HELLO ... How may I help you?

Travel Agent Lady: Hello ... how may I help you?

Me: Oh hi ... I'd like to book a room in a good hotel in Aberdeen for about a week.

TAL: Certainly Sir, when will that be?

Me: Now, right now ...

TAL: You'd like a room starting today, Sir?

Me: No ... no ... I'd like to book the room right now.

TAL: I understand ... and when would you like to stay in Aberdeen?

Me: Next month ... the week starting the 12th. I'll be staying for the whole week.

TAL: Do you have a preference of hotel Sir?

Me: No ... I don't know Aberdeen that well. I want a good hotel, not just a bed and breakfast.

TAL: Yes Sir. I have one available which I am sure will be suitable. May I have your name and address please Sir? ... ... ... And a telephone number where we can contact you? ... ... ... Thank you Sir. Will you require a single or a double bed room?

Me: Oh double bed ... a large bed. And make sure there's a TV too.

TAL: Yes Sir ... all rooms have a TV, telephone, Internet access, as well as adjoining bathroom and several other facilities. I'll be sending you a hotel brochure Sir. Meanwhile, I need a name for the other guest staying with you, Sir. Will that be Mrs M...?

Me: No ... no ... my wife will not be with me.

TAL: So it's just you, Sir?

Me: No ... me and Maurice.

TAL: Maurice ... That's the other guest ... May I have Maurice's surname please Sir?

Me: Just Maurice ... he has no surname ... Just Maurice and I will be staying for a week.

TAL: I understand Sir ... That's a double room for a week commencing the 12th of next month for yourself and Maurice. Will there be anything else Sir?

Me: Eh ... yes ... does the hotel have room service? Can we order beakfast and other meals to be delivered to our room? We'd rather stay in the room most of the time.

TAL: Yes Sir. There will be a menue in your room and you can phone your order which will be delivered at any time day or night. Some guests prefer to have a meal at all hours, like two in the morning, for example. This hotel will deliver any meal you wish to your room at any time for you and Maurice to enjoy.

Me: That sounds great ... One more thing. Will they also deliver bones?

TAL: Bones, Sir?

Me: Yes... raw bones, for Maurice.

TAL: I don't understand Sir.

Me: Maurice prefers raw bones before his performance.

TAL: I still don't understand Sir.

Me: We're in Aberdeen for the sheep dog trials. You know ... like in the film Babe, the pig who wanted to be a sheep dog. Maurice is my sheep dog. We're coming incognito. We'll enter the trials in the last possible moment. That's why we'll stay in the hotel room for as long as possible. Maurice is a champion sheepdog, and any news of his entrance in the show will affect the betting odds, you see.

TAL: Yes Sir ... I see clearly now ... (deep breath) ... I understand.

MORE FUNNY STORIES HERE

AND HERE

 

Does God Love The Devil?

DOES GOD LOVE THE DEVIL?

We are taught that God is love. His love is such that He gave us free will to either love Him back or not. We even have the choice to turn our back on Him. Not believe in Him. And to preach and teach against Him and His existence; and to mock those who believe in Him. His love is such that He allows us all these luxuries and freedoms to choose as we wish.

The devil was one of God's loved creations. He chose to rebel and love God no more. God allowed him this choice. I guess, (although I have no proof of this), God still loved him despite the devil's rebellion. But it was the devil's free choice to go his own way.

Many humans choose the same path of the devil. And, I guess, are still loved by God.

But then, one day, comes decision time. We die either in love with, and in gratitude to, God, for all He has done for us; or in enmity with God.

It is this free choice at death that leads us to Heaven or Hell. It is as if God says to us: "Thy will be done. You choose to go to hell; then go!" (To quote C S Lewis).

Does God still love those in hell, including the devil? My guess is probably yes. If God is love then He loves everyone; even those who rebelled against Him.

Will God forgive those in hell and welcome them back to Heaven, including the devil? There is no Biblical evidence or teaching of that. In Christ's parable about the rich man and poor Lazarus at his door, Jesus says that there is a great chasm between Heaven and hell and neither side can traverse it. So it does seem that those in hell are there for eternity since Jesus taught so. They are there for eternity because they chose to go there. The gates of hell are locked from the inside by those who would rather be there, and had made that choice at the time of their death.  

