Gone with the wind

 

At our supermarket car park you usually pick up a ticket at the barrier which you place inside your windscreen so that the car park attendant can easily see it when he does his rounds. When you leave, you hand the ticket at the exit barrier and you pay as you exit. So it is imperative you do not lose your parking ticket.

I’d finished shopping and I placed all my goods in the car. As I opened the driver’s door a gust of wind blew the ticket out of the car. I chased after it. It went under another parked car some yards away. I looked around for the car park attendant – there was no one to be seen. 

I knelt down and there winking at me teasingly was the ticket under a parked van. It was just out of reach as it smiled at me saying: “Come and get me!”

I went totally flat on my tummy and stretched my arm right out under the van, inching forwards a bit at a time until I touched the ticket with my fingertips. Another stretch and … “Got it!”

At this point I heard a woman say: “Are you all right, Sir?”

I eased myself from under the car as she said, “You seem to have fainted, Sir; and rolled under this van!”

Before I could explain myself she had called the car park attendant who now appeared out of nowhere. 

 

The attendant called for help on his walkie-talkie radio. Another shop assistant turned up with a chair followed by someone else with a glass of water.

“Sit down Sir …” they all seemed to say in unison, “have a sip to drink!”

I tried to explain what had really happened …

“He’s delirious poor soul …” said the woman who first found me on the ground, “he doesn’t know what he’s saying … maybe he hit his head hard as he fell!”

“I did not fall …” I said biting my lip to suppress any insults on my mind, “I went down on my knees voluntarily!”

“Did you want to pray, dear?” she asked patronisingly, "don't be concerned, the Good Lord loves you and will forgive all your sins if you ask Him. You do not have to kneel here in the middle of the car park! He is everywhere, you know?" then turning to the others she mumbled, “he doesn’t know where he is … thinks he’s in church poor soul! It happens to some people with age!”

What a damn cheek ... what did she mean by people with age? I am younger than her and could race her any day at drinking a chocolate milkshake faster than her. Besides, she looked ugly with her condescending religious voice that would turn any man to sin.

At this point the first aider turned up with his bag with a red cross on it. He opened it and asked, “Is he bleeding? Where did he hit his head? Does he want mouth to mouth resuscitation; only I don't like doing that. You don't know what germs you can pick up from a dying man, do you? Have you got any communicable diseases that I should know of, Sir? Or any of a sexual nature?”

Before I could answer something that he would remember for the rest of his life, the assistant manager turned up and asked me, “Are you making a complaint and seeking compensation, Sir? We'll deny all responsibilities, whatever they are. You'd be surprised how many people pretend to have been run over by stationary cars just to claim compensation!”

I remained calm under the circumstances and shouted, "Would you all get the hell out of here ... except this idiot pretending to be the ass manager!"

This gave me the opportunity to explain matters to someone who might be able to listen. They all looked at me in surprise and walked away mumbling to each other.

The assistant manager looked a bit of an idiot; but in dire times a bit of an idiot is better than none.

I told him what happened and assured him I had not intention of making any complaint or seek compensation. I just wanted to leave this stupid car park manned by escaped lunatics.

He went away much relieved. He told me the gate-keeper will let me out if I showed him my parking ticket.

As I reached the exit barrier the attendant there wanted to charge me a fee for overstaying my allotted time.

I had to explain all over again why I had stayed longer than the allotted parking time. He called the assistant manager who asked the attendant to let me out. The attendant refused. An argument ensued between the two of them and neither wanted to give way.

At this point a cashier turned up with a bag of onions in his hands, "are you the gentleman who forgot these at the cash desk?" he asked.

As the assistant manager and the car park attendant were arguing, I got out the car. Put my head through the kiosk opening and pushed a button on the panel marked OPEN. To my surprise, both men ignored me as they continued arguing about company policy.

 

I got in the car and left.

The moral of this story is:

If you enjoy what you read on this blog why not invite others here?

Gone with the wind

 

It was a lovely summer’s afternoon that Sunday when we sat as a family and enjoyed a sumptuous Sunday lunch. We had roast beef as well as fried chicken which had been marinated in all sorts of flavoursome spices and herbs; accompanied by an assortment of vegetables including of course the dreaded Brussels sprouts.

I have never understood why God created this particular vegetable; but create it He did. No doubts He has His reasons and one day we’ll discover how beneficial it is for us and how silly and uneducated we have been to dislike it so. However, for now at least, most people I know don’t seem to like it.

I don’t count myself amongst them, of course. I’m neutral in this respect. I would eat Brussels sprouts if offered to me but I would not go out of my way to ask for them in a gourmet restaurant.

But that Sunday, Brussels sprouts were on the menu. I believe they were mixed with walnut pieces and fried onions, if memory serves me right.

We have had Auntie Gertrude from Australia staying with us for a few days so we also invited Father Frederic to Sunday lunch. The two had never met each other so we sat them next to each other around the large dinner table.

