I’VE BEEN FEELING A LITTLE BIT MOODY

 

I’ve been feeling a little bit moody and

Run down lately, so I thought I should

Look up my symtoms and find the reason

It turns out I’m suffering from adulthood

VERTICALLY CHALLENGED FOLKS

 

You’ve really got to

Hand it to the short folks

That’s because they can’t

Reach it themselves

INTO A TATTOOIST’S YOU SLINK

 

Into a tattooist’s you slink

As you’re on the brink

However take a moment to think

Before you Ink

Uncanny Tales – (098) Indecent Proposal

 

The Dulcets are a collection of villages and hamlets comprising of Dulcet Meadow, Dulcet St Mary, Dulcet Green, and Dulcet-on-Brooke, to name but a few, and of course Dulcet-on-Willow which was a large sprawling village beside the gentle shallow River Willow, which ran unhurriedly from the Pepperstock Hills to the more vibrant River Brooke.

Ryan Lansbury was a long-time resident of the village, and he was popular with many of the other locals because Ryan was young, tall, dark, and handsome, physically fit, well-toned and had a reputation as a ladies’ man, which was very well warranted.

He was 28 years old, and his father owned half of the Dulcets, and he was grooming him to one day take over the reins of his modest real estate empire, unfortunately for his father Ryan had no interest in the business as he was primarily interested in crumpet in all its forms.

Obviously, he didn’t restrict his conquests to just the inhabitants of the Dulcets he also cast his net far and wide as he shagged everything in sight.

But his father controlled the purse strings, so he was often restricted to the villages, which he didn’t mind as he actually loved it, it was a beautiful place, it was quiet and the air was clean and the women were as attractive, friendly, and willing as any city girl, and there were more than enough to keep him entertained, both new conquests and frequently flyers. 

Among the local villagers, lonely widows, desperate singles, even more desperate divorcees, and the bored house frau’s he was manna from heaven, and he was very indiscriminate in spreading himself around, but he made an exception in the case of Goldie Vaghese.

She was neither a widow, a divorcee, a frequent flyer, or a local cougar, what she was, was the vicar’s daughter and she was only 17.

Goldie had been trying to get into Ryan’s bed since the moment she turned 16 but he had resisted her allure.

The reason for that was not that she wasn’t attractive, she was very, she was a petite blonde, with a beautiful face and tidy body.

Nor was it her age, he had bedded plenty of 17- and 18-year-olds in his time and would doubtless have a good many more.

His issue with her was the fact she was the vicar’s innocent daughter and he thought it would be a step too far, so he kept dodging her less than subtle advances.  

He managed to keep her at arm’s length for more than six months without too much difficulty, but she became bolder and bolder until one day when he had been for meal at the Pub in the village and walked over to his car and found Goldie sitting in the passenger seat.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I was just passing” she replied.

“You have to stop doing this” he said and got into the driver’s seat.

But when he got in the car, he noticed she was wearing a pale blue top but was completely naked from the waist down.

“Can we go now?” she asked and put her left foot up on the dashboard.

“For God’s sake Goldie cover yourself up”.

“Why, don’t you like what you see?”

“That’s not the problem” he said, “Someone will see”.

“Then take me somewhere else” Goldie said coyly.

“How many times do I have to say it, no” he said.

“Now cover yourself up and I’ll take you home”.

“I don’t want to go home” she replied “but you can “take me”“

“Stop!” he snapped.

“Why? What’s wrong with me?” she said angrily.

“You have absolutely no morals whatsoever and you shag anyone and everyone” she retorted “So why not me?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“You don’t need to get defensive; I know you’re shagging half the women in the Dulcets” she said matter of fact-Ly “and so does everyone else so don’t bother trying to deny it, I even know who a lot of them are,”

“I think someone has been spreading rumours” he said defensively.

“If they were only rumours, I wouldn’t be interested in letting you shag me” she said.

Ryan went to speak but Goldie stopped him by asking.

“So why not me?” she said angrily.

“You’re too young” he said.

“Rubbish I’m nearly 18 so it’s not illegal”.

“And I’m 28 so it may not be illegal but it’s certainly immoral” he pointed out.

“Why? It’s not as if I’m a virgin” she said, and he looked shocked.

“What? you thought because I’m a Vicars daughter that I was all virginal and pure?” she scoffed.

