How Great Thou Art

SIR CLIFF RICHARD OBE

Far from the Maddening Crowd

Settle down now and pay attention to our English Literature lesson. You may have all heard of Thomas Hardy the Victorian English novelist and poet; well this has nothing to do with him.

What we will learn today is about a book entitled "Far from the Maddening Crowd", which is different from the book with a similar title by Hardy. It is my version of it. Much shorter and perhaps gets to the point quicker, saving you hours of reading and understanding. And some would say more entertaining.

So here goes ...

Once upon a time there was a rich upper class woman called Bath Sheila, who owned a lot of land in Victorian England. Her neighbour was a sad and lonely very rich fellow called Bill Deadwood, who, to be honest should have been pruned a long time ago. She also employed a faithful shepherd called Gaby Soak and then there was this ex-seaman called Captain Rank Coy. You get the picture already, three men and one beautiful rich woman. I got to the point much quicker than Thomas Hardy. Let's continue ...

Now, the most astute and knowledgeable amongst you would have noticed a similarity between these character names and the ones in Thomas Hardy's book; but there the similarities end. I have used similar names in case any of you may venture to read the original, lengthier and more boring version.

As it happens, these three men fancied Bath Sheila and they wanted to marry her. 

The rich and old Bill Deadwood promised to share his land and cattle with her so their combined assets would ensure they lived in relative wealth comparative to Victorian times and customs.

The ex-seaman Captain Rank Coy said that he longed to go back to sea and once married he would take her with him to voyages far and wide filled with adventure, danger and the prospect of sea-sickness every morning ... noon ... and night.

Whilst the faithful honest shepherd Gaby Soak offered her true love, loyalty, and genuine caring and affection all the days of her life.

Unfortunately the indecisive Bath Sheila could not make up her mind between wealth, seafaring adventure and honest true love; even though the obvious choice between these three men stared her in the face. She should have gone for the rich Bill Deadwood and lived in luxury whilst he toiled and scrimped to provide for her. 

What is it with some women? Why do they take so long to make an obvious right decision?

I tried honesty and true love once! Just like the hapless Gaby Soak, it did not work out for me either.

I asked my first girl friend whether she would marry me. I genuinely loved her more than pizza and apple pie combined. Instead of saying "Yes" and marry me; she asked me why. Being honest I said because I loved her cooking and I liked the way she tidied up the house. She left me shortly afterwards. Fat lot of good honesty did for me.

With my next girl friend I tried the more  traditional, (Victorian), way and told her I was going to have a talk with her father.

I then said to her dad, "I have come to ask you for your daughter's hand!"

He was not the brightest penny in the purse. He asked me, "What do you want her hand for?"

I said, "You misunderstand me, Sir. I meant I would like your daughter to have my name!"

"What nonsense," he replied, "it would be silly calling her Victor. What's wrong with the name she was christened with? Hortence is a good name, I'll have you know. My mother and grand-mother were called Hortence. we come down from a long line of Hortences!"

Obviously I was getting no where with him. So I tried the direct approach and said, "I would like to marry your daughter!"

Not being one to make any decisions in his household he said, "Have you seen her mother?"

I replied, "Yes ... but I still prefer to marry your daughter!"

When I told Hortence that I had her parents' permission to marry, she said I'd better marry them then ... and she too left me after that. So Victorian tradition did not work any better than honesty for me.

Anyway ... back to my version of Far from he Maddening Crowd.

The silly Bath Sheila turned down all three of her suitors and decided to indulge in kissing a number of toads in the hope of finding her Prince Charming. This only led to unhappiness and many visits to the health clinic.

And the moral of the story is, "Why look for a toad when there are plenty of fish in the sea!"

A mixed meaningless metaphor if ever I heard one.

NOTE: If there are any literary books which you have read at school and got you bored out of your mind; and you would prefer my shorter more entertaining version of it, please let me know. I'll do my best to re-write.

Nightmare on Elmo Street

I had a terrible terrible nightmare the other night.

I dreamt I was in hospital and I had to undergo a serious operation. When I woke up from the operation I discovered they had transplanted a new hand on me. A third arm and hand had been transplanted on my stomach.

I had my two normal arms and hands and this third one out of my stomach at the front. What's worse, it was a female arm and hand.

It seemed to have a mind of its own. You should have seen it come out of my shirt and wave at people at the most inopportune time. The old lady on the bus fainted and nearly fell off the bus when my third hand waved goodbye at her.

I tried tucking it in under my belt but it was most embarrassing having it struggle to come out again.

Mind you, my third hand proved quite handy at the supermarket when I had to carry all that shopping!

I really should stop eating cheese before going to bed.

Brilliant Light Idea

How clever modern technology is. And how much fun can I have with such technology in my hands.

Now I am sure you have seen these products - easily available from the Internet through many vendors.