It was a lovely meal with pleasant conversation on no particular subject and all subjects that came to mind.

After lunch, we all moved to the living room to enjoy a nice cup of coffee and continue our discussion.

Father Frederic sat on the sofa leaving a little room for someone else to sit beside him and a few minutes later, as we all made ourselves comfortable, Auntie Gertrude came in and sat beside the priest.

Sadly, and embarrassingly for her, as she lowered herself in the well upholstered settee she accidentally broke wind with a thunderous loud noise.

I should mention at this stage that Father Frederic is somewhat hard of hearing; and he therefore did not notice nor pay attention to what had just happened.

I immediately tried to cover Auntie’s embarrassment by asking him loudly some Ecumenical question that came to mind.

As I leaned towards him speaking a little louder than usual I noticed his face going a little pale as the tell-tale strong smell reached my olfactory senses.

He looked at me accusingly as Auntie got out of the room saying “By dingo cobber! I forgot the biscuits in the kitchen … they're special I brought from Adelaide ... I’ll go and get them!”

As she got out of the room, followed by the rest of the family, she added somewhat undiplomatically "they are not as bland as those English biscuits!"

I was left alone with the kind old heavenly priest and the smell from hell.

Suddenly, the Ecumenical question became totally irrelevant as my mind went blank and my hurt pride and wounded honour urged me to shout at the top of my voice “It was not me!!! It was her!!! She did it and went out leaving me sharing her stench.”

But being the stupid gentleman who I am, I said nothing. I kept quiet and protected a lady’s pride and honour by my silence.

“Would you like a biscuit?” I asked Father picking up the large serving dish which was there all the time.

“That’s a lovely piano …” replied Father Frederic getting up from his seat and moving towards the open window. “Our church organ needs mending … it doesn’t pump so much wind in the pipes as it used to.”

Somehow, the uneasy conversation which followed and the fresh air from the open window, diluted the heavy atmosphere in the room as eventually the rest of the family re-joined us accompanied by an innocent looking Auntie Gertrude.

Since that day, Father Frederic keeps his distance from me whenever we meet.

Excerpt from the book

NO WORRIES MATE

Paperback & KINDLE

HERE

Gone With The Wind

 

It was a lovely summer’s afternoon that Sunday when we sat as a family and enjoyed a sumptuous Sunday lunch. We had roast beef as well as fried chicken which had been marinated in all sorts of flavoursome spices and herbs; accompanied by an assortment of vegetables including of course the dreaded Brussels sprouts.

I have never understood why God created this particular vegetable; but create it He did. No doubts He has His reasons and one day we’ll discover how beneficial it is for us and how silly and uneducated we have been to dislike it so. However, for now at least, most people I know don’t seem to like it.

I don’t count myself amongst them, of course. I’m neutral in this respect. I would eat Brussels sprouts if offered to me but I would not go out of my way to ask for them in a gourmet restaurant.

But that Sunday, Brussels sprouts were on the menu. I believe they were mixed with walnut pieces and fried onions, if memory serves me right.

We have had Auntie Gertrude from Australia staying with us for a few days so we also invited Father Frederic to Sunday lunch. The two had never met each other so we sat them next to each other around the large dinner table.

It was a lovely meal with pleasant conversation on no particular subject and all subjects that came to mind.

After lunch, we all moved to the living room to enjoy a nice cup of coffee and continue our discussion.

Father Frederic sat on the sofa leaving a little room for someone else to sit beside him and a few minutes later, as we all made ourselves comfortable, Auntie Gertrude came in and sat beside the priest.

Sadly, and embarrassingly for her, as she lowered herself in the well upholstered settee she accidentally broke wind with a thunderous loud noise.

I should mention at this stage that Father Frederic is somewhat hard of hearing; and he therefore did not notice nor pay attention to what had just happened.

I immediately tried to cover Auntie’s embarrassment by asking him loudly some Ecumenical question that came to mind.

As I leaned towards him speaking a little louder than usual I noticed his face going a little pale as the tell-tale strong smell reached my olfactory senses.

He looked at me accusingly as Auntie got out of the room saying “By dingo cobber! I forgot the biscuits in the kitchen … they're special I brought from Adelaide ... I’ll go and get them!”

As she got out of the room, followed by the rest of the family, she added somewhat undiplomatically "they are not as bland as those English biscuits!"

I was left alone with the kind old heavenly priest and the smell from hell.

Suddenly, the Ecumenical question became totally irrelevant as my mind went blank and my hurt pride and wounded honour urged me to shout at the top of my voice “It was not me!!! It was her!!! She did it and went out leaving me sharing her stench.”

But being the stupid gentleman who I am, I said nothing. I kept quiet and protected a lady’s pride and honour by my silence.

“Would you like a biscuit?” I asked Father picking up the large serving dish which was there all the time.

“That’s a lovely piano …” replied Father Frederic getting up from his seat and moving towards the open window. “Our church organ needs mending … it doesn’t pump so much wind in the pipes as it used to.”

