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.

The Holy Trinity

PLEASE SPEND 10 MINUTES LISTENING TO THIS

Have you looked inside your mind lately?

Those of you who regularly read this Blog, yes ... both of you ... thank you for visiting me here again. You will have gathered by now that I usually write humourous stories here, mainly to amuse myself and to make me laugh; but also to bring a smile to your face; or even a giggle or two.

What is a giggle? It is a sound that builds up deep within you and goes up your asparagus and comes out as a noise from a hole in your head. From anywhere else and you're in real trouble!!!

Anyway ... as I was thinking before my mind wandered as it is wont to do. Normally, I write funny stories here; but not this time ... oh no ... this time I want you please to think seriously about what I want to say ... because that's what I will do ... think seriously!

When is the last time you looked inside your mind? 

By that I mean - do you know who you really are?

I am not asking you your name, your parentage, your background, education, up-bringing or anything like that. I am asking you - do you know who you are?

As an individual you no doubt have opinions, points of views, prejudices, (we all have them you know ... prejudices ... even though we don't like to admit it), we all have these beliefs, values in life, and such like traits that we call our own. They are part of our personality; our individuality.

But have we ever thought what made us this way? Are our opinions, beliefs and so on based on thought out analysis, weighing up both sides, or more, of the argument or question? Or are our beliefs based on what others have told us, convinced us, or influenced us to believe and accept as the truth?

How much of our actions, which are often based on our beliefs and opinions, are influenced by our personal experiences and knowledge rather than other peoples' influences and persuasions of how we should act and believe?

So basically ... what I am asking you to consider is: Who am I? Why do I believe what I believe? Why do I act the way I act? How much am I influenced by others? Family? Friends? Acquaintances? Employers? Other employees? Adverts? And so on ...

Is all this getting a little too heavy?

Let's lighten the mood a little. Someone once said for every action there is a reaction. Can't remember who it was. It should have been me; but it wasn't.

So I ask: Why is there a reaction every time we eat beans? Or cabbage? Or sprouts? Or ...

Face to face with a ghost

Do you believe in ghosts?

Up to a couple of days ago I did not. But now ... ... ...

Usually, in spooky stories, ghosts are found in big mansions somewhere remote, near a forest or something like it; in old windy, cold and damp castles, stately homes and the like. But not in my case.

There I was in an old boat in the North sea just off the shores of Scotland. Actually, it was more than an old boat. It was a large fishing trawler about fifty years old with a crew of about twelve people. It was night. Although the sea was relatively calm the boat was bobbing up and down, and swaying left and right, as it struggled its way through the waves. It was cold with a strong drizzle which had not yet decided to turn into proper rain.

The fishermen were all on deck preparing for a good night's work. I decided to go to my cabin and call it a night.

As I got into my bunk I tried my best to get some sleep; which was difficult with all this to and fro of the boat and the ominous creaking noises it made as it fought the icy seas and howling wind.

It was then that I felt another presence in my cabin. You know the feeling? When you are alone at home, especially at night, and you think you've heard someone walking upstairs, or that someone is in the house with you, someone is there, watching you, meaning you harm. Well, that's how it was for me. I was lying there in my bunk bed when I felt there was someone with me in the cabin. I switched on the little light by my bed and there he was ... a man sitting on the wooden chest not five feet away.

I got up quickly and hit my head on the bunk bed above me. Why do they make these contraptions so small?

He looked like, I suppose he was ... a pirate. He looked like the pirates you see in films. About six foot tall I should say, although you cannot tell when a man is sitting down. With a big red bushy beard, and an eye patch on his left eye. He did not have a wooden leg or a hook for a hand; but he did have a sword on his belt.

I believe he was a vegetarian ghost pirate because he had a carrot perched on his shoulder.

I was afraid out of my senses and I must have cried a little because I felt the tears trickling down my legs.

I did not know what to say ... or do ... It was not possible to jump out of my bunk and out of the cabin because he was sitting on the wooden trunk by the door. I must have mumbled something incoherently because he answered back.

I could not understand a word he said. He was speaking in a foreign language ... Scandinavian, or was it Swedish, Norwegian or Finnish? Or was he talking in Viking language seeing we were in those seas the Vikings used to sail many years ago. What language did the Vikings speak? He was not wearing a Viking hat like in the movies. You know, a helmet with horns on either side! But he did have long red hair.

He got annoyed that I did not respond so he spoke to me again in this foreign language; this time more menacingly.

Why is it that when Jean Luc Picard and the crew of the Enterprise go to various planets and galaxies they always find other species speaking proper English; and here I am, in the sea not far from Scotland and I cannot find a ghost that speaks English?