Basically it is a light bulb. But more clever than any other light bulb. You put it in its place hanging from the ceiling and with the use of a remote control you can change the colour of the light. From bright white to red, blue, green, violet and many other colours as you wish. You can dim the lights. Or make them bright. You can program a sequence of colour changes too. All by pressing a few buttons on the remote control.

Clever? Yes ... but that is not all.

With this light bulb, it also has a tiny speaker hidden in it. And with your smart cell-phone, and the use of an app (whatever that is - is it a small apple?) anyway ... with the use of the app on your phone you can play music through the light bulb.

Imagine ... you can dim the lights when you are in a romantic mood with your loved one and have Frank Sinatra singing through the light bulb:

Strangers in the night
Exchanging glances
Wondering in the night
What were the chances
We'd be sharing love
Before the night was through?

Now that's clever ... don't you think?

NOT IN MY HANDS !!!!!

This is what I did the other day when I had a lady guest at home.

I dimmed the lights as we sat there cosily on the settee, and then, by pushing a few buttons on the smart phone app there was the sound of a mosquito in the room.

BZZZZZZZZZ Silence BZZZ BZZZ BZZZZZZ silence again then BZZZZZZ BZZZZZZZ

It was unnerving but very funny. At first she was too polite to say anything. Then she mentioned perhaps there was a wasp or bee in the house and we did not notice whilst the TV was on. 

I switched the lights on bright, and the sound off. No bee or wasp or mosquito anywhere. 

Then dimmed the lights and BZZZZZ .... BZZZZZZZ again. What fun!

On another occasion, with another guest, as I dimmed the lights there was the faint sound of weeping coming from the light bulb.

"Is there anyone in the house?" she asked.

"No ... only us ... why do you ask?"

"I hear someone crying ... it is faint ... didn't notice it before when the TV was on ..."

"I can't hear anything ..."

"Listen ... can you hear it now ...?"

"Yeah ... now you mention it ... Mind you, it is an old house and I was told it is haunted ... I don't believe it though ..."

"I'm scared ..."

"Here ... let me cuddle you ..."

I think these light bulbs are excellent. The possibilities are endless.

"Help ... let me out ... I am the genie of the lamp trapped in this modern light bulb!!!"

The Language of Love

I went to visit a psychiatrist friend of mine the other day. As well as being a psychiatrist, in his spare time he is also a carpenter, a painter and decorator, as well as being a baker. As soon as I entered his insulting room he asked me to lie on the couch. I asked him why. After all, I was not there as a patient but to ask him to come and fix my car which was behaving rather oddly of late.

He said, "It's a new couch. I made it myself!"

I humoured him and lay on the couch. It was a bit wobbly because it had one leg shorter than the others. So he put a book by some fellow called Freud under the short leg. I asked him, "This looks an important book. Are you sure it's OK to put it under the couch?"

"Oh it's boring," he replied, "full of words and no pictures at all!"

He sat on his chair beside the couch and opened his notebook.

"What seems to be the problem?" I asked him from my supine position.

"My wife doesn't understand me," he said wistfully.

"Is it a personal marital problem?" I enquired.

"No ..." he said, "she is Greek and does not understand a word of Austrian!"

"But the language of love is international," I said trying to sound knowledgeable in the affairs of the heart.

"Not when she feeds you moussaka every day," he answered sadly, "I told her I don't like aubergines but she does not seem to understand!"

I said nothing for a while and wondered how the two of them had met. I asked him and he replied, "I was in Athens on holiday and met her at a small taverna. She was the local wrestling champion. After the meal I inadvertently broke a plate and she took that as a sign of amourous intent. Before I could say moussaka we were married!"

"I understand ..." I said, more as a token of sympathy rather than comprehension.

"Oh ... for a plate of rindsuppe," he sighed, "or gulasch, followed by a big slice of apfelstrudel. But instead, it's moussaka every day!"

"But surely you can reason with her," I suggested.

"I do ..." he said, "but she always beats me at arm wrestling. So moussaka it is once more!"

At this point a large woman entered the room and spoke in a language I did not understand. It was all Greek to me. She had a Greek recipe book in her hand and showed my friend various delicacies such as stuffed vine leaves, youvarlakia, avgolemono and baklava. Before I could ask him what these foods were, he kissed his wife and the two of them left hurriedly the insulting room, leaving me lying down on the short-legged couch.

Ah ... the language of love!

Neighbourhood Watch Meeting

May I have your attention please? Thank you ... and welcome to this month's meeting of the Neighbourhood Watch Scheme.

As you know, the last meeting of the Neighbourhood Watch was aborted because no one turned out. All members of the Neighbourhood Watch Scheme were out watching ... ... ... the fireworks at No 43 Acacia Avenue which unfortunately got out of control and burnt the house down.  Thankfully, no one got hurt, but those azaleas will never look the same again. Fortuitously the fire also destroyed the collection of hideous gnomes adorning the front garden of that property and lowering the tone of the neighbourhood somewhat.

