar school girl. One day on the bus home she and her friend got chatting with me, and she told me this old joke;
2 nuns are sitting in a bath. First one says “where’s the soap?”. The other replies “yes it does rather”.
I didn’t get it. After several weeks the penny finally dropped – talk about naive.
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October 15, 2015 at 10:46 am -
It was two nuns reading in their shared bed when the electricity failed and they were left in darkness.
“Where’s the candle” said one.
Same punch line.
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October 15, 2015 at 10:35 am -
Dear Anna,
I sit here and out of my window I see a beautiful Scottish morning. The sun is warming the hard frost producing a fine mist which hangs in the motionless, browning, leaves of trees. Season of mists, etc. Not just browning – all shades of green, yellow and brown. The next strong wind will have them all down. Maybe the few apples still clinging to our tree will be ready to eat. Mmm – apple n bramble crumble.
It is good to be alive, and today is magical.
Cats have been out for their early morning investigation of strange smells, been fed and are now flopping about in their favourite resting places, in the relative warmth of our home. The heating is not on yet.
From the above you can probably guess that I am retired.
For quite a while now I have been following your blog. I am amazed that you have gathered such a talented bunch. Petunia, Gildas , yourself and the occasional others are consistently good, interesting, thought provoking and humorous. And your regular comment posters are the same.
You all make life a little better for an unknown number of people. Sometimes you make it a lot better for a few people.
So always remember that, although you may not have a son, you have a host of adopted brothers and sisters, nephews and nieces, out here in the interweb. To each of them you and your fellow conspirators have been like the sunshine.
You’ll never walk alone.
PS Just for old time’s sake could you use your old Raccoon Arms header? Pretty please.
With much affection,
Doonhamer. -
October 15, 2015 at 10:37 am -
What you say, Anna, of Rosa’s mistaken application of the medicinal cannabis reminds me of some correspondence in the letters pages of the more serious newspapers a few years ago on the subject of school fees.
One fellow allowed as how he’d received a note from the headmaster of his son’s school regretting that, from the start of the new year, the fees would be rising to £n,000 per anum. “I wrote back,” continued the correspondent, “thanking the headmaster but saying that I preferred to pay through the nose, as usual.”
xxx
ΠΞ
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October 15, 2015 at 10:38 am -
One short crap joke –
Two tigers walking down the street. One turns to the other and says – ‘Bit quiet today, isn’t it.’
Lovely post.-
October 15, 2015 at 10:45 am -
Nice one
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October 15, 2015 at 10:39 am -
Two ugly young ladies from Fordham
Went out for a walk till it bored ’em
And on the way back
A sex-maniac
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October 15, 2015 at 10:43 am -
Did you hear about the dyslexic, agnostic, insomniac who lies awake all night wondering if there really is a Dog … ?
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October 15, 2015 at 12:02 pm -
Then there was the dyslexic pimp who bought a warehouse.
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October 15, 2015 at 12:10 pm -
And there was the dyslexic devil worshiper who sold his soul to Santa.
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October 15, 2015 at 12:25 pm -
Dyslexics of the World Untie!
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October 15, 2015 at 2:24 pm -
Youngest dyslexic and somewhat intellectually challenged Son of The Dwarf once rang me to tell me his fiancee had been diagnosed with Meningitis. He couldn’t understand why Daddy Dwarf was sooo panicked by this news (ie ‘do I need to drive you up to the hospital and for fucks sake keep her away from the baby’). The poor girl had infact gotten Laryngitis ….almost the same thing really….
This was the same dyslexic son who texted me to tell me he was driving over to see Granddad Dwarf in Birmingham. I hadn’t been aware that my Dad had moved there from Banham Norfolk.
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October 15, 2015 at 10:46 am -
Lovely, Boss. Thinking of you and Mr G. I would have liked Rosa too. x
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October 15, 2015 at 10:53 am -
My mean aunt took me to a really cheap zoo.
When we went in .we saw that it only had one animal, a poor dog pacing up and down its cage.
It was a Shih TzuI’ ll get my coat.
