The Elevator

We have decided to install an elevator in our house. It will be useful for the future when we get too old to go up the stairs comfortably. So the advert in the leaflet we got said.

The elevator people came to our house and inspected it. They chose a suitable place where the elevator would be installed and set to work.

As you know, an elevator is essentially a rectangular box into which you enter and it lifts you up and down. In our case it would go up a distance of some 15 feet from the ground floor to the first, and only, floor above it.

The workers cut a square hole in the ceiling downstairs and installed all the lifting equipment and the box which will go up and down when we press a button. Simple.

When I got home one evening last week they had just finished working and were literally vacuum cleaning any remaining dust from the carpet.

We all had a little celebration with glasses of sherry, and whisky for me, and it was decided that I should be the first one to use the elevator to go upstairs.

I stepped into the rectangular box and after counting downwards from 10 to 1 we said together, "we have lift-off!" as I pressed the button inside the elevator.

Immediately the elevator shot up at great speed to the first floor. It kept on going. Crashed through the roof bringing down all the tiles and a pile of debris; and then shot up into the sky.

When all the dust had settled, my family and the workers went out in the garden and street to try and find the elevator with me in it. I was no where to be found. They looked upwards with binoculars and found nothing.

They phoned the police. At first they said their job did not include searching for missing elevators. When they were told I was in it, they treated the incident as a missing person enquiry. They looked in the loft and found nothing. They looked up at the sky and found nothing.

They phoned the Local Authorities who sent a senior engineer. He looked in the loft and found nothing. He looked up at the sky and found nothing. He phoned the Government Department for Missing Elevators.

The Government Department for Missing Elevators did not send anyone. They phoned our allies and friends in America told them there is no need to look in the loft. They asked them to look up at the sky and search for an un-identified flying elevator (UFE) orbiting the earth or perhaps the moon.

Our American friends looked at outer space thoroughly and they found nothing.

It was confirmed in the news that the UK had not entered the space age with its own space elevator.

It was concluded that the elevator had burnt itself out as it enter the outer-space and disintegrated with me in it.

Everyone was sad at the early demise of the famous author, who had gone without even writing his own obituary beforehand. How selfish of him.

Meanwhile, I was lying unconscious in the elevator in my neighbour's back garden.

The following morning my neighbour discovered a battered rectangular box in his garden and was livid. It is bad enough me throwing dead frogs and snails over the fence into his garden; but now it's gone too far by throwing an old fridge - or whatever that box is meant to be.

He phoned the police.

The police looked in my neighbour's loft. Then looked up at the sky. And then they found me still unconscious in the elevator in the garden holding a glass of whisky.

They fined me for being drunk in charge of an elevator.

I am the only person on earth with penalty points on my driving licence for drinking in an elevator.

Anyway ... because of all the cuts and bruises all over my body my family insisted I go to hospital where a couple of nurses checked me out and gave me various injections against tetanus, several infections, hay fever, colds and flu, and whatever else they had spare and past its "sell by" date.

All of which reminds me of my ancestor's, Baron Sir Richard The Lion Liver, Family Moto:  Semper Ubi Sub Ubi.

Which means: Always Wear Underwear.

Because you never know when you'll display your backside to complete strangers.

And that, my friends, is the bottom line.

So look forwards in 2020 because your behind is behind you. Unless you are standing in a queue in front of someone else, in which case their behind is in front of you. Not always a pleasant experience.

I remember once standing in a queue at the Post Office behind this massive lady who had a massive behind behind her.

For some reason she stepped back a little. And her behind began to "Tooot ... Tooot ... Tooot", like big vehicles do when they are reversing.

Anyway ... sorry if my mind wandered back there. It is all behind me now. As I was saying, look forwards in 2020 and not behind you, unless you are standing in front of a mirror admiring your behind. Which is something private you need not tell us about.

With hindsight we can all have 2020 Visions.

I bet not many people will click on the links in this article. Pity.