I also want to report an incident which should serve as a lesson to all of us. The Neighbourhood Watch Scheme thrives on the participation of all of us and the community spirit which it engenders.

Speaking of spirits, the other night I was coming back from the pub with one of you who will remain nameless in order to spare Harry's blushes. It was about 10 o'clock at night, and as we walked home we kept an eye on every house we passed to see that all was well and there was nothing suspicious to report.

As we came by the Murgatroid's house, which as you know is a bungalow, we noticed that the front room, which is their bedroom, had its lights on and the curtain had been left open.

We looked through the window and saw that Mr and Mrs Murgatroid were busily doing their exercises on the bed. They were probably celebrating a birthday or an anniversary and in their excitement had forgotten to draw the curtains. Harry wanted to ring the doorbell and warn them but I dissuaded him because I thought it was unfair to spoil the moment. That night they gave Neighbourhood Watch a completely new meaning.

So take care when being amorous with your spouse, friend or neighbour and draw the curtains first.

Now that we have the Tinternet in all our homes we shall communicate with each other by this new e-mail type thing, rather than sending letters through the post. The old system was slow and had its drawbacks when the Post Office was on strike. Sadly, we all got to hear than Miss Hungerford was not well three weeks after her funeral.

We've have been advised by the police that there has been a number of burglaries in a neighbouring area and that we should be on the look-out, and to take extra precautions.

You are advised that, whenever you leave the house you throw all the chairs haphazardly on the floor; also throw all cushions on the floor as well as pictures off the wall, and empty all contents of drawers all over the place making the house as untidy as possible. This way if any burglar comes in, he will see all the mess and think you've already been burgled and leave without disturbing anything.

If ever you are the only one at home, of course, you don't need to untidy the house. Instead every so often go to the front door and bark like a dog to frighten any passer-by. Preferably, bark like two types of dogs. A big ferocious one and a tiny yappy one to give the impression you have two dogs. I did that the other day and it excited our own real dog who also joined in the barking. Last night he got so much into the act that he bit me in the backside. So if you already have a dog, you don't need to bark yourself.

Sadly, I have to report that Henry Smythe, a former member of this Neighbourhood Watch and the manager of the local IKEA store died last week. His funeral was delayed because no one could assemble his flat-pack coffin.

Also, I have been made aware that Peter Fordham, the old man who lives alone at Number 19 may have got himself a dog. I saw him with a dog lately. He must have named him "Help" because all day yesterday he kept calling, "Help ... Help ... Help ..." He eventually must have found his dog because he stopped calling it. There was an ambulance outside No 19 this morning. Does anyone know why?
No ... no one ... OK we'll move on.

We have had a spate of doormat swappings in our street lately. No one knows how it started. Most houses have a doormat or rug by their front doors for visitors to wipe their feet on before entering the house. Some have personalised doormats with the words "Smith Residence" or such like. Others have plain rubber doormats, or multi-coloured ones or whatever. Every one, or almost every one, has a doormat by their front door.

Lately, these doormats have swapped places. We get up in the morning and find that instead of our doormat we have the one from a few houses up the road, and they have another doormat which does not belong to them either; and every house has a doormat which belongs to their neighbours from further up the road, rather than the one living just next door.

I realise that it is pandemonium and inconvenient in the morning for everyone to be out and swap mats around. Especially those of you who got out in the street in various stages of undress ... ... ...  Helen and Donald.

Also, does anyone know why Mr Harrison from Number 14 came out of house Number 18 in his pyjamas with the young lady living there following him in her nightdress?

On Tuesday Wendy from Number 32 was rushed into hospital with two burnt ears. Apparently she answered the phone whilst ironing. The doctors asked her how she burnt her other ear. She replied: "It happened when I phoned for an ambulance!"

On Friday a cement mixer collided with a prison van at the crossroads up the street. The police are looking for some hardened criminals.

If there is nothing else to report, I declare this meeting of the Neighbourhood Watch Scheme closed.

A Portrait of the Victor as a Young Man

A PORTRAIT OF THE VICTOR AS A YOUNG MAN

(With apologies to James Joyce)

It all happened so long ago yet memories flood back as clearly as if it were just happening.

As a young man I had to visit one of our Branch Offices in the big city with a colleague of mine, Josh MacKintosh, to discuss future sales and profits projections.

It was a cold and snowing winter's day when we arrived at the Railway Station and were met by a chauffeur driven car sent by our Branch Office - after all, it isn't often they get a visit from top management, and they were trying hard to impress.

The visit was to last for two days and they looked after us well. At the end of the first day they offered the chauffeur driven car to take us to the hotel.

As we entered the car, the driver asked us which hotel we were staying at, and Josh blurted out an address. The driver raised an eyebrow and said nothing.

At this point I should mention perhaps that Josh MacKintosh was carefull with money. He had an aversion to opening his wallet lest he disturbed the moths living there.