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October 15, 2015 at 10:55 am -
Keep on baffling medical science, Mme. I’m told the carparking fees at my local hospital displayed a distinct dip when I gained a 3 month respite. You will see those bulbs blossom.
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October 15, 2015 at 11:04 am -
Doctor, those pills you gave me had no effect. I am still constipated. I swallowed one every morning with my cup of tea even though the size made them hard to swallow. Those subostories were useless. For all the good they did I might as well have stuck them up my arse.
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October 15, 2015 at 11:12 am -
‘Subo’ stories and suppositaries! LOL
If that were deliberate, or even merely a Freudian slip, as opposed to an Autocorrect hiccup, it’s brilliant….
http://starcrush.com/susan-boyle-hashtag/
And, FWIW, it was probably the sharpest piece of free advertising ever
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October 15, 2015 at 11:15 am -
She probably would have been putting this in the tea…
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October 15, 2015 at 11:29 am -
The lady heard a knock at the door and she shuffled off to answer it. Her glasses would be useful, but as she wasn’t wearing them, finding them would take a while. She opened the door, a tall dark blurry figure with a scythe stood on the door step. Odd, she thought, George hadn’t said anything about getting someone to mow the lawn and the grass hadn’t seemed that long the last time she looked. ‘Have you got the right house?’ she asked.
‘I HAVE NOW, I HAD QUITE A BIT OF TROUBLE FINDING IT.’ said the black figure. The lady looked at the scythe again. ‘Wouldn’t a lawn mower be more useful?’ She asked. ‘WHAT! IT’S TRADITIONAL’ The figure seemed a little taken aback by the question. Death was beginning to think that this would be one of those days. ‘IT IS TIME FOR THE GREAT ADVENTURE’ Death spoke, trying to get the conversation back on track. ‘Oh no! I’ve just been on one of those and I’m not going on another.’ The lady sounded very definite about this. ‘WHAT!’ Death was quite sure that death was not something you tried and decided not to like. With a soft pop a large book appeared in the air, the heavy pages riffled and settled on an entry that was filled with dense text. There was large red dot under the text. DEATH scanned the entry. ‘NO, YOU ARE DEFINATELY STILL IN THE LAND OF THE LIVING AND YOU HAVE NOT LEFT IT..YET.’ The lady squinted up at the figure, the black robe, the scythe, the rather pale face. She smiled, ‘You are the wrong Death.’ ‘WHAT! I AM DEATH’ Said Death, realising that capitalising everything made it difficult to emphasise a particular work. But he did his best to put an extra emphasis on DEATH. ‘The Death of Raccoons is one one who must call for me.’ she explained and though she didn’t speak in capitals, she sounded very definite. Death sighed, it was indeed one of those days. And then he looked at her as she truly was. Not the small rather scruffy little woman but the towering raccoon, who peered back at him with bright, intelligent and loving eyes. ‘AH, THE DEATH OF RACCOONS IT SHALL BE.’ A pen appeared in the air and added a line at the bottom of the long block of text. The red dot was overwritten. DEATH felt a sense of relief, she was now someone else’s problem. He nodded to the lady and then vanished along with the book and pen. The lady closed the door, thought for a moment and then shuffled off to find her glasses.-
October 15, 2015 at 11:57 am -
Not the small rather scruffy little woman
There are many adjectives, not all of them nice, that might be used to describe The Landlady; ‘Scruffy’ isn’t one of them….neither is ‘small’.
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October 15, 2015 at 12:15 pm -
Be careful. One thing I’ve noticed in life is you have to very careful about describing the female of the species as ‘large’.
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October 15, 2015 at 11:39 am -
Two old nuns were sitting on a bench in the park when all of a sudden a naked man streaked past, right in front of them. One of the nuns had a stroke, but the other one wasn’t quite quick enough!
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October 15, 2015 at 11:45 am -
A small Irishman was stood in the dock listening to the judge. “You have been accused of the crimes the clerk has read to you. Do you plead guilty or not guilty?”
The Irishman thought for a moment. “Ah sure, sorr, but before Oi make me moind up, would it be alroight if Oi heard the evidence first?”