So to answer the original question: Does God love the devil? My guess is yes, as He has always done, despite his rebellion. Just like many parents would love a child who goes astray.

Will God forgive the devil, and all those who rebelled, and welcome them back to Heaven? There is no Biblical evidence or teaching of that. But then everything is possible to God. The devil and his followers can be forgiven ... ... ... if they really want to!

Squirrel Whisperer

For the past few weeks I have been taking secret lessons from a colleague at work in being a squirrel whisperer. She is an expert in animal behaviour, or so she said, and I thought it would be a great idea if I learnt to talk to squirrels and then use my newly learnt skills as a party trick when we all met as a family, with friends, and neighbours. Say at our next barbecue gathering, or such like party. Our garden is often visited by squirrels; so I can call them for a chat. What a great party trick that would be to amaze my friends with!

In order to impress everyone I had to learn how to talk to squirrels in secret. So my colleague and I decided that she would visit our home when the rest of the family is away shopping, or whatever, then we'd go out in the garden and try to communicate with the many squirrels we have visiting us.

The first thing my instructor said is that to talk to squirrels I must "be" a squirrel.

She taught me to crouch down on the ground as if I were a little ball, and to balance my whole body on my feet without falling over. I had to put my hands close to my mouth as if I was feeding myself nuts, and try to walk, not hop, in that crouching position; just like a squirrel.

In order to imitate the squirrel perfectly, she brought a big false squirrel tail made out of fur of some kind and stuffed it into my trousers at the back. I must admit that I found that personal intrusion somewhat disturbing. When I was crouching on the ground she pulled out the back of my trousers and stuffed this false tail right in. I mean ... that was a bit too close and personal, don't you think? But I said nothing because I was so eager to learn to communicate with these animals.

She asked me to walk fast in that crouching position and by wiggling my bottom left and right it would accentuate the movement of my tail upright behind me. I must admit I found this rather difficult and fell over a number of times. Walking fast in a crouching position is difficult enough without having to wiggle your bottom at the same time. Have you ever tried it?

Anyway ... having half-mastered the walking whilst crouching bit, her next lesson was to get me to stuff as many peanuts in my mouth as possible so that my cheeks would puff out like a squirrel's. I had to run whilst crouching, and not falling over, stop, pick up some peanuts in my hands from the ground, (in a plate), and quickly put them all in my mouth. Easier said than done. A lot of the peanuts missed my mouth altogether. At one point I coughed and the peanuts shot out of my mouth spraying in front of me like a machine gun. Then the exercise was stopped when a peanut went the wrong way and nearly choked me to death. She slapped my back several times and then resorted to the Heimlich manoeuvre to save me from becoming a dead squirrel.

Not to give up too easily, I decided to continue with the next lesson the following week. This entailed running fast in a crouching position, whilst wiggling my bottom left and right, and climbing a tree as fast as a real squirrel would do. I must say at this point that she seemed to enjoy placing my false tail at the back of my trousers. She kept stopping the exercise to "re-arrange" my tail properly. But I said nothing, so eager I was to learn to communicate with squirrels.

In order to climb up the tree she placed a ladder against a big oak tree in our garden, well hidden behind the thick trunk, and taught me to climb the ladder quickly pretending to be a squirrel. I tell you, this is not easily done in a crouching position but I practised and practised as if my life depended on it.

Last Saturday, whilst the family was away visiting a relative, and I was alone at home, I decided to practise climbing up the tree.

I placed the ladder against the oak tree and ran up it as fast as I could right up to the top of the ladder. Unfortunately, as I reached the top I felt the ladder wobble underneath me. I quickly grabbed a nearby branch and just about managed to hop on another branch thick enough to carry my weight; whilst the ladder crashed to the ground with a heavy thud.

So there I was. Right up the oak tree. All alone with no one to help me down again.

At this point I need to say that this oak tree is right by the fence between our house and our neighbour next door. Our neighbour is a young lady solicitor living alone. From where I was standing I could see her showering in her bathroom.