“Well yes” he said.

“Really? Well, I haven’t been a pure Christian maid since I was 13” she confessed.

“So now can we go somewhere and shag?” she asked and

Ryan replied by starting the engine.

Uncanny Tales – (089) Its Official, I’m An Old Man

 

I was sitting in my car, which was parked in a side road behind the church where I was waiting for my wife.

It was a “no through road” and its primary function was as an access road to the shops and its double yellow lines were designed to deter men from waiting for their wives but at six o’clock in the evening, we were there in numbers without fear of causing an obstruction.

It was a warm late afternoon/early evening in June and the bright sun beat down on the car and subsequently we were all sat with our windows down to benefit from the light breeze.

I was leant back in my seat, eyes closed against the sun, listening to the world cup chatter on the radio when I heard a car horn.

This was not an uncommon occurrence, there was always someone honking for something, I myself was no stranger to the use of the horn, so I didn’t open my eyes and continued to listen to the radio.

Then came a prolonged blast which did open my eyes and caused me to turn to see where it was coming from.

I had to crane my neck to see the source of the noise which was behind me and to the right.

A woman in a large salon car who was trying to exit a car park was waving her hand in an exaggerated gesture which I took to mean “can you move the car back”.

I arrived at this interpretation mainly because she shouted rather forcefully out of her open window.

“Move back, move back”.

Despite the fact I was not level with the entrance nor was I blocking it in anyway and had she got her positioning right she would have made the manoeuvre effortlessly,

I pointed out to her quite politely that she was only driving a saloon car and not a tank, but this fell on deaf ears, so she repeated her demand.

“Move back, move back”.

I acceded to her request and reversed back out of harm’s way but as she was making the turn she stopped and shouted to me through the passenger window.

I was expecting a thank you but instead she shouted in a voice somewhere between Caroline Langrishe and Margot Ledbetter.

“If I didn’t have my daughter in the car, I would have something to say to you, you silly old man”.

I was so taken aback by the superciliousness of her comment that I laughed.

This was not the response she was expecting which seemed to fluster her and she missed her gear.

“Are you not even a little bit embarrassed that you can’t manoeuvre yourself out of a car park”?

She eventually managed to find first gear and lurched forward but then found herself tight up behind the car that was parked in front of me before I moved.

I couldn’t resist the temptation and leant out of my window.

“Would you like me to ask him to move as well”?

She reversed back quickly then lurched forward again only to find she still couldn’t clear the parked car, so she threw it into reverse again and quickly shot forward.

To my shame the child in me applauded as did the driver of the car in front.

Then a jewelled hand appeared from the drivers’ window and extended a single digit and from the passenger side a smaller hand appeared and gave a thumbs up.

Then the brake lights came on as she violently braked sharply, at first, I thought she was going to engage us in some witty repartee or that she had noticed her daughters’ supportive gesture but no, it was just that she nearly ran down some poor unsuspecting pedestrian.

The driver of the other car and myself exchanged knowing looks and I chuckled to myself and was still chuckling when my wife arrived and got in the car.

Uncanny Tales – (088) On the Way to Maybury Hill

As a young man, H.G. Wells had spent an unhappy time living with an aunt in Horsell which was then close to Woking and is now part of the overall sprawl.

So, when he wrote his great science fiction novel, The War of the Worlds, he had the Martians land on Horsell common, in sight of where Wells had once lived.

This enabled him to have that area of Woking become the first to fall victim to the terrifying invaders weaponry.

In the novel the hero of the tale, having witnessed the first meteor fall to earth, was pursued by the merciless tripods from the common and along Maybury hill.

Were the invaders to land today they would have to negotiate a huge six-way roundabout, dissect a one-way system, a no left turn, a no right turn, two traffic light junctions, three pelican crossings and two quite appallingly designed mini roundabouts.

I think faced with the product of 21st century traffic management and in particular Woking Borough Councils ill-judged town planning, that the Martians would have given up and returned home long before they were exposed to the pathogenic bacteria that eventually saw them off.

The world saved by the ineptitude of local government, what Irony.

Uncanny Tales – (086) I Don’t Like Mondays

 

Journal week ending 23rd May 2008

 

In the words of the Boomtown Rats classic song title, I don’t like Mondays.

Now I know I’m not alone in that dislike and I hate Mondays on several levels, and I know I’m probably not alone in that either.