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October 15, 2015 at 11:52 am -
An Irishman was taking an English test, and was asked to form a sentence using the word fascinate. He wrote “I’ve got a donkey jacket with ten buttons but I can only fascinate”.
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October 15, 2015 at 11:54 am -
How many surrealists does it take to change a lightbulb? A fish.
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October 15, 2015 at 11:59 am -
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October 15, 2015 at 12:00 pm -
How many REAL Men does it take to change a lightbulb?
-None. Real men aren’t afraid of the dark.
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October 15, 2015 at 3:05 pm -
Pure class!
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October 15, 2015 at 4:20 pm -
How many socialists does it take to change a lightbulb?
One, they just hold the bulb and let the world revolve around them.
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October 15, 2015 at 11:56 am -
A huge Scouser was sat at the bar, nursing a pint. A small, neatly dressed chap sidled up to him, and after a bit of hesitation, whispered quietly in his ear, “Fancy a blow-job, big boy?”
The Scouser went ballistic. Leaping from his stool with a huge bellow, he grabbed the neatly dressed chap by the scruff of the neck, marched him to the door and into the car-park, punched and kicked him, then finally threw him over the wall into the street. Then he returned to his pint.
The barman was a bit startled. “I’ve never seen you react like that before. What on earth did he say to you?”
“Errr – didn’t catch it all. Something about a job.”
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October 15, 2015 at 12:00 pm -
If we’re doing Irish jokes, have you heard of the Irish building site worker who fell to his death from the 10th floor after the foreman had been telling them about how he’d flown in Wellingtons during the war?
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October 15, 2015 at 12:02 pm -
And of course, by taking no parachute, he was also demonstrating how easy it is to jump to conclusions
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October 15, 2015 at 12:04 pm -
October 15, 2015 at 12:06 pm -
If you need a dose of humour, just sit back and think about all the idiocies in the world and you’ll soon be smiling again. Here’s a starter to get the laughter juices flowing: The Labour Party – a comedian’s gift that keeps on giving.
Sad to lose Rosa but, in practice, one of the 6 had to be first and one had to be last – there’s a whole bunch of folk out here hoping, nay expecting, that our Landlady will last to be the last, and not for a long time yet.
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October 15, 2015 at 3:05 pm -
For some whimsical amusement, here’s my favourite Labour Party Conference thought. We’re all familiar with the massed ranks of dignitaries in solemn song, but the man who wrote ‘The Red Flag’ was seriously miffed when the Party set it to the ponderous strain of ‘Tannenbaum’; he had written it to be sung to another tune altogether.
Have a listen and imagine the news footage that could have been….
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October 15, 2015 at 12:07 pm -
A man goes to see a psychiatrist. When asked to describe his symptoms the man says “Doctor, I keep thinking that I’m a dog.” “Hmm” says the psychiatrist “How long have you felt this way?” “Ever since I was a puppy.” Says the man. “I see.” says the shrink “I think you had better get on the couch and we will continue.” “Can’t do that.” Says the man “I’m not allowed on the couch!”
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October 15, 2015 at 12:11 pm -
And, for sheer bad taste, why is semen white and urine yellow? So an Irishman can tell if he’s coming or going…
I’ll get my coat, and run…
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October 15, 2015 at 12:14 pm -
There was a rumour – probably scurrilous – that the Irish government was building some lighthouses upside-down so that the submarines would know where they were.
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October 15, 2015 at 12:14 pm -
If you reply to this comment with your email address I will send you a link to (what I think is) a very funny and very private YouTube
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October 15, 2015 at 2:30 pm -
That is, simultaneously, both the best, and worst, joke in these comments
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October 15, 2015 at 12:17 pm -
It was Christmas Eve, and a poor tortoise had woken from hibernation. He walked up to the door of the first house he saw and rang the doorbell. A man answered, and the tortoise asked him “I’m a freezing cold tortoise who has woken from hibernation. As it’s Christmas Eve, can you let me into the warm?” But instead of letting him in, the man picked him up and drop kicked him all the way down the street.
