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 – (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 – (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!”

TRAFFIC CALMING MEASURES

 

The highways department have decided

In a review of speed management

To replace the current

Traffic calming measures

No more speed bumps

Or chicanes

Flashing road signs or traffic cameras

No bollards or over painted road surfaces

A newer cheaper alternative has been found

To promote road safety

So, the highways dept have decided

Just to stop repairing potholes

Because they really slow drivers down

LIFE’S HIGHWAY # 3

 

It seems that no matter which road I travel

As soon as I turn onto it the road works begin

But it’s not the road works themselves I mind so much

It’s that they’re never filling the bloody Potholes in

LIFE’S HIGHWAY # 2

 

It seems that no matter which road I travel

As soon as I turn onto it the road works begin

They always get there before me with one exception  

There are never any problems on the road to ruin

LIFE’S HIGHWAY # 1

 

No matter which road I decide to travel along

Road works have got there before me it seems

I think it’s part of a new government initiative

“The dig up the roads to cause congestion scheme”

ROAD HOGS

 

Some drivers are so selfish

And some are arrogant with it

It seems that when they buy a car

They think the road comes with it

ROAD RAGE # 2

 

I hate driving

I hate what it does to me

I strive to be better

And behave courteously

 

But the second

The car door slams

I feel myself change

Into a different man

 

I lose my communication skills

Speaking in gestures

Or coded messages on the horn

That don’t relieve the pressure

 

Driving makes me intolerant

Impatient and aggressive

It makes me angry

Selfish and abusive

 

I hate driving

I hate what it does to me

It fills me with rage

For everything I see

WHAT CAN I GIVE UP?

 

For lent you have to give up

Something that you enjoy

Well, that gave me a lot more choices

When I was but a boy

Now it’s not quite so easy

I don’t enjoy too much at my age

So, I will have to give up being cantankerous

Or just give up road rage