Anyway ... ... ... the police did not believe my version of events and had an entirely different point of view as to what I was doing up that tree.

My family, sadly, chose to believe the police's side of the story.

I called my colleague on the phone to put in a good word on my behalf. She said that squirrels are very shy and somewhat stupid creatures and that it is not possible to communicate with them. She denied ever teaching me or anyone else at being an animal whisperer.

Mystery At Status Manor

When a heavy storm and subsequent flooding cut off Status Manor from the rest of the world the hosts of a weekend gathering and their guests are trapped in what turns out to be a murder mystery situation like they’ve never experienced before.

This tale has all the ingredients you’d expect – believable characters including a beautiful vulnerable young woman, a hapless hero, danger at every corner, a missing backgammon disc, an unexpected attack, visit to the dead, a shower scene, a bloody knife, a body, a threatening note and nocturnal goings-on. Oh … and a good serving of humour too.

What else do you want from a good read? 

Yes folks ... the story which you may have already seen serialised on this Blog in 12 daily posts, written in as many days, is now available in paperback and Kindle formats.

Get your copy today ... CLICK HERE

My secret confession

I think one of the great difficulties of being a Catholic and having to go to Confession is that your local priest, who no doubt knows you from your voice, will eventually build up a picture in his mind of the type of person you are.

I mean ... can you imagine me going to my usual church, where we only have one priest, so there's no chance of spreading my sins around, and telling the same guy every time what I have done ... again!

Let's face it; how can I actually tell him that I fall asleep during his sermons?

(I don't really ... just an example to demonstrate a Catholic dilemma. Although I'll admit to noticing other people asleep, or pretending to be thinking, whilst the sermon is on. In my case, falling asleep is quickly followed by a sharp elbow in the ribs).

No ... my sin is somewhat worse than falling asleep during a sermon. I just could not bring myself to tell our priest about it. He would not see me in the same light ever again.

In order to get round this technical difficulty I decided to do something else. Now I am not sure whether this is allowed in the Catechism or not. I haven't checked.

When I was in London recently on a business trip I decided to go to a church and confess there. The priest doesn't know me ... simple. Tell him my secret sin and go away.

I told the priest in Confession that I find it difficult to be a Christian because I simply do not like people. I am not prejudiced you see. I don't like people in general.

Now before you take offence at this, let me quickly explain.

I don't like certain people mostly ... most of the time ... most of them. I like some people, of course, but not all of them.

I don't like my boss for instance because he is always in a bad mood and thinks of nothing else other than of profits and productivity.

I don't like most of my colleagues because I have nothing or little in common with them. I don't talk football with them, cricket, rugby or any other sport because I don't like sport. I don't talk politics because I know I am right and they are always wrong. I don't talk about anything else with them because none of them likes the arts, opera, ballet, the theatre or can discuss Édouard Manet's "Le Déjeuner sur l'herbe".

I don't like the newsagent where I get my papers because he is pompous and pretends to know everything. But I have to go there because he is near where I live.

I don't like the barman in our pub because ... I don't know ... I just don't like him.

I don't like the mother-in-law because of ... many reasons. In fact I like her from afar. The further away she lives, and stays there, the more I like her.

So you see why I could not confess this sin to my priest. He'd think I don't like him either.

Anyway, I told this in Confession to an unknown priest in London. He told me I should try harder to like everybody because God commanded us to love one another. Jesus loved everyone He met. He loved them so much that He forgave them when hanging on the Cross.

I told the priest that Jesus loved everyone because He was God. God is love. Jesus was Divine. There is no way we can love as Jesus does because we are not gods. We are humans with human failings.

He thought I was making excuses and told me to try harder to like everyone.

I told him, surely there are some people he most probably does not like. The Bishop for instance. Or a fellow priest. Or some parishioners. Especially the pompous snooty ones that most churches seem to have.

He thought about this and confessed, perhaps unwisely, he did not like it when the Bishop addressed him by his surname. Or when one of his fellow priests has too short sermons. Or the parishioner who believes she is an expert at flower arranging. Or the choir leader who thinks she is a prima donna at the opera.