As the car drove on, heading outside the big city, I noticed that the surroundings were becoming less and less salubrious. It was obvious from the houses and the general feel of the place that we were heading for the poorer part of town ... much poorer part of town. Despite the snow covering everything with its mantle of white it could not hide the poverty of the place.

It was as if we were travelling back in time to Dickensian England.

Eventually the posh car stopped outside a dilapidated house. The chauffeur got out of his seat and opened the doors for Josh and I. He then opened the boot and brought us our luggage.

Around us a lot of urchins stopped playing football with a rolled up sock filled with sand and looked at us in our pin-striped suits. They'd obviously never seen a limousine before nor anyone dressed as we did.

The chauffeur saluted by touching his hat gently and then drove off.

As we stood there in the freezing cold I heard myself mumble "Are you sure about this, Josh?"

 

"Och aye ... it's OK," he said, "my friend recommended it!"

 

We entered the house and were met by a young-ish woman named Elvira; she was in her mid-thirties I would guess.

 

She took us to our rooms upstairs and suggested that "dinner" was at seven o'clock prompt.

As Elvira left I noticed that the door had no lock, and the room was rather cold and damp, but at least it had hot and cold running cockroaches.

I killed one of them on the wall by my bed and pretty soon there were dozen others attending the funeral.

I pulled the bed away from the wall and the cockroaches pulled it back to hide their habitat.

I decided that we were not eating at this place. We had no choice but to spend the night there, especially since it was cold and snowing outside and our car had gone, but I had no intention to risk eating at this unhygienic house.

 

Josh and I went out for somewhere to eat ... but would you really find a restaurant in this part of town? We just bought a bit of bread, some cheese and an apple or two from a small shop still open and decided to eat in our rooms.

As we neared the house a man brandishing a knife stopped us and asked for our wallets or our lives. I must admit that for a few seconds I had difficulty in deciding.

I then said sarcastically, "You're too late mate! We've already been mugged by another man down the street."

To my surprise our mugger replied, "Oh that must be Gary. I told him many times this is my street!"

He let us go and as we were leaving he shouted "Say Hi to Elvira for me !!!"

Josh and I got home and after sharing our meagre repast we decided to call it a day.

I went to my room, got in bed to keep warm as best I can, and started reading the many reports I'd been given by Branch Office about their sales and profits projections.

After an hour or so there was a knock at the door and Elvira came in wearing a very revealing see-through white negligent. (Is that what they call it?)

I did not know where to look ... well, I did really, because she was speaking to me at the time. And it is not polite to look elsewhere when someone is speaking to you.

"Do you want some time?" she asked with a smile.

I must have misheard her, (or was it my subconscious), because I looked at my watch and said "It is a quarter to ten!"

She moved forward a couple more steps teasingly and asked again "Do you want something to keep you warm?"

"Yes please," I replied, "I'd like a hot chocolate drink if I may".

"You don't understand ..." she continued patiently as she sat on the bed, "You have not left your shoes outside the door, which means you require personal services ..."

At last the penny dropped in a young man's befuddled mind. So that's why she was wearing nothing else but the revealing see-through negligent despite the freezing cold! I thought she was just hot-blooded.

"My shoes ..." I mumbled "I'll ... I'll ... I'll put them out later ... I must have forgotten ..."

"So I went to all this trouble for nothing?" she growled as she stood up, "do you think your friend forgot to put his shoes out too?"

"I don't know ... better ask him ..." I mumbled again as she left.

Needless to say, I stayed up all night fearful in case anyone took my shoes !!!

NOTE: This was an excerpt from my memoires 

"AS I QUOTE MYSELF" 

Please CLICK HERE

My Word Is My Bond

The motto of The London Stock Exchange is Dictum Meum Pactum - My Word Is My Bond.

This dates back to the days when stocks and shares dealers used to make verbal deals as to whether to buy or sell company shares from each other and at what price. Dealing was no doubt fast and furious. You had to decide quickly before prices change. Those were the days before computers. So you make a verbal agreement to seal the bargain and stick to it. Total trust between members of the Stock Exchange was vital. Dictum Meum Pactum.

Do you take God at His Word? Is His Word His Bond?

Or do you harbour the slightest, tiniest, little bit of doubt at the back of your mind? A doubt that niggles as you try to wipe it away; but it is still there. Telling you that perhaps ... maybe ... who knows ... God did not mean what He said. God is perhaps not listening to your prayers  ... or maybe He doesn't exist at all.

Jesus told His disciples, "Do not be worried and upset. Believe in God and believe also in Me." John 14:1

You cannot get it plainer than this. When Christ uttered these words to His disciples, and to us, He meant them. There was no figure of speech there. No ifs ... or buts ... or notwithstanding the afore mentioned ... or any other legalise or escape clause. It was straight talking. Believe in God and Me.