There are some Mondays I like more than others such as any Monday that falls during my holiday leave, providing I’m not at home, and Bank Holiday Mondays for example are on the whole quite painless and in a week which boasts a Bank Holiday Monday I don’t like Tuesdays, but I don’t think there is a song about that.

 

The reason that I dislike Mondays so much, apart from the obvious one’s, is that Mondays are our designated refuse collection day in other words it’s when the bins are emptied.

Now I am well aware that the collection of household waste is an essential part of life, and I certainly wouldn’t want the practise to stop after all I do pay handsomely for the privilege.

 

I should point out that I do have an issue with the manner and means of collections that have been imposed on us.

Which is this, although we do have bins emptied weekly, we do have to suffer fortnightly collection, so general rubbish is collected one week and recycling the next and so on.

If you have the same arrangement in your area, then you know what I mean and if you don’t then you will have firsthand experience soon enough.

 

However, my chief gripe about collection day stems from a need to get from A to B without hindrance.

In other words, being able to get about without having to wait an indeterminate period of time for the dust cart to reach a point whereby the immeasurable queue of cars can continue their short journey.

You may think me petty or prone to exaggeration or both, but this is a reoccurring problem.

It’s bad enough when it happens on a main thoroughfare but at least they only block on side of the road under those circumstances and the traffic can still flow albeit in a restricted form.

But when it happens on the access roads to a housing estate, they block the whole road and make no attempt to find a spot where cars might be able to pass.

 

Take this Monday for example I was on my way home having been to the shops in town and turned onto my estate to find a dust cart blocking the road.

The road had cars parked down one side with hardly any spaces to pull in so fearing a protracted wait on this particular stretch of road I did a u turn back out onto the main road and drove another mile to enter the estate from the opposite end.

As I did so my heart sank as I could see 100 yards ahead another dust cart blocking the only other access road to my destination.

I glanced in my rear-view mirror and saw two other cars that had made the same discovery as I had.

I drove on as far as I could, about thirty yards from the obstruction, and tucked into a gap between two parked cars and waited.

I looked down the road at the driverless vehicle with its busy orange flashing lights which are supposed to warn of some kind of activity apparently not in this case.

I turned on the radio and amused myself by listening to Ken Bruce’s “Pop Master” quiz on  Radio 2, shouting out the answers and berating the contestant when they got it wrong.

Five minutes passed and nothing changed apart from the additional cars taking positions in the available gaps behind me.

The second combatant took her turn on the quiz and just as they were about to choose their bonus subject, I saw activity ahead.

A man in protective clothing moved towards the truck and opened the door.

The protective clothing consisted of safety footwear so they can kick your bins without hurting themselves, a Hi-visibility yellow coat so we can see them not moving very fast and Gloves to stop them getting chapped hands in the winter,

He climbed into the cabin after a few moments the truck started to move slowly in my direction.

As it did so the driver started making exaggerated hand and arm movement for which I could give no explanation.

As he got closer to me, he became even more animated and then he leant out of his window.

Still unaware of what the problem was but realising he was looking at me I wound down my window,

“You’re in the way” he shouted and pointed beyond my car “I need to get to those bins”.

Now although I find collection day to be a huge inconvenience, I put up with it, I don’t really have a choice but for him to start having a go at me rather pissed me off.

“What do want me to do about?” I responded.

“Where exactly do you expect me to go?”

“You should have hung back further up the road” He shouted again.

I didn’t point out to him that if I had stopped further up the road one of the cars behind me would be parked in the space now occupied by me instead, I said.

“So, I should have to park half a mile up the road because you’re inconsiderate”.

“Inconsiderate” He bellowed “Inconsiderate you’re the inconsiderate one mate”.

I took a deep breath before saying “One of us is blocking the road and it isn’t me, should I draw you a picture or do you get it now”?

“You’re the one blocking the bloody bins” he retorted his face a rather unattractive purple which did not go well with his yellow coat. 

“God forbid you actually have to wheel the bins an extra six feet” I replied “Mate”.

At this point a woman stepped off the curb and walked over to truck and looking up at the funny purple man made some enquiry about collection times for the coming holiday weekend.

“For god’s sake don’t distract the dustman now we’ll be here all day” I shouted to her.