Now there's a sentence I never thought would cross my mind.

I did what we Brits always do when we are not understood abroad. I spoke very slowly and very loudly.

"WHO ARE YOU?" I asked gaining a little courage as I had stopped crying.

He must have understood me because he moved back a little sitting on the trunk and said "Gogin !!!"

"Gauguin, the painter?" I asked stupidly.

"GOGIN" he repeated angrily.

Then I followed with another stupid and somewhat obvious question, "ARE YOU A GHOST?"

Obviously, he understood me. Perhaps he learnt English when the Vikings invaded Britain.

"Gogin ghost" he repeated, calming down a little.

I pointed to my left eye and asked, "WHY YOU HAVE EYE PATCH?"

He smiled and said, "As ghost, I go through key hole and someone put in key at same time!"

I reciprocated his smile and as I did so he slowly faded away and disappeared.

I got out of my bunk and went to the sea chest on which he was sitting. I touched it to make sure he was no longer there. Had I imagined the whole thing? Was it a dream? I kicked the wooden trunk hard to make sure I was wide awake.

I got out of the cabin and when I got on deck I muttered to two fishermen mending the nets, "I ... I have just seen a ghost!"

"Oh, it must have been old Gogin," they said, "he often appears when we sail these waters!"

Noisy Hotel Night

I spent the night at a hotel in the city a couple of days ago. I was there on business.

As I tried to get to sleep, and perhaps enjoy a nice dream, there was this continuous noise from the room next to me. Why are people so inconsiderate at times, especially when in public places like a hotel? Why do they have to make such noise?

For a long while there was this banging on the wall and a voice crying, "Is any one there? Is any one there? I have fallen? Is there anyone there?"

I thought, "What a self-centred egotistic person! All right. He has fallen; does he have to tell everyone about it? We have all fallen at one time or another. We are all sinners after all!"

Anyway, eventually he stopped banging on the wall. Must have got tired I suppose.

To make matters worse, the next morning whilst I was leaving the hotel, there was an ambulance out there in the car park. I was upset that it blocked my car because I wanted to leave for an urgent business meeting that morning.

Some people are really inconsiderate.

Reflections for the Soul

At The Circus

The other day we went to the circus as a family. We sat in the big top, which as you all know is a large circular tent with the audience sitting all round the circumference with the show taking place in the middle area of the tent.

The music was blaring loudly, every one was happy with excitement and all was going well … until someone pointed out that they’d forgotten something in the car. Being the gentleman that I am I got up to get the forgotten item.

On the way back I must have mistakenly taken the wrong opening in the tent. I stood in a long corridor type enclosure with a lot of other people some dressed as clowns, others in Tarzan type outfits carrying heavy weights, others in ballerina costumes, and then behind me people came holding on to horses, and one man gave me a small donkey to hold by a rope tied to his neck. Then further behind us came more people with elephants and tigers in cages on trucks.

There was a big drum roll from inside the tent and pretty soon everyone moved forwards to a loud fanfare.

It was obvious to every one but me that I was part of the big entrance into the large tent announcing the start of the show.

I had no option but to walk forwards with the crowd holding on to the donkey.

As we entered the tent the clowns beside me started to throw a large beach ball at each other.

One of them caught the ball and threw it at me knocking my hat off!

I heard the audience roar in delight.

I stopped and bent down to pick up my hat when the clown behind me kicked me in the backside to the delight of the audience, except my family sitting nearby!

I let go of the rope holding the donkey and went back for my hat. At which point, for some reason, the donkey ran away from the orderly queue and started hopping up and down like a wild bucking bronco.

This frightened the elephants which started trumpeting loudly.

Fortunately someone caught the donkey quickly and order was restored although the audience thought it was all part of the show as they applauded enthusiastically and laughed loudly.

I put on my hat and walked in unison with everyone else once more around the big tent. Whilst looking straight ahead trying to avoid eye contact with my family I accidentally stepped into a deposit left there by an elephant. The audience near me at the time whooped in delight!

Eventually I followed everyone else out of the big tent and I made my way back to the car to get cleaned up.

I returned to my family and had great difficulty explaining the whole situation to them.

The Important Things in Life

A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him.

When the class began, wordlessly, he picked up a very large and empty jar and started to fill it with golf balls.

He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was.

The professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured it into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls.

He asked once again if the jar was full and they agreed it was.

The professor next picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. So he asked once more if the jar was full. The students laughed and replied 'yes.'

The professor then produced two cups of coffee from under the table and poured the entire contents into the jar, effectively filling the empty space between the sand.

