hardtack

There was something in the way he moved that carving knife.

Ok then, possibly the only other joke I can remember… Sir Henry Rawlinson is a wealthy businessman courtesy of an inheritance, who has several large operations that he very occasionally deigns to visit, but usually opting to work from the comfort of his sprawling mansion just outside Oxford. (none of this has much to do with the joke, I’m just padding it out with useless information…and you ain’t seen nothing yet!). Well, on this particular day Sir Henry decided to visit his sock emporium located on Castle Street in the city of Oxford. Now, when Sir Henry visits any of his business premises, he like to start the day with a bubble bath, meticulously prepared by his faithful old retainer, Waddle. Sir Henry called out, his booming voice echoing down the corridors, loud enough to wake the ghosts of centuries past. “Waddle!!”, he cries, “Waddle, I’ll be visiting my sock emporium today, so could you please prepare my bath to the usual 74°F (we ARE in Britain, after all), and with a three and three quarter inch layer of jasmine scented foam on top.”. As Sir Henry was finishing up his sentence, Waddle arrived, puffing from the effort (he’d been busy preparing Sir Henry’s breakfast at the other end of the mansion), and greeted Sir Henry with an enthusiastic, “Of course sir…as you wish sir!”. Today was no ordinary day, as it was Waddle’s birthday; no one really seemed to know how old he was, Waddle himself had lost track…but that is of no consequence to this tale. Sir Henry held a fondness for Waddle, of the kind that a veteran of the Boer War might hold for his old hunting dog, that is on its last legs. “Happy birthday old chap!” he said, in as gentle a voice as he could muster, “After you have finished preparing my bath and breakfast, as a tribute to your passing years, I am awarding you the rest of the morning off!”. And so Waddle ran the bath, diligently checking the temperature of the water to ensure that it didn’t exceed the stipulated 74°F, and using a squeegee, levelled the foam on top to the desired depth of three and three quarter inches. He then announced to Sir Henry, “You bath is ready sir, prepared precisely to your specifications, I shall now return to the kitchen and finish preparing your breakfast after which I shall take my leave.” Sir Henry thanked Waddle and entered the vast bathroom, removing his scarlett red satin dressing gown and paisley patterned pyjamas (souvenirs from his days with the British Raj). As he entered the bath and commenced lowering himself into the temperature perfect water, his corpulent buttocks parting the jasmine scented bubbles, Sir Henry had a sudden urge to pass a copious amount of wind, and as his buttocks came in contact with the water, he let fly with the most enormous fart, a fart that continued as he submerged its source to the point where it came in contact with the bottom of the bath. Maybe half a minute had passed when all of a sudden, Waddle burst into the bathroom, a hot-water bottle clasped tightly in his hand, breathing heavily from the effort. Sir Henry, startled by this sudden, unexpected intrusion, blurted out, “Waddle! What in god’s name are you doing, bursting in here uninvited, with a hot-water bottle in your hand?? I thought I’d told you to take the rest of the morning off!”. Waddle, looking somewhat bemused, rather sheepishly muttered, “But sir, I distinctly heard you call out, “What about a water bottle Waddle”, and so here I am.” boom boom!

But hey, at least we got to take delivery. Meanwhile, we outlay billions on subs we’ll probably only take delivery of after they are well and truly redundant, while Trump Class (an oxymoron if ever there was one) battleships are scouring the Gulf of (cough) America, in search of Venezuelans on belly boards after failing to find Greenland.

A joke that I’ve probably told on here before (I don’t have many), but what the hell, I’ll do it again, followed by a Christmas/Easter themed video.. First, the joke: A chap is out walking his dog and is waiting for the traffic lights to change, so they can safely cross. There is another gentleman standing next to them, also waiting to cross, and he couldn’t help but notice the first chap’s dog was sitting there calmly and enthusiastically licking his nether regions. To break the ice and to stave off boredom, the gentleman says to the chap with the dog, “Wouldn’t it be great to be able to do that!”, to which the chap with the dog replies, “Well, if you pat him first, he just might let you!”. And now for the video:

Almost as bad as GWS hijacking the Gatorade colours and motif.

I loved the guernsey they had made for the Shanghai clash against Brisbane. I managed to snag Matt Warnock’s #1 jumper (photos are from Google search) in a club auction. I also loved the green St Pats jumper for the Jim Stynes game… again I snagged one in a club auction, this time it was Liam Jurrah’s!

I was a late starter in the parenting stakes, and used to tell my sons that they were extra blessed, because they got a father AND a grandfather all rolled into one!

who is that? David Bridie from My Friend the Chocolate Cake did a superb version, but that sounds a bit polished to be him.

And covered by some band called Los Romeos Oxidados.

Lumpy Gravy in the Middle of the Road.

I had a CD that I can no longer find, that was a sampler that included Elvis Costello’s cover of the old Leon Payne song, ‘Psycho’…but it also had a great Loudon Wainwright song called ‘Colors’, the subject matter of it being the different colours of the dogsh!t on the streets of his town.

It was!

I’ve always called them ‘trough lollies’.

So, rather appropriately for this time of the year, he had him away in a manger.