There was Bald Basilica Ben. We called him that because he had a head like the dome at the Vatican. I remember at school when the nun, Sister Crumply Face ... we called her that because she had a lot of wrinkles on her face ... like a bed in the morning when it has not been made up ...
Anyway ... when Sister Crumply Face finished the Religion class she said, "let us pray like Jesus taught us."
Bald Basilica Ben said, "I did not know Jesus had a tortoise!"
She sent him to the Headmaster for a good talking to. He was called, Mr Limp ... on account that this was his real name and unfortunately he walked with a limp on account of a motorbike accident when he was young.
Apparently, he searched the Bible and could not find any reference to Jesus having a tortoise. So he told Bald Basilica Ben that Sister Crumply Face was perhaps mistaken when she said "let us pray like Jesus' tortoise!"
Another school friend in the photos was Pest Control Pete. We called him that because once in class he broke wind and the smell was so strong the teacher had to open the window. He said there's a smell here that would obliterate rats for miles around. I had to look up the word obliterate in the dictionary. From that day we called Peter "Pest Control Pete".
The teacher did not know who broke wind in class. We called him Mr Car Doors. He was called Mr Cartwright, but we called him Car Doors on account that he had sticking out ears like a car with its doors open. On a windy day he would revolve round like a ballerina doing a pirouette ... or a revolving hotel door.
Then there was another kid called Fungus Face. We called him that because once we dared him to eat an onion. He took a bite and made a funny face holding back the tears trying to be brave. He kept the onion bits in his mouth for a while and then spat them out on Steve. It was so funny. Steve was covered in onion bits and saliva. So from then we called him Spat-On Steve.
There was also Harry; we called him Grass Eater because he liked boiled cabbage when we had school lunches. In those days, the teacher said grace before we started eating. I doubt it happens now in schools. I used to hate tapioca. We used to call it frogs spawn because it looked like little balls of jelly. We used to like spotted dick though ... do you know what that is?
Did you have a funny name when you were young? Or now?
I was called Professor, because when I got my glasses the priest said I looked like a Professor.
Are you my friend?
Are you short or tall?
Have you ever been mistaken for someone else? A celebrity perhaps? An actor or singer? Tell us about it.
Some years ago I was at a coffee bar in London. I remember the man serving behind the counter. He'd had a charisma transplant. I mean he had all charisma taken away from him. Hardly the sort of person you'd put at front of shop meeting customers.
Anyway, I was sitting there with my latte coffee when I was approached by two young ladies. They were French, judging by their accents. They could have been Belgian or any other nationality for all I knew. But they had a French accent.
"Excuse moi ... me ..." said the first one, "you are being zee actor from zee America TV show Friends? N'est ce pas?"
I awoke from my daydream and mumbled, "Hein?"
"You are Jennifer Aniston!" she declared.
Now I can assure you that I do not look one bit like a woman. Whether it is Jennifer Aniston or anyone else. For a start I have a beard.
I was about to say something when the young lady interrupted me by adding, "my friend 'ere ... she says you not Jennifer Aniston ... you is Gregory Peck. Zee man from zee film Magnum who is friends wiz Monica Geller!"
Well, to cut a long story short, I spoke to them in perfect French and put them right. I told them I was the man who plays the gorilla in the film King Kong, and that I was on my way to an audition for the part of a dinosaur in the latest version of Jurassic Park.
They believed me and got my autograph!
The other day, the same thing happened again.
I went to see the doctor to check up on my sense of humour. As I entered the Insulting Room I said, "Morning doctor ... you must be new here. Not the usual doctor I always see".
"I am not the doctor," he said, "I am the painter, as you can tell from my paint stained clothes, the pots of paint, and the brushes".
"Why are you in the doctor's office?" I asked.
He was rather irritated. Probably related to the coffee bar worker in London from all those years ago.
"Because the butcher, the baker and the candle-stick maker do not want their premises painted," he said with total lack of charisma and a personality as welcome as a fart in a space suit.
"But ... but ... I have come to see the doctor!" I mumbled.
"You won't see him today," he growled, "he is sick!"
"Oh dear ..." I sympathised, "I hope it's not serious!"
"That's a blue herring," he replied picking up a pot of blue paint.
"Actually, it is a red herring!" I corrected him, "not blue."
He looked at the pot of paint in his hand, which confirmed it was blue. He shook his head and said nothing.
I ventured a question, "Do you have a relative who works in a coffee bar in London?" I asked.
He replied, "Coffee is not everyone's cup of tea!"