'Now,' said the professor, 'I want you to recognize that this jar represents your life.'

'The golf balls are the important things - God, family, children, health, friends, and favorite passions. Things that if everything else was lost and only they remained, your life would still be full.'

'The pebbles are the things that matter like your job, house, and car.'

'The sand is everything else - The small stuff. '

'If you put the sand into the jar first,' he continued, 'there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life.'

'If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you. So... pay attention to the things that are critical to your life and your happiness. Spend time in prayer. Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your partner out to dinner ... and so on. '

'There will always be time to clean the house and fix the dripping tap.'

'Take care of the golf balls first ... The things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand.'

One of the students raised her hand and inquired what the coffee represented.

The professor smiled.

'I'm glad you asked. It just goes to show you that no matter how full your life may seem, there's always room for a couple of cups of coffee with a friend.'

The Pursuit

I drove to the city, some forty miles away, for a business meeting which finished early in the afternoon. I looked forwards to an early return home relaxing with a Guinness and a football match on TV.

As I drove out of the city I switched on the radio to hear the news. As always, the announcer started with some bad news and then followed on with more bad news. I changed station to some country and western music instead. There's nothing better than "On the road again!" by Willie Nelson when you're travelling. That or Don Williams or Tom T Hall.

Anyway, there I was, approaching my home town and humming to John Denver's "Take me home Country Roads".

I tell you, those country roads in Britain can be long and winding with sharp corners and unexpected ups and downs of hills and narrowing lanes. But the good thing is that they are less busy than highways, and I often take the country roads back home after a difficult day at the city as it helps me to relax whilst driving. 

The other thing with less used country roads is that you tend to notice when you're not alone when driving.

As Waylon Jennings was singing the Dukes of Hazzard Theme Song, "Good Ol' Boys"; I noticed a car following me in my rear view mirror. Just then, by pure coincidence C W McCall started singing "Convoy".

But it was not a convoy on those long and winding roads. It was just the two of us. Me and the sparkling dark blue car a few yards behind me.

I put my foot down on the accelerator to put some distance between us. He did just the same and followed me exactly a few yards behind.

The road was too narrow for me to let him pass. And at the speed I was going I was afraid I might get off the road and land upside down in some ditch.

I slowed down a little. So did he behind me. He followed but kept the same distance of a few yards behind.

I knew this road well and remembered that just over a mile ahead there is a big roundabout; a big island through which many roads intersect in and out.

If I were to enter the roundabout and turn my car all the way round; all 360 degrees; this would give the car following me the opportunity either to drive on ahead of me or to get off at any of the four intersections on the roundabout.

I sped up a little to create some distance between me and my follower. I arrived on the roundabout first and as luck would have it there were no other cars there.

I entered the roundabout from the six o'clock position on a clock face. I turned all the way round to six o'clock again and saw my follower entering the roundabout at six of clock just as I did.

I put my foot down and exited the roundabout at the six o'clock exit just as he entered it.

To my surprise, he did the same manoeuvre and exited at the six o'clock exit following me.

Why did he do that?

He had the opportunity whilst I was going round to exit at twelve o'clock and drive on ahead of me. Or he could have got out at the three or nine o'clock exits. Why did he go all the way round 360 degrees, like me, and get out after me at the same exit we had entered?

It's obvious he is following me. It is obvious he is up to no good.

I looked in my rear view mirror to work out whether he was alone in the car, or whether he had passengers. But he was too far behind for me to see properly, but he was catching me up fast. Obviously, my manoeuvre on the roundabout had confused him and upset him. He has realised I am on to him and now he is catching up with me fast.

I began to panic.

I sped a little more on this dangerous narrow winding road. I nearly got off the road as I slid in a large puddle of water where it had been raining previously. I almost hit a tractor coming out from a side road. I was going a little too fast for these road conditions; and yet, the blue car behind me was following me inch by inch replicating my every move. But he must certainly be a better driver than me because he managed through the puddle of water better and certainly got round that tractor missing it with a hair's breadth.

He was tailing me every step of the way. I could see vaguely in my rear view mirror it was a man driving behind me; but I did not want to look for too long in case I miss a bend on the road and end upside down in a ditch.

Who could he be and what does he want?

I did not recognise the car. Is he a policeman in a plain clothes car; I thought. But if he were a policeman; why not sound his siren and blue lights to stop me?

Who else could he be? A gangster? Does he want to rob me perhaps? Steal my car? His is a better and bigger model, what would he want with my car?

A prankster perhaps? Trying to have some fun by scaring me and following me close behind?

Maybe he is drunk and just out of his mind.