On another occasion Jesus said, "I tell you: When you pray and ask for something, believe that you have received it, and you will be given whatever you ask for." Mark 11:24

Again ... no ambiguity here. Straight talking; just like when He said, "I am telling you the truth; the Father will give you whatever you ask Him for in my name. Until now you have not asked for anything in my name; ask and you will receive, so that your happiness may be complete." John 16:23-24

Let us now consider what these promises and invitations to trust God really mean.

To the simple mind, one would rub their hands in glee and ask for wealth and fame and fortune beyond imagination. Hoping that God would provide them.  After all, Jesus promised it, and we take Him at His word. He said so.

But in reality, this cannot be so. God is not our obedient genie Whom we have freed from the bottle or the magic lamp. He is not our servant, at our beck and call ready to respond to our every command. He is our Creator Father, who having loved us so much, He gave us the freedom to choose for ourselves whether to love Him back or not. He asks nothing more of us than to love Him back in return and obey His Commandments. The final decision is ours to make.

Like any loving Father He is pleased when we ask for our needs, and for that of others, and He is only too willing to respond in a way and at a time that befits our benefit; that is good for us.

Our prayers should be ones which express our inner thoughts and feelings with honesty and asking for His help and guidance on the way ahead.

For example, rather than directing Him on what to do; "God please let my son/daughter etc... get a good job ... gain a promotion ... pass the exam/driving test ... find a suitable spouse etc ..." our prayer should be one which expresses our concerns and love for others. A prayer for ourselves even. We should ask Him for His favours for our needs whilst acknowledging that He still retains full control of the situation.

For example, "Lord you know how I feel about my son/daughter and their present situation. Lord I offer them to your care knowing full well that you love them more than I can ever do; and that you will care for them on my behalf in this life and the next."

By offering a person or situation to the Lord you are in effect relinquishing any control that you may, or may not, have on the situation. You are asking God to take over. And, (hopefully), you totally mean it. You are not paying lip service to the prayer you have just said. You make no attempt to still remain in control; to continue to worry about that person or situation.

That is what Christ meant when He said, "Believe in God and believe also in Me," and, "When you pray and ask for something, believe that you have received it, and you will be given whatever you ask for."

He asked us to believe and trust Him. His Word is His bond. We should trust Him in full confidence, without the slightest doubt, that He is listening and will respond.

Fake News

The world is at peace.

No more wars throughout the world. No more fighting. No more killings.

Humanity has finally learnt to forgive. No retaliation, retribution or revenge. 

People everywhere love each other. Regardless of race, religion, sex, sexuality, colour, age, marital status, profession or any other differences.

No more famines. No more hunger.

No more sickness and suffering.

No more evil, cheating, stealing, adultery, abortion or any sin whatsoever.

I like to drink Guinness.

P.S. - The last one is true.

It is freezing cold ... and I lost my Willy

For the last few days we've had a dilemma on our hands in the family. It was and still is such a big dilemma that it is on all our collective minds.

No to put too fine a point on it ... I lost my Willy. We looked everywhere but it is not to be found. It seems it is lost for ever. What can any man do without their Willy?

My Willy, also known as Speedy, went missing. We looked everywhere and could not find him. Not in the garden. Not in any neighbours' gardens, because we asked them. Not in the house. Not in the garage, not in the car, or indeed not anywhere. Willy went missing. I woke up. Looked . Willy was gone.

I knew my Willy was not hiding in some orifice or corner somewhere because he is totally claustrophobic.

He is the only tortoise I know who gets really stressed about going back into his own shell. He hibernates in winter with his head and legs hanging out of his natural home. He prefers the outdoors. We have to wrap his head in a small scarf we've knitted for him and put his legs in home-made socks to keep him warm.

We've had him for two years or so and he shares the garden with a rabbit called Bob. They often lunch together on a leaf or two of lettuce and they wander about; always under the watchful eye of someone in case they get through the hedge to the neighbour's garden.

At night they are put in their cage for safety. Willy is always out in the garden early in the morning jumping and running around with his friend Bob the rabbit.

Obviously what happened is that one day last week, or should I say one evening last week, we forgot to put them in the cage for the night. It happened before with no great problem. The next morning they were both there waiting to be fed. But this time, the rabbit was there, but not Willy. He had vanished.

Being a tortoise, we did not think he'd gone very far. We searched everywhere as already mentioned and we could not find him. We printed leaflets with his photo, (we could have used a photo where he is smiling, but never mind), and then we pinned the leaflets to trees and lamp-posts in our area. We posted leaflets in neighbours houses asking them if they'd seen Willy; but to no avail. No one had seen him.

Then yesterday he was found. He was up a tree in our garden. There he was. Sitting on a branch some twenty feet up from the ground. Totally unperturbed and happy with his surroundings.

How did he get up there? I thought. Tortoises don't usually climb trees do they? More to the point, how do we get him down? It's certainly not something I'd want to do, climbing all the way up there.