It was Easter morning, and the tortoise walked up to the door of the same house and rang the doorbell. The same man answered, and the tortoise asked him “What was that for?”-
October 15, 2015 at 2:43 pm -
In a similar vein:
Bloke gets sent off by the wife to go to the market and buy a bag of snails for a romantic dinner . At the market he meets a girlfriend from 15 years previous. Don’t they get talking then go for a coffee and then a drink?
Writes itself but at 2AM the bloke wakes up in her hotel bedroom thinking ‘Oh my god, what have I done???!!”. He grabs his clothes, the bag of snails and rushes home. Just as he is coming up the garden path to his front door he trips and drops the bag of snails.
All the lights go on in his house and his wife rips open the front door and screams “WHERE THE F**K HAVE YOU BEEN?!”
Quick as a flash and showing supreme presence of mind the the adulterer looks at the snails and says wearily “just another couple of feet lads, just another few feet…”
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October 15, 2015 at 12:25 pm -
And on the subject of Genies granting three wishes………. Fred was granted the traditional 3 (the circumstance why don’t matter – it would just make the tale too long)
The catch however was that whatever Fred got, his lifelong and arch rival Jim would get exactly double. Still greed and excitement overcame Fred: 1st wish £1 million – Jim got £2 million
2nd wish 10 beautiful cultured, kind, but above all sexy women besotted by me – Jim got 20
Fred to Genie – “Before I make my third wish, can I ask a question” ” Yes” was the reply “Is it painful to have one testicle removed” -
October 15, 2015 at 12:28 pm -
At the risk of appearing callous and uncaring, there’s the other side to being given the “Terminal” thing.
My wife was given the “Terminal” thing, Type 4 brain tumour, whilst she was blubbing with the palliative care nurse, I followed the oncologist out the door and asked “What’s the prognosis, you know how long?”. He said “It’s hard to say, but ballpark figure of 9 to 18mths”.This is where the other thing comes in to it, you get yourself all prepared for the eventuality of it all, 9mths came and 18mths went.. Trips to both radio and chemo, 3 monthly visits for a scan and visit with the oncologist. The last few times it’s been “It appears to be growing, then it appears to have shrunk back”. Then there’s the “There appears to be another one, but the old one seems to have disappeared”. To cut a long story short, here we are 3 years and 7 months down the line, and she’s still here. Through all this time, you get to see the regular faces, and think to yourself “Fuck me, he hasn’t half gone done the rattle since last I saw him” and it’s the last you ever see of them. The wife isn’t cured, it will start up again and she isn’t right, but she is stable.
Now getting to the other side of it, it isn’t just the patient who has this death sentence hanging over them, my life is on hold also. So much for living life as if it’s your last, I’m sure that the people who come up with this crap (I don’t mean you Ms Raccoon obviously) have never actually lived with a long term terminal illness.
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October 15, 2015 at 12:30 pm -
Joke of the week from the lovely Imogen. Her jokes are always crap, but that’s part of the joke. A curious, English quirk of humour…
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October 15, 2015 at 2:29 pm -
Being asked to provide mood-lifting hilarity is like being asked to give a tourist directions – the mind immediately empties & sentences stubbornly refuse to form… I don’t know any jokes! Racking my brain HARD only brings up this story, which makes me smile as it is true:
Living in a spectacularly crap part of that multicultural melting pot – London – I would occasionally treat myself to a Chinese takeaway from over the road. On one occasion a wannabe bad-boy gangsta bustled in (and to the front of the queue…). His was the language of the street, a few pat phrases with a grunt and a ball-scratch, not best suited to eliciting information from the man fixated on the television over his shoulder (and whose own English vocabulary principally consisted of the numbers 1 to 93, or ‘won-ton soup’ to ‘chicken nugget with chips’).
Our hero was quite insistent and by gesticulation and, frankly, by intimidation, he had it understood by the native English-speakers such as myself – but most definitely NOT by the poor puzzled order-taker – that he needed his name translated into Chinese as he was on his way to the tattoo “parlour” a few doors further down the road: his fearsome moniker was to be indelibly inked upon his torso (in a language he did not understand).
The befuddled pad-scribbler (“You wan wice?!? You wan wice???”) eventually gave up & provided his interrogator with a scrap of paper containing Chinese characters, and to his credit our hero was genuinely grateful and thankful (although he neglected to buy anything!)… he lolloped off to be branded, almost certainly with the name of a popular Chinese dish and NOT with his own name.