Whoever he was he was scaring me. I could not phone for help because I always switch off my cell-phone whilst driving to avoid receiving calls and disturbing my concentration. I could not let him pass because he had no intention of doing so.

I looked at the gauge on the dashboard and noticed that I was running out of gas. Sooner or later my car would stop and he'd catch up with me anyway. I had to do something desperate.

I remembered a driving manoeuvre I was taught at Advanced Driving lessons. I hadn't done it for ages, but these were desperate times. I took my life in my hands, literally.

I quickly pulled on the handbrake and released it again. The car spun 180 degrees on itself, just like doing a U turn. In the narrow road, I almost flew off into the field by the road, but I didn't. Somehow, by some miracle perhaps, I managed to straighten the car and keep it on the road. There was a tremendous noise as I did this lunatic stunt and dust everywhere. The car zig zagged a little and I drove off at speed as my follower arrived on the scene and put his foot on the brakes violently.

Momentarily, I managed to escape him. I saw in my rear view mirror that he had stopped and tried, after several backwards and forwards motions, to turn his car round again. He was not as good as me after all and could not do the U turn in one go.

I used this time to gain a distance between us as I sped towards the roundabout I had driven through moments earlier. If I reach it quickly and get through it maybe he would not know which exit I took and so I would lose my pursuer.

He was catching up behind me fast. He was a real dare-devil and had a very powerful car. Better than mine.
 
There is no doubt now that this man was following me for the last twenty miles and his intentions were no good.

A cold sweat covered my brow. I could feel my heart pounding fast in my chest. I was afraid. More afraid than I had ever been.

This guy was obviously not a joy-rider out for some fun. He meant business. What if he caught up with me and killed me. He would not want any witnesses after all that's happened. That's why he was following me fast and now beeping on his horn like a madman.  

If only all this beeping would attract someone's attention. But no ... the road was empty. Just me and him speeding recklessly.

I felt like Dennis Weaver in the film Duel by Steven Spielberg.

Have you seen the film? Real scary.

David Mann, (Dennis Weaver), is a middle-aged salesman driving on a business trip. He encounters a rusty truck on the highway which follows him and terrorises him out of his senses

This man behind me is doing just the same.

He stopped beeping his horn. I looked in the mirror and he was catching up with me fast. His headlights now full on to make it obvious he was there. I could see his hand shaking at me out of the window.

Is that a gun in his hand, or is he just wearing a black glove? I can't see properly and drive fast at the same time.

What the hell does he want? Why can't he go away?

If only there were other cars on the road I could signal for help. Or pedestrians; not that there are many in the countryside. It's just a long narrow winding road with either trees on either side or a deep ditch inviting me to fall in and end my life.

I kept driving as fast as I could without endangering my life. He kept following me ... for thirty miles now.

I was entering my town and gaining some bravado confidence.

Why is it we feel brave and confident on home territory? If the other man is bigger and stronger than you he is just as likely to punch you on the nose in your front garden as anywhere else. He doesn't know or care this is your home territory. If he is determined enough to finish you of, because of some unknown reason, or to get rid of a witness, he would do it regardless.

Anyway, now is not the time for philosophical discussions. Especially since my mind is concentrating on going to the bathroom as well as escaping my pursuer. Although I cannot work out which is the more pressing priority!

Why can't they have bathrooms in cars? There must be a way of relieving yourself whilst driving, surely. What is the point of having all the technology to send a man on the moon if we cannot solve such a simple problem? What do they do when on rockets to the moon? Surely they have a system of relieving themselves. Why can't car manufacturers install a similar system in cars?

It's amazing how one's brain works when in a panic.

All these questions rushing through my mind and pressing on my bladder did not solve the problem of my pursuer.

At the next traffic light, which incidentally was red, my bravery took over from my cautiousness and I stopped the car abruptly.

He stopped behind me.

I got out of the car and walked purposely towards him.

I did not know what I was going to say or what I would do. My stupidity had taken control of my mind.

What if he attacked me? What if he had a knife, or a gun, or a baseball bat even?

Thankfully, none of these thoughts crossed my mind, because if they did my bladder would have given up in despair.

As I approached the blue car behind me he pulled down his car window.

Before I said anything he asked: "Who are you?"

I had to think for a second or two before knowing what to answer.

He continued: "You're not Thomas!"

"No ... I am not ..." I mumbled incoherently that I hardly understood myself.

"You're not Thomas Haversmith!" he said. "Where's Thomas?"

"I am not Thomas, and I don't know who or where he is," I said gaining a little courage from I don't know where, "why the hell have you been following me for some thirty miles?"

