Saturday 26 September 2020

Quentin Ravioli


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. 
Years ago, Quentin generously paid for my dog to be put down, and then he helped me bury him.

He was an Alsatian. The dog, not Quentin. I believe that Quentin was from Scotland. 

He was seventeen at the time. The dog, not Quentin. Quentin was about twenty five, I believe.

He used to follow me everywhere. The dog that is, not Quentin. He used to follow me to the fishmongers were I used to buy crabs and lobsters.

He was very intelligent and quick witted. Quentin, not the dog. The dog has been long dead. One day I asked Quentin "Why do Scuba divers always fall backwards off their boats?" To which he promptly replied, "They have to go backwards. If they fell forwards, they'd still be in the boat."

Quentin was good at languages. One year he went to France on holiday and saw an old lady in  Montmartre in Paris sitting on the sidewalk knitting. He asked her, “Voulez vous crochet avec moi?”

On another occasion he impressed his friends at a restaurant by ordering the whole meal in Italian. The waiter did not understand a word though. It was a Greek restaurant.

He once bought a book on-line entitled  “How to get your own back on your neighbour”. Unfortunately he was out when it was delivered and the postman left the book next door.

His next door neighbours never got out of the house. They were agoraphobic anorexics. Bet they had some skeletons in the cupboard.

Quentin was a keen gardener. Always in his garden planting something or other. He was a bit OCD and he told me once that he always plants his herbs in alphabetical order. I asked him "where do you find the time?" He replied, "It’s there next to the sage."

A kind hearted person, Quentin was. Once at a pub he noticed a guy had passed out at a table nearby. The bartender told him the man is Mr. Peters, and asked Quentin if he could drive him home. Quentin agreed and the bartender wrote down the address and gave it to him.

Quentin tried to wake Peters, but Peters was groggy and quite drunk. Quentin helped him to his feet, but Peters fell to the floor in a crashing heap.

He took him by the arm and practically dragged him out to the car. Once there, he leant him against the side of his car while he looked for his keys. The man slid down to the ground again.

Eventually Quentin drove the man to the address the bartender gave him. He opened the passenger door and helped Peters out and he fell to the ground again!

He got him to his door and said to Peters' wife, "Hi, your husband had a little too much to drink tonight so I gave him a ride home."

"That was nice of you," she replied looking around ... "But where's his wheelchair?"

And that's Quentin Ravioli for you. A man of many parts ... none of which worked properly. We shall miss him sorely. Because he keeps moving!


  1. ...I'm having a difficult time deciding who is more interesting, Quentin or you!

    1. Me ... me ... me ... just read my books and find out. Some are FREE from

      God bless, Tom.

  2. Poor Peter ... I didn't see that coming! Quentin sounds like a fascinating sort. Will we be hearing more from him someday?

    1. I don't know, Mevely. I hope so. I just invent characters and some develop into features in my books - and some don't. This story is in the book mentioned below.

      God bless, and thanx for your support.

  3. Dearest Victor,
    Your character Quentin Ravioli made for quite some tales to tell.
    Your Alsatian dog lived a full life!
    Quentin obviously didn't know the difference between knitting needles and a crochet hook...
    Poor drunk that used a wheelchair, so he might not have been 'that' drunk after all?!
    Enjoy your weekend and keep this wit coming.

    1. I'm so glad you enjoyed this story and wit, Mariette. This is one of my many short humourous stories which appear here on this blog and in my books. So glad you enjoy them.

      God bless always.

  4. What a character Quentin Ravioli is and what a name. :)

    1. He was Scottish with an English mother and an Italian father. Hence Quentin his English name.

      God bless you, Bill. Keep smiling.

  5. So funny, Victor! I knew it sounded familiar, and yep! I'd read it in Speaking from my Sock. Enjoy your day and blessings!

    1. Thank you for your loyal and constant support, Martha. Every so often I re-publish old stories for my new readers. You can't say I don't do my bit of re-cycling.

      God bless you always my friend.

  6. Sounds like Quentin is the perfect friend for you. :)

    1. Yes he is/was. He has moved and I don't know his address. I know his e-mail and phone number though.

      God bless, Happyone.

  7. Quentin is wise to keep moving, it's harder to hit a moving target.

    1. He's never in the same place for long.

      God bless, Mimi.

  8. Quentin Ravioli what a name ...

    All the best Jan

    1. He changed it from Quentin Spaghetti because he could not spell his surname. He learnt to read from Alphabet pasta and tomato sauce.

      God bless, Jan.



God bless you.