Perhaps if we called him down and we all held a large sheet into which he would fall safely? No use. He is as deaf as a deaf bat ... sorry, only simile I could think of on the spur of the moment.

I phoned the pet shop where we normally buy the lettuce leaves to feed him and the rabbit. The man there told me that perhaps he took fright at something he saw and ran up the tree. Perhaps he saw someone with face cream and hair in curlers and that was enough to send him into a total panic.

Now I'll admit that once or twice I may have ventured in the garden with my skin softening and conditioning cream on, and a curler or two in my hair; but that would not have frightened Willy, surely? Anyway, how did the man in the pet shop know I use face cream?

Eventually, one of our neighbours who is not afraid of heights came round and brought Willy safely down to terra firma. You should have seen him waggling his tail and jumping at our legs in delight.

I mean Willy the tortoise was jumping at our legs, not the neighbour who brought him down!

Bob the rabbit was so happy to see Willy that they chased each other round the garden as they often do when playing. The neighbour was so delighted that he ran round chasing them also.

Totally exhausted, we put them both in their cage with an extra lettuce leaf each to celebrate.

We still don't know how Willy got up the tree. Any ideas?

Personally, I think he was over enthusiastic on the trampoline and he bounced himself so high that he landed on the branch twenty feet up.

This is me and our neighbour on the trampoline celebrating the return of Willy the tortoise.

Hilda, Kenneth and Robert - Ménages à trois

I received an unexpected phone call from a colleague at work who had retired a year ago. She’s a pleasant acquaintance rather than a friend as such and in conversation she said that her husband had passed away and that she had moved to a two-hundred years old thatched roof cottage out in the country.

She was her usual jovial self on the phone and, somewhat surprisingly, she invited me to visit her for the day so we could catch-up on old times.

I was not that keen on the idea, but she insisted and I was persuaded to go and see Hilda.

She was her usual bubbly self as we sat down to tea and biscuits reminiscing about work. After she retired she left the city and moved with her husband to the countryside and then he died a few months later.

I nodded politely and made small talk wandering why she had insisted on this visit and then it came … right out of the blue.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” she asked. “You know … you having beliefs and all that? Are there ghosts do you think?”

Before I could answer she went on “The reason I ask is because I believe this house is haunted. I wanted to speak to someone about it and then I remembered you from work.”

“What makes you think the house is haunted?” I asked, “Have you seen anything?”

“Not seen as such,” she replied, “but I heard him … Robert … he’s often screeching especially at night.”

“Robert …” I repeated politely and then after a short pause I asked “is Robert your husband?”

“Oh no …” she laughed, “my husband was called Kenneth. He did not die here. He died in hospital. And he’s far too lazy to haunt me! He was so lazy that if he ever fainted he’d need help to get him to the ground” she giggled.

“I see …” I said still not seeing where all this was leading to. “So Robert must have lived in this old cottage centuries ago?”

“No … no …” she giggled again, “He lived here with us. Robert died here four weeks ago and a few days later his ghost started haunting the place!”

My mind started doing somersaults wandering who Robert was. Was he a lodger? A boy-friend? Living with her and her husband? How did he die? Was it a tragic accident? Or something more sinister?

She interrupted my train of thoughts and totally derailed it by declaring “Robert was my parrot!”

“Parrot?” I repeated.

“Yes … he was my parrot. I got up one morning and found him off his perch. He was lying on his back on the ground with his feet pointing upwards as stiff as a board. I buried him in the garden!”

“And you believe a parrot is haunting this house?” I asked tentatively not believing I’d ever ask such a question.

“No doubt about it … I hear him screeching at night when I’m in bed. I think he’s frightened when I put on my face cream and have my hair in curlers … he’s never seen me like that when he was alive!”

I imagined her in face cream and curlers and suppressed a smile crossing my legs tightly for extra security. I suppose the sight of a woman in cream and curlers would frighten the most threatening of ghosts.

“Well …” I hesitated, “I’ve heard of people seeing ghosts but never the ghost of a parrot before!”

“I’ve not seen him,” she said, “only heard him. I’ve asked a ghost exorcist to come today. That’s why I asked you here.”

About an hour later a man in his fifties turned up carrying a small suitcase.

We sat in the main front room and he brought out a small metal plate explaining that first he needed to incense the place. He lit a few pieces of charcoal on the plate and then added what seemed to me an excess of incense.

There was smoke everywhere; so much so that we could not breathe or even see each other, and then we heard the screeching sound … it was the smoke alarms in the corridor and the kitchen which set off simultaneously.

The three of us stood up coughing and wheezing and dancing as we waved handkerchiefs and newspapers around the smoke alarms trying to dispel the smoke and silence the deafening sound.

Eventually all was quiet again and the man asked Hilda about the ghost.

“His name is Robert” she said, “he’s lived with me for 8 years!”

“Was he your husband?” asked the exorcist cum smoke-maker.