It was a long Confession. And we agreed we cannot be like Jesus, but we should try.

I wonder who he will confess his sins to? Maybe he'll visit my church and confess to my priest.

The Bucket List

Every now and then you hear conversation about peoples' bucket list. Your know what they are. A wish list of things individuals would like to do before they die. Go on a great adventure. Visit some far off country. Or whatever else one would like to do before dying.

Personally, I would like to cycle with dolphins. Most peoples' bucket list includes swimming with dolphins; but let's face it, what is so clever about that? The dolphins are in their environment and they swim, and you swim with them.

I would like to do something more challenging. I like to get the dolphins out of their comfort zone. I can cycle. Let's see how clever they are! I challenge them to a cycle race round the park in my town; or a leisurely cycle trip in the countryside.

Seriously though, people have all these grand ideas of things they would like to do before they die. I wonder how many have on their list the wish to:

Prepare to die.

What? What do I mean to prepare to die?

I mean:

“I am the way, the truth, and the life; no one goes to the Father except by me.” John 14:6.

Trying to Understand Women

It was very strange. It was about 11:30 last night when suddenly my wife shouted, "Golf ... Golf ... Golf ... That's all you speak about. That's all you do. Golf ... Always golf!"

I tell you. It was out of the blue, and I was startled out of my life. I never expected to see her on the golf course at that time of night. I was practising quietly and there she was. Shouting at the top of her voice.

I will never understand women.

What do you think?

What's in a name?

I would like you to think about your name for a moment or two. It was given to you at birth by your parents. Most probably, you have more than one name. You may possibly like your name, or you may have chosen to be called by your other names, or by a nickname. Whatever the case, you have a name.

It identifies you. It is part of you. In some cases a name affects one's personality and some people try to live up to the name they have been given.

Your name is very important to you. It makes you pay attention when someone mentions it in conversation, or calls you, or writes to you. It is personal. Friendly. Cosy. It is you.

Now I want you to look at your foot.

You have a Big Toe, a Small or Little Toe, and three other toes in the middle.

They have no name. No one has given them an individual identity. There is no name for them on their passport. The other two are called Big Toe and Little Toe. The three in the middle ... nothing!

How would you like it if you were one of the three middle toes?

You would have felt insignificant. Unidentified. Unnamed. Unloved even. How does that feel?

That's why it is important to name all your toes. I have named my three Jeremiah, Jethro and Fred. Same on the other foot.

Come to think of it, it is important also to name all your other body parts so they don't feel unloved.

What have you called your body parts?

Fire Drill in Hell

I was at a large supermarket today – suddenly the fire alarm rang. The customers left their trolleys laden with goods just where they were standing and walked outside the building, followed by the supermarket’s staff. The customers were led to one corner of the car park whilst the staff gathered at another corner and a roll call was taken. We waited for about half an hour until the all clear was given. The staff entered the building first in single file; I counted about 200 or so.

At that point a thought occurred to me; I don’t know why – perhaps it was prompted by the staff’s red uniforms. I thought: do they have fire alarm drills in hell? Do the devils gather at one corner outside hell whilst the inmates gather somewhere else? Can the inmates seize an opportunity to escape?

On second thoughts: hell and the devil are no laughing matter. They exist all right and we should be on our guard when the devil tries to lead us astray.

“ … and lead us not into temptation, ”

Have you watched a Vox Pop lately?

I don't know if it is the same where you live, but here in the UK, whenever we have the news on TV, or some program about something important, they often go out in the street and ask the opinion of members of the public. I believe the practice is known as Vox Pop - the voice or opinion of the people.

What is the point in that? If I am watching something serious like the state of the economy, or our foreign policy as a country, the opinion of the man in the street is of little value to me. In most cases, the man in the street is ignorant on most matters or striving to be ignorant on most matters.

To give an example. In 2016 the UK held a referendum (a vote) as to whether Britain should leave the European Union. This is a complex subject which has perplexed experts for years. We are still debating it even now.