I like to imagine him still, still ‘presenting’ ‘n’ demanding ‘respect’ – as hordes of little Chinese kids encircle him, pointing & laughing. “Yo, mister Crispy Fried Duck! You wan wice wi dat?!?”All the best, Anna.
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October 15, 2015 at 2:33 pm -
This trailer for a forthcoming version of “Pride and Prejudice” (sort of…) amused me. I hope the film is a sharp and funny as the promo…
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October 15, 2015 at 2:46 pm -
True story, this one.
Many years ago before Beeching struck, in the top left-hand corner of Wales there existed a short branchline railway terminating in the town of Bala (there had been a longer line, but somebody built a large dam over it). The denizens of Bala had their own service guaranteeing them a connection with the trains on what passed for a mainline in those parts at the imaginatively named Bala Junction, about two miles away. To operate this service, the railway authorities had allocated them their own coach, and their own rostered steam locomotive, which lived in it’s own little shed at Bala.
Some time in the late 1950s or early 1960s, the engine crew prepared their locomotive as usual for the first train service of the day, moved it out of it’s shed and backed it down onto the coach standing in the platform. They then, as was their usual wont, repaired to the pub across the road to wash the coal dust out of their throats. Conversation in the tap-room must have been especially good this particular day, because at the timetabled departure time, the Stationmaster had to despatch the under-porter to remind them of their duties; they arrived at the trot, the guard waved his flag, and they were off, making very good time to Bala Junction.
On arrival at the junction, they were slightly puzzled to see the signalman leaning out of his signalbox window laughing fit to burst. It was only at that point they realised that they’d forgotten to couple their engine to the coach, which was still standing in Bala station, with a full compliment of bemused pasengers and guard……
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October 15, 2015 at 2:53 pm -
Very sorry to hear this I remember the remarkable coincidences of you both having the same rare cancer and being English and both living in France. Having lost so many friends this year and having a much loved cousin in the same position as you I can’t make any jokes right now. Long may you thrive despite the doctors, it can be quite unpredictable and I think we are all date stamped anyway, just can’t see the date! Just as well maybe. Take care and stay as well as you can.
Carol X -
October 15, 2015 at 3:17 pm -
An elderly man is lying in a hospital bed and a youngish newly qualified nurse is taking his temperature. She asks “is there anything else I can do for you Mr. Jones?”. The old gent with the thermometer in his mouth mumbles something and a few minutes later the nurse returns with a bowl of hot water and a sponge. After she’s finnished she enquires “is that better now Mr. Jones?” He replies “delightful, but what I said was could you please wash my spectacles”.
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October 15, 2015 at 3:44 pm -
Another, rather younger, man is lying in his hospital bed, over which an attractive young nurse is bending….
“Give me a kiss, Nurse”
“No”
“Go on, give me a kiss”
“No”
“Please, just a little kiss”
“No – and I shouldn’t really be giving you this wank”.
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October 15, 2015 at 3:35 pm -
October 15, 2015 at 3:41 pm -
Sorry to hear the black dog is around today Mme Landlady. You have our support and best wishes from this side of the bar.
I often get low at this time of the year and find that if I either (a) take my dogs for a walk or ( b) go to the nearest apple tree, pick an apple and eat it straightaway, my spirits improve.
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October 15, 2015 at 3:45 pm -
October 15, 2015 at 4:22 pm -
There’s always the Morecambe & Wise favourite:
Two old men are sitting in the park on a sunny day and one says to the other, “It’s nice out, isn’t it?”
“Yes”, says the other, “But put it away, there’s an old lady coming.”I was watching some vaguely medical programme recently and the doctors were ‘cautiously optimistic’ that they would be able to prevent people dying from most cancers quite soon. But no-one asked what is (to me) the obvious question, “So what will they all die from?”
Your spirit will live forever and all the tangible results of your fierce intelligence – your humour, bravery, in-depth investigations and fascinating articles – will give succour and hope to 1000s for almost as long. God bless you
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