“No … my husband was called Kenneth” she replied “Robert has always been very dear to me and I’ve always loved him” she continued in all innocence not realizing how confusing her answers were.

“Can you describe him for me?” asked the ghost hunter “so that I can visualize him as I send him on his way …”

“He was green, about 11 inches tall and he had a wonderful personality.”

The man looked at her in total surprise as I stifled a guffaw and crossed my legs even more tightly; wishing I did not have that second cup of tea.

“I … I … don’t understand” he said hesitantly “green and only 11 inches tall?”

“Yes … our parrot had such a lovely personality. Even though he could not talk!” she explained with a smile.

“A parrot?” he mumbled, “do you mean to say that the ghost is a parrot?”

“Yes … I thought you knew”.

A cold sweat suddenly appeared on his forehead. He stood up and said “You didn’t tell me … I have to go … I have a morbid fear of parrots, all birds in fact … chicken especially. It’s their vicious beaks … I have nightmares about them!”

“But this isn’t a real bird” I said flippantly, “it can’t harm you, it’s a ghost bird!”

“They’re all the same … dead or alive … all birds have beaks … sharp ones. I was once chased by a turkey you know!” he continued as he gathered his paraphernalia in his suitcase.

“What am I to do?” she asked me after the man had gone “how am I to get rid of Robert’s ghost?”

“I thing the ghost has flown away after him to haunt him” I replied jokingly, “you’ll be OK now.”

As far as I know she has not been disturbed with screeching noises since.

Absurd ... yes it was!

I am not the out-going type of person always chatting and starting a conversation with all and sundry. In fact, those who know me will testify, I am a silent, quiet fellow, rather shy, I keep myself to myself and do not wish to be disturbed by complete strangers when I am on the bus, the train, the library, in my car, in a taxi, at work, at home, or in the toilet. 

In fact I do not want to be disturbed or talked to at all by anyone. I am completely devoid of any form of prejudice. I dislike everyone equally. (Except you dear readers).

I was on the bus the other day minding my own business eating pickled cucumbers from a jar, when this old woman, (she must have been about a million years old by the looks of her), came and sat next to me. The bus had several empty seats, but she came and sat next to me.

What makes people do that? Why do they sit next to me? Is it my "Food Range" deodorant that attracts them? I could drive at the local supermarket and the car park is totally empty. I stop my car and some idiot comes and parks right next to me. Why do people do that?

Anyway, I digress. This old woman came and sat next to me in the bus and within a minute or two started to talk about the weather. This happens a lot in Britain. People talk about the weather. They say inane things like, "Cold today, isn't it?" 

How do you respond to that except agree with the comment. I like to confuse them by starting a debate about something completely unrelated. I say, "Actually, scientists have discovered that since this country's Gross Domestic Product has risen due to inflation and the overheating of the economy the temperature throughout the British Isles has dropped slightly by about 2.17%".

This soon shuts them up.

Anyway ... again ... this old lady talked about the weather for a bit and then asked me if I could change a £2 coin because she needed some small change for her shopping. 

I took out my piggy bank out of my pocket. Opened the small aperture and took out its contents in my hand. 

I counted and gave her a £1 coin and a selection of pennies totalling 100 pence; and then I took her £2 coin and put it in the piggy bank.

She proceeded to count every penny I gave her to ensure they were actually 100.

I glanced sideways and said nothing; fishing out another pickled cucumber from my jar.

As she was counting she dropped a penny which rolled out the centre aisle of the bus and landed a few feet away under one of the seats.

"Hey ..." she said, "you've only given me 99 pence. There's one penny missing!"

"No madam," I replied politely, "you dropped it and it rolled over there, under that man's feet!"

"No it didn't!" she insisted, "you diddled me ... you cheat ... I am one penny short ... you owe me one penny!"

Then, deliberately to make a scene, she turned to the entire bus and said, "this man owes me a penny. He is a cheat and a fraud. He is denying me my penny!"

In order to shut her up, I pulled out my piggy bank from my pocket, opened it quickly, and to my dismay, I could only find two-pence coins. There was not one single penny coin in the damn thing.

I gave her a two-pence coin and said, " here you are. Now YOU owe me one penny!"

She took my two-pence coin and said, "That's not going to happen ... fathead!" and she got off the bus.

Now the mathematically minded amongst you will have noted that I am down two pence on this transaction. I gave her the full £1 coin and one hundred pennies in exchange for her £2 coin; plus an extra 2 pence to shut her up.

As I said ... many times before ... I do not like people who sit next to me in public places and start a conversation. Why can't they leave me alone?

Moving Mountains

“It was because you haven’t enough Faith,” answered Jesus. “I assure you that if you have Faith as big as a mustard seed, you can say to this hill, ‘Go from here to there!’ and it will go. You could do anything." Matthew 17:20.

Sometimes, we tend to take the Bible too literally. We forget that when Jesus spoke to His listeners He used the idiom and phrases commonly used at the time.