To ask the man on the Number 10 London bus to vote on the matter is as pointless as asking the man on the Number 11 bus. Both of whom, as well as many others will vote according to their gut feelings, their prejudices or what their favourite celebrity, has said on the matter.

Does this mean we should not have elections and referendums - of course not. Elections and referendums are essential in a democracy. They are our rights fought for by brave previous generations. Once an election (or referendum) takes place we should accept and respect the result; regardless of how we voted. That's democracy.

The point I am making is that when I am watching a news program or something complex on TV I would value the opinion of an expert on the matter not that or a person stopped at random in the street.

Stopping a person in the street is as good as asking my neighbour, or my barber, what he thinks on the matter. It is an opinion and nothing more. It does not have the gravitas or expertise of an expert on the subject in question. What Helen Groggins thinks on a particular topic may be of interest and importance to her, and her family and friends seeing her on TV; but adds no value to the subject unless she happens to be an expert on it.

The other day on such a vox pop interview they asked a man for his opinion on some Government policy to boost the economy and create more jobs. His answer was noteworthy. "Will it cost me anything?" he asked. There's a man of great intelligence.

I was stopped in the street once in London, (it was not on TV), by a market research lady asking me for my opinion on a certain new brand of whisky. It took me several glasses of tasting before I could give her a coherent point of view! Now that sort of vox pop interview I fully approve of.

Have you ever been stopped in the street for your opinion on something.

Uncle Rufus

I have never told you about my uncle Rufus. He was a small diminutive man who kept racing pigeons as a hobby. He never won a race. The pigeons always finished first!

He worked as a Safety Officer in a mine. They used to tie a rope around his waist and lower him down the mine. If he did not faint it was safe to go down the mine and work. Otherwise they'd pull him up, revive him, and lower him down again a few minutes later to check once more.

He lived to a ripe old age. I once asked him, "What is the secret to a long life?"

He replied, "Keep breathing!"

Which is ironic considering that it was this that made him faint so many times.

He didn't speak much, my uncle. But often had short phrases which he said every now and then by way of dispensing advice to his young nephew.

For example, he used to tell me, "Always take everything with a pinch of salt!" Mind you, he made a terrible cup of tea.

When the other school kids used to tease me, my uncle Rufus always advised, "Sticks and stones may break my bones; but words will never hurt me!" Until one day a printing press fell on him.

Whenever there was an argument he said, "Always fight fire with fire!" I guess that's probably why he lost his job from the Fire Brigade and they made him Safety Officer instead.

He often experimented with new things and was famous for inventing a dog food that tasted of a postman's leg.

He always tried the dog food to see if it tasted all right before giving it to our Alsatian dog "Sit". For some reason this dog was always confused when we called him. I wonder why.

Tasting the dog food landed my uncle in hospital for Emergency Room treatment. One day, whilst walking down the street, he bent down to sniff a poodle's backside and a car hit him. 

As a child, I always had a fear of someone under the bed at night. Monsters, or ghouls or such like. So my parents took me to a shrink and told him, ''Our son has got problems.  Every night time when he goes to bed he thinks there’s somebody under it.  He's scared.  We think he's going crazy. Can you help him, doctor?”

The psychiatrist explained, “Just put him in my hands for one year. I'll see him three times a week and we should be able to get rid of those fears.” 

“How much do you charge?” they asked. 

“One hundred fifty pounds per visit,” replied the doctor.

Well, it was too expensive for my poor parents. There was no way they could afford that sort of money to treat my fears, especially since they had just returned from a world cruise and received delivery of a brand new luxury car. I mean ... medical costs were too expensive in those days. 

As a child I also had sticking out ears. My ears stuck out from the side of my head. I looked like a car with its doors open. My parents could only afford to treat one ear at a time. I had an operation on one ear; and then had to wait for another year before they could afford an operation on the other ear. 

For a whole year I walked around with one normal ear and another one still sticking out. At the slightest breeze I used to spin round like a hotel revolving door! 

Anyway, my parents decided not to go ahead with the psychiatrist treatment of my fear of monsters under my bed, and discussed the matter with uncle Rufus instead. 

Six months later the doctor met me on the street. “Why didn't you come to see me about those fears you were having?” he asked. 