The driver bristled visibly at the mention of the word “dustman” and ignoring the woman he drove slowly off followed by seven cars and there disgruntled drivers.

Only then could I continue my journey and although I had missed the end of “Pop Master” I felt I had acquitted myself well and struck a blow for the common man, figuratively speaking of course as he was younger and fitter than me and more purple.

Uncanny Tales – (085) An Unsuitable Candidate

 

It was a beautiful June evening when Ian Livesey was sat by the river in the beer garden of the Mulberry Tree in the village of Brocklington, about six miles downstream of the River Deighton when Angie Faulkner, who carried a torch for him, joined him at the table. 

“Hi Ian” she said, “I’m looking for a date for the Summer Ball”.

“You’re leaving it late” he said, “I can’t believe you’re struggling to find someone”.

“I was hoping it would be you” she said and smiled.

“That’s a terrible idea” Ian retorted.

“Why is it?”

“I never take a date to the Ball, I always go Stag, for obvious reasons” he pointed out.

“But you wouldn’t need to pick up a woman if you took me as your date, and then you could have me” Angie said. “So be my date”.

“No”

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because I am not dating material” Ian replied.

“But you’re my kind of material” she pleaded “You’ve always been the one for me”.

“I am not a suitable candidate for you”.

“Your perfect to me” she said.

“I’m a womanizer Angie”, Ian said “I’m not the boyfriend type”.

“But I’d be really happy if you were my boyfriend and wouldn’t care about your infidelity as long as you never touched my sisters, or my mother.”

And then almost as an afterthought she added, “Or my Aunt Agnes.”

“Isn’t she the one with the moustache?” he asked, and she laughed.

“Yes, but she has great tits” she pointed out.

“Fair Comment” he agreed.

Her sisters were six years old so were far too young to be candidates for his lust, but he hadn’t considered her mother or moustache Pete for that matter, although her mum was still quite fit, so under the right circumstance he might.

He was just digesting what she had said when he caught sight of one of the barmaids, collecting glasses and at that precise moment she bent over to pick up an empty glass and he could see up her skirt to her thonged womanhood.

“All I would want is your undivided attention when we were together” she said and punched him.

“Sorry” he said.

“That’s ok, you can look at her nonny” she said, “as long as when you got an erection, you’d give it to me.”

“Well, I’ll give it to someone” Ian said.

“Why not me?” she said angrily “Why can’t I be a notch in your headboard?”

“Because you’re better than that, you can do better than that”.

“But I want you” she said urgently. “I love you”.

“You might be happy to put up with my peccadilloes in the beginning, but a time would come, probably sooner rather than later, when you wouldn’t be” he said, “And then love will turn to hate”.

“But…” she began.

“I would just make you unhappy” Ian Said

“Save your love for someone who will cherish it, who will cherish you”.

Uncanny Tales – (084) Code Named Epping

 

I had occasioned this week to visit a close friend in hospital and while there I ran into another friend, Sheila who I hadn’t seen for about a year, who is a nurse.

She was on her way to get a coffee and as I had finished my visit and was on my way home, she suggested that I joined her so we could catch up.

So, half an hour and two cups of coffee later and having filled in the blanks of the previous twelve months we were joined by Karen, another nurse.

As we sat their chatting over another cup of coffee I was intrigued as to why Karen kept referring to a third party as “Epping” for example “Epping did this” or “Epping did that”.

Finally, my curiosity got the better of me and I asked who Epping was and they both laughed, Karen almost hysterically, then Sheila explained that “Epping” was what another nursing colleague called Su Monks.

I thought for a moment what the reason for calling her Epping might be, aware as I was that medical staff were famous for putting codes on patient notes such as NAB which translates to “needs a bath” or PITA “pain in the arse” I tried to decode Epping, the girls looked at me in amusement as I struggled, I even tried to find a link between Epping and the girls name but try as I may I could not translate Epping into anything so I had to ask.

“Alright I give in, what does Epping mean”?

They both laughed again and then Sheila said, “We call her Epping because she’s just past Barking.”

Uncanny Tales – (082) Rejecting the Nanny State

 

The town of Shallowfield sat on the southern edge of the Finchbottom Vale and it had always relied largely upon forestry and agriculture for its prosperity, sitting as it was sandwiched between fertile farmland and the Dancingdean Forest.