In Britain there’s a saying, “Keep your hair on”, which means calm down, don’t get so excited and worked up, relax a little.

It would be wrong if 2000 years from now that saying were interpreted to mean an adverse comment on male baldness.

When Jesus referred to moving a hill He did not mean it literally. Miracles are not magic tricks, and the Holy Spirit, for it is He who performs miracles, not the disciples, and certainly not us – the Holy Spirit would not perform a miracle for no purpose. Every miracle performed by Jesus and the disciples has been to do good, for the benefit of others in need.

In this context, the disciples had failed to drive out a demon from a young child. They asked Jesus why they had failed.

Jesus taught them, and us, that a pre-requisite to performing miracles is to have Faith in Him, in God, and in the Holy Spirit.

To have Faith and to believe in the power of the Almighty.

 And yes … miracles do happen in this day and age, today even.

The problem is that we are too unwilling to believe.

Film Director Diploma

I have just been awarded a Diploma as a Film Director after attending a long and extensive three days course at a local establishment of education. Let me share a few of the tricks of the trade which I have learnt from this college.

1 All action films must have a fight. Whether it is people punching and kicking each other in martial arts fashion, or a pub brawl, or a swords fight like the three musketeers. What is important to remember is that it does not matter if the hero is heavily outnumbered; the enemies will always wait patiently to attack the hero one by one, dancing around in a threatening manner until the hero has knocked out their predecessors.

2 The hero must never show any pain whilst taking the most ferocious beating by his enemies; but he must always wince when a woman tries to clean his wounds.

3 Whenever a large pane of glass is visible on the screen, it is imperative that someone will be thrown through it.

4 All electronic timing devices must have large red readouts to add to the suspense and drama of the scene. The hero must always be seen with cold sweat on his forehead and he must always blindly choose to cut the right wire with seconds to spare.

5 In police films, the detective can only be able to solve the case once he has been suspended from duty. And he is always assigned a partner who is the total opposite in character.

6 Even when driving down a perfectly straight road, the character must always turn the steering wheel vigorously from left to right every few moments to show that he is driving. He can also look sideways to the pretty woman in conversation for at least a mile without having an accident.

7 In war films the characters can survive any battle unless they show someone else a picture of their sweetheart back home. That's when you're sure they'll die.

8 In bedroom scenes it is important to have a special L-shaped sheet that reach the armpit level of the woman, but only the waist level of the man lying beside her. Apparently, watching male nipples is very suggestive in such scenes.

9 If staying in a haunted house, women should always investigate any strange noises in their most revealing underwear. Even if it is freezing outside and the wind is howling through the open windows.

Now that you have learnt as much as I have, I look forwards to watching your videos.

With this in mind, here is a video I have made. It may not win an Oscar, an Emmy or other awards but I hope you find it informative and entertaining.

Look at a Christian in the mirror

I have to be careful with what I say here in case I offend anyone. But then ... we are in a day and age where everyone seems to have a right to be offended about something or other. Taking offence seems to be the latest fad, or profession for some. It's become so fashionable that if you are not offended about something, this in itself will cause offence to someone who will see you as callous and uncaring; and unable to take offence at what is seemingly so obviously wrong yet you have not got the gumption to notice it and take offence at it.

Phew ... pause for long breath.

OK ... so let me get to the point of what may well offend God. Now that's important, so let us all pay attention.

When you look around you in church, or prayer meetings, or other Christian gatherings that many churches have, do you see happy faces, full of joy, and hope and ... I don't know ... happiness ... joy ... and other good things?

Or do you see miserable faces, like they have a permanent bad smell under their nose, as if they have a dead fish tucked in their underpants?

My experience is the latter. People I meet in church or other church groups, appear to be "religious" of sorts, but their demeanour and overall outlook is one of despondency, gloom and the futility of life in general. Where's the joy at the Good News - I ask myself.

Maybe, let's face it, we Catholics are a boring lot and have nothing to cheer about except how much is in the collection plate on Sunday.

Maybe people are too preoccupied with their lot in life and as such they see Christianity as a big Cross they have to bear and carry. They let the weight of their Cross crush them down; rather than  use it to climb up to Heaven to Christ’s welcoming arms.

Some even "Praise God" and look forwards to meeting Him. This means they wish they were dead. I am sure that is not what God intended when He created us - to wish that we would soon die! He created us to enjoy this life, to help one another; not to endure it and wish it is soon over!

Whatever their reasons for looking miserable, the people in my church should realise that this attitude reflects on those they know and meet. They are a role model for someone else. 

Whether you are a parent, offspring, sibling, teacher, doctor, carpenter or whatever else you are in life; you are a role model for someone else. Someone somewhere is watching you and would either copy your behaviour, or avoid totally being like you.

So ... what do Christians portray and represent to other people? A Faith that one would want to learn more about, and perhaps join? Or something to be avoided?

Christians are a bad advert for Christianity ... (sometimes).