“Well, £150 a visit, three times a week for a year, is £23,400. That was too much for my parents to pay. So they discussed it with uncle Rufus and he cured me for nothing.” 

“Is that so?” with a bit of an attitude the shrink said, “and how, may I ask, did your uncle cure you?” 

“He cut the legs off the bed. Ain’t nobody under there now.” I replied.

Ah ... dear uncle Rufus. I remember him fondly every night I go to sleep on my low down bed.

I remember many years ago when his wife was expecting a baby. He shouted frantically into the phone, "My wife is pregnant and her contractions are only two minutes apart!"

"Is this her first child?" asked the hospital nurse. 

"No", he replied, "this is her husband!"

A few hours later the baby was born and mother and child, were doing OK. Uncle Rufus and his wife Edna could not decide what to call my new cousin.

Uncle Rufus said, "We have got to be spontaneous in life."

He decided to take their dog for a walk by the cemetery. He said that the first grave the dog shows an interest in by lifting his leg, the name on that grave would be the name they will call the new baby.

His wife was too tired to argue and she agreed.

They called my cousin fire hydrant !!!

At Heaven's Doorstep

I stood at the doorsteps of Heaven in full anticipation. It was not a large Pearly Gate shining brightly as we’ve often been told and is depicted in some pictures; no … this was just a small wooden door. A humble ordinary wooden door with no sign or any distinguishing features foretelling where it led to.

I remembered the quote from the Bible: “Knock and it shall be opened to you …”

I knocked and as my luck would have it the door opened outwards and hit me in the face.

An old bearded man stood there and asked: “Yes … what do you want?”

“I … I … want to enter Heaven …” I mumbled hesitantly.

“Why?” he asked abruptly.

“Because I want to spend eternity with God …” I replied still fumbling for suitable words.

“And what makes you think He wants to spend an eternity with you?” retorted St Peter sternly.

It was a good question. We often assume that because we’re good Christians our entry to Heaven is guaranteed, but are we judging ourselves by our standards or God’s standards? I may believe that I am good to enter Heaven; but am I really?

The Saint noticed my discomfort and asked: “Who are you anyway?”

I gave him my name and he produced an electronic tablet and started punching his finger on the screen. I thought he was quite an up-to-date Saint technologically speaking considering his age.

“Ah yes … your name’s here …” he said finally, “I had to check. You’d be surprised how many people we get here expecting to enter Heaven as if it were a hotel. It isn’t an open house for all and sundry, you know. Just because some people attended church on Sunday and did not eat meat on Friday does not automatically give them free access to Heaven.

“As my friend Matthew quoting Jesus wrote: ‘Not everyone who calls me 'Lord, Lord' will enter the Kingdom of Heaven, but only those who do what my Father in Heaven wants them to do.’

“Look it up in Matthew’s Gospel at 7:21.

“He always had an affectation of numbering every sentence he wrote, old Matthew did. But don’t tell him I said so!”

I smiled feebly not knowing what to say.

The Saint continued: “The trouble with the world today is that too many people do the bare minimum and expect they are in God’s good book. Over the years they have interpreted the Ten Commandments to be ten suggestions and debating points to discuss and amend as they wish to suit their selfish lifestyles.

“The reason God asked Moses to write them in stone is so that they don’t get altered. Admittedly, Moses broke the first set; but fortunately there was another copy available.

“Over the years people have broken every Commandment even though they were set in stone.

“As I was saying to some of the disciples over tea this morning … people these days are no different to the Pharisees and Sadducees of my time on earth.”

I could see Saint Peter was rather upset which was indicative to what we’d learnt about him in the Gospels. Sometimes outspoken and short-tempered. For he it was who hit a priest’s servant with a sword when Jesus was arrested. I stepped slightly backwards in case he hit me with his electronic tablet.

He looked at me and chuckled, “I see here that you’re due a short spell at the Purification Center” he said, “Some of you lot call it Purgatory … it’s a bit like a car wash where you’re cleaned up and made ready to enter Heaven for eternity. I’ll be seeing you again shortly!”

I woke up with a smile on my face.