Somehow, the uneasy conversation which followed and the fresh air from the open window, diluted the heavy atmosphere in the room as eventually the rest of the family re-joined us accompanied by an innocent looking Auntie Gertrude.

Since that day, Father Frederic keeps his distance from me whenever we meet.

Excerpt from the book

NO WORRIES MATE

Paperback & KINDLE

HERE

Gone With The Wind

SPECIAL NOTICE: My heart gladdens when you, my kind and loyal readers, comment below that you have enjoyed and laughed at my posts. It is your support and encouragement that keeps me writing every day; (except on days when I do not write on account of that I have nothing in my head to write about).

Anyway ... if you enjoy what you read here, why not tell others too so that they might visit here and laugh or giggle too. Do you realise that if each one of you encouraged just one person to visit here regularly we would have ... more persons visiting here regularly. 

Thank you. God bless. 


Why is it that embarrassing things keep happening to me? Let me explain.

At our supermarket car park you usually pick up a ticket at the barrier which you place inside your windscreen so that the car park attendant can easily see it when he does his rounds. When you leave, you hand the ticket at the exit barrier and you pay as you exit. So it is imperative you do not lose your parking ticket.

I’d finished shopping and I placed all my goods in the car. As I opened the driver’s door a gust of wind blew the ticket out of the car. I chased after it. It went under another parked car some yards away. I looked around for the car park attendant – there was no one to be seen. The place was deserted.

I knelt down and there winking at me teasingly was the ticket under a parked van. It was just out of reach as it smiled at me saying: “Come and get me!”

I went totally flat on my tummy and stretched my arm right out under the car, inching forwards a bit at a time until I touched the ticket with my fingertips. Another stretch and … “Got it!”

At this point I heard a woman say: “Are you all right, Sir?”

I eased myself from under the car as she said, “You seem to have fainted, Sir; and rolled under this van!”

Before I could explain myself she had called the car park attendant who now appeared out of nowhere. Where was he when I needed him?

The attendant called for help on his walkie-talkie radio. Another shop assistant turned up with a chair followed by someone else with a glass of water.

“Sit down Sir …” they all seemed to say in unison, “have a sip of drink!”

I tried to explain what had really happened …

“He’s delirious poor soul …” said the woman who first found me on the ground, “he doesn’t know what he’s saying … maybe he hit his head hard as he fell!”

“I did not fall …” I said biting my lip to suppress any insults on my mind, “I went down on my knees voluntarily!”

“Did you want to pray, dear?” she asked patronisingly, "don't be concerned, the Good Lord loves you and will forgive all your sins if you ask Him. You do not have to kneel here in the middle of the car park! He is everywhere, you know?" then turning to the others she mumbled, “he doesn’t know where he is … thinks he’s in church poor soul! It happens to some people with age!”

What a damn cheek ... what did she mean by people with age? I am younger than her and could race her any day at drinking a chocolate milkshake faster than her. Besides, she looked ugly with her condescending religious voice that would turn any man to sin.

At this point the first aider turned up with his bag with a red cross on it. He opened it and asked, “Is he bleeding? Where did he hit his head? Does he want mouth to mouth resuscitation; only I don't like doing that. You don't know what germs you can pick up from a dying man, do you? Have you got any communicable diseases that I should know of, Sir? Or any of a sexual nature?”

Before I could answer something that he would remember for the rest of his life, the assistant manager turned up and asked me, “Are you making a complaint and seeking compensation, Sir? We'll deny all responsibilities, whatever they are. You'd be surprised how many people pretend to have been run over by stationary cars just to claim compensation!”

I remained calm under the circumstances and shouted, "Would you all get the hell out of here ... except this idiot pretending to be the ass manager!"

This gave me the opportunity to explain matters to someone who might be able to listen. They all looked at me in surprise and walked away mumbling to each other.

The assistant manager looked a bit of an idiot; but in dire times a bit of an idiot is better than none.

I told him what happened and assured him I had not intention of making any complaint or seek compensation. I just wanted to leave this stupid car park manned by escaped lunatics.

He went away much relieved. He told me the gate-keeper will let me out if I showed him my parking ticket.

As I reached the exit barrier the attendant there wanted to charge me a fee for overstaying my welcome.

I had to explain all over again why I had stayed longer than the allotted parking time. He called the assistant manager who asked the attendant to let me out. The attendant refused. An argument ensued between the two of them and neither wanted to give way.

At this point a cashier turned up with a bag of onions in his hands, "are you the gentleman who forgot these at the cash desk?" he asked.

As the assistant manager and the car park attendant were arguing, I got out the car. Put my head through the kiosk opening and pushed a button on the panel marked OPEN. To my surprise, both men ignored me as they continued arguing about company policy.

I got in the car and left.

The moral of this story is:

You don’t need to go down on your knees to pray.

No … that’s not it. Oh ... I got it ...

Don't forget your onions at the cash desk.

No ... that's not it either ...

Watch out for gusts of wind before you open the car door.