This was reflected in Addison’s Cafe where Forester Paul Dyer was having breakfast with his farm labourer girlfriend Ellie Dyke.

Paul had just started tucking into his full English breakfast when Ellie finished her second bowl of muesli.

She had her phone on the table in front of her propped up against the flower vase and she was reading an article.

“Apparently today is “Eat What You Want Day”” she said.

“That’s good, because that’s just what I’m doing” he retorted.

“Yes, but you do that every day” Ellie pointed out.

“Quite right” he agreed.

“Shouldn’t everyone’s day be like that?”

“I don’t think it’s about prohibition” she said.

“It’s more about awareness.”

“Well, I’m aware it’s about the Nanny state” he retorted.

“I think it’s more about getting people to think about their health and wellbeing” Ellie said in her best patronizing tone as she patted his hand.

“Well, my health and wellbeing would be served by not trying to make me feel guilty about food all the sodding time?” he replied and laughed out loud.

“I’ll get you some more toast, shall I?”

“Yes please” he replied with a grin.

Uncanny Tales – (081) Anger Management

 

Wayne Evans was up before the Beak at the Magistrates Court in the southern town of Abbottsford facing public order charges following a road rage incident while his brother Matt waited outside.

“How did you get on?” Matt asked when his brother left the court building and walked down the steps.

“A £400 fine” he replied, “and the judge said I need to go on a bloody anger management course”.

“Well, that’s not so bad then” Matt replied.

“Anger bloody management! I ask you” he ranted.

“What you need is a good woman in your life” Matt suggested.

“As a calming influence”

“Are you mad?” Wayne exploded.

“It’s having a bloody woman in my life that got me so angry in the first place.”

Uncanny Tales – (080) Traffic Exclamation

 

On the west side of Downshire is Eastchapel. a quiet medieval village living in the shadow of its noisy neighbour, the Industrial powerhouse of Northchapel and Lily Rayner was driving his six-year-old daughter Kasia to School, which was on the other side of the village, when the traffic slowed to a crawl because of a cyclist before it came to a complete standstill.

“I think we’re going to be late sweetie” she said and Kasia tutted audibly and retorted.

“Bloody traffic”

“Kasia, has Uncle Ray been dropping you at school?”

“Yes mummy” she replied and giggled.

Uncanny Tales – (079) Calming Rage

 

On the west side of Downshire is Eastchapel. a quiet medieval village living in the shadow of its noisy neighbour, the Industrial powerhouse of Northchapel and William Rayner was driving his fourteen-year-old son Liam to School, which was on the other side of the village, when the traffic slowed to a crawl because of a cyclist so he turned the radio on which was tuned to Classic FM.

“Why do you listen to classical music dad when you’re driving?”

“Because it helps me with the stress of driving, it keeps me calm” he replied as he wound the window down.

“Get out of the fucking road you Lycra clad twat!”

ARE YOU WEARING A CONFUSED EXPRESSION?

 

Are you wearing a confused expression?

Why is it beyond you comprehension?

That “Yes” and “No” are quite acceptable

Answers to almost every question

WOKE

 

In these days of political correctness

Woke does little than cause more stress

Their cure for discrimination seems to be

To still discriminate but to do it positively

And in order to enable freedom of expression

It appears that censorship is the solution

THE GREATEST LIES OF LIFE

 

No, your bum doesn’t look big in that

Money isn't everything

How funny, I was just going to call you

I'm only going to put it in a little way

I've never done this before

They’ll ride up with wear

The cheque's in the post

Anticipation is half the fun

This will hurt me more than it hurts you

I promise I won't finish in you

This won't hurt, I promise

No, I can’t see the join

Uh yes, it’s very slimming

IT WAS PITIFUL TO SEE # 1

 

It was pitiful to see, He was totally inept

Basic problems he was struggling to deal

He’d struggle to pour water from a boot

With the instructions printed on the heel

IT WAS PITIFUL TO SEE # 2

 

It was pitiful to see

He was in a total muddle

He would have been

Out of his depth in a puddle

FORTUNATELY YOU HAVE TWO HANDS

 

Fortunately, you have two hands

And hopefully you’ll discover,

One is for helping yourself,

And one is for helping others

ARE YOU WEARING ADULT CLOTHES?

Are you wearing adult clothes?

Growing up is such a crime

I know you are only young once,

But you can be immature for a lifetime