"I have not been following you," he replied with some irritation in his voice, "I have been following Thomas. I did not know the way to the Conference Centre and he told me to follow him. I did follow him as we left the car park, and I drove for miles only to find it is you and not Thomas! And I must say, you are a terrible driver. Thomas would not drive like that!"

I was so relieved to hear his explanation; not literally relieved, you understand.

I asked him to follow me in the pub up ahead, where I literally relieved myself; and then gave him step by step directions back the thirty miles to the Conference Centre he was supposed to be at.

He told me that he was a guest speaker at the Conference Centre and was due there over an hour ago. He also used my cell-phone to explain to an irate Thomas Haversmith why he was late to address the meeting on the subject of in-car satellite navigation systems.

Inventions that changed the world

It never ceases to amaze me how inventive and creative is the human mind, and how many inventions we have developed over the years, over the centuries, which not only have helped human kind and advanced its knowledge and well-being, but have actually been vital to our very existence.

They say that the world's greatest ever invention was the wheel; but I do not agree. Perhaps the greatest invention was the second wheel, because then you had a bicycle.

But there have been many other great inventions since then; perhaps even better than the wheel. The door bell for instance. Before the door bell people had to knock on doors to be let in. Most doors in ancient days had ornate door knockers made of metal, sometimes brass or iron, and you lifted the knocker which was attached to the door by a hinge and you made a knocking sound which reverberated throughout the house and people inside would let you in.

This gave rise to knock knock jokes. I'm sure you've heard most of them so I won't bother you with any right now. But when the door bell was invented people stopped telling each other knock knock jokes. They all seemed to have died down somehow.

Knock knock

Who's there

Grandad!

Quick, open the coffin!

Anyway ... as I was saying, did you know my grand-father was a great inventor. He invented the colour mauve. Before then there was red, and there was blue, and violet, and purple, but no mauve. He went to the shops with my grandma and she tried a dress on. She asked him, "Do you like the colour? What is it called?"

He was eager to go home and replied, "Come on ... move!"

She said, "Mauve ... that's my favourite colour from now on!"

The other day at a fancy restaurant I discovered another new invention. An electric fork. You press a button and the fork end goes round and round to help you pick up spaghetti from your plate. It's rather dangerous if you happen to get it caught in your beard, though. I got an electric shock from it too.

Personally, I think the greatest invention ever is the left shoe. If they hadn't invented the left shoe you'd be walking round the street limping with every step because one leg would be shorter than the other. You'd have to walk on the edge of the side-walk with the right foot with a shoe on the road, and the left bare foot on the side-walk in order to walk straight. The problem with this is that you'd be going round and round the same block turning left all the time and never getting to where you want to go. Unless it was somewhere on the block where you live, like the shop down the road. Once you bought what you wanted you'd go all the way round your block until you reached your house once again.

The left shoe invention solved all that problem.

Another great invention, just as good as the left shoe I reckon, is the whoopee cushion. Before the whoopee cushion people had to rely on baked beans to make embarrassing sounds at parties. Or cabbage or Brussels sprouts. The whoopee cushion spared us from eating such stuff and now we can have a great laugh at any occasion without worrying what we eat. They are great fun at all gatherings, especially funerals. Just place a few whoopee cushions on the pews in church and watch what happens as the mourners sit down with their long sad faces. It's guaranteed to cheer everyone up in the most solemn of occasions.

I remember once I attended the funeral of a friend who was a clown at a travelling circus. Someone had placed a number of whoopee cushions on the pews. It was great fun when we all sat down together after the first hymn!

Speaking From My Sock

So … why call my new book, “Speaking from my sock”? 

It’s simple really. You see, I am a very shy kind of person and find it difficult starting conversations, or keeping up with conversations, for that matter. It’s not just the starting bit, but the continuation too which is a problem with me. Ending a conversation is much easier though. I just stop talking.

Years ago, when I was a child, my parents made me a sock puppet from an old sock. And the rest is history. I have not stopped talking since. At least the sock puppet hasn’t.

The other day for instance, I had reason to phone for a plumber. Easily done on the phone. But when he turned up I became very shy again. So I put on the sock puppet and all went well …

“Hello Mr Plumber,” said the sock, “how good of you to come over so quickly within a fortnight. Please excuse my silent friend with his hand up my rear. He doesn’t speak much. But he told me to tell you that our sink is blocked. We think another sock somehow got down the plug hole!”

And there you have it. A new book written by me with the help of my sock puppet. Thank you for buying it and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as the sock enjoyed writing it.

This book is a collection of short humourous stories and anecdotes, some heard here and there over the years, others originating from the deep recesses of my mind. 

AMAZON LINK HERE