Monthly Archives: December 2014

Shock treatment

Posted on by
Reply

electricityOne day, during our tenure of the local pub, I received a standard letter from a well‑known national supplier of electricity. As a result of my telephone call to them consequent upon that letter, I would respectfully suggest that they reword it so that falls in line with situations occurring in the real world. Something like this, perhaps:-

Dear Customer,

Thank you for changing – without even realising you had – to Business Electricity Plan Flexirate 2. You will see this change on your next bill from us.

As a Powermen (made up name) customer with a Business Electricity Plan contract, your prices will be fixed for the length of your contract and we are pleased to be able to give details of the Business Electricity Plan you believe you have chosen all by yourself without any help from us overleaf.

Remember, if you are a Tesco Clubcard holder and you have a mere 17 minutes 55 seconds to waste, please contact us at the number below to attempt to register your Clubcard with us as part of a promotion which, as you will soon discover, is only available to private residential customers. Please try and ensure that, before ringing, you have a telephone with a speaker button so that you can get on with some work while you wait the 15 minutes 43 seconds it takes to actually answer your call. With this scenario in mind, you will, of course, appreciate that our operative will thereby have actually dealt with your actual call very quickly indeed, actually.

Do remember this call will be free but it would be of great help to obviate delays for other customers with genuine account queries if you were to ring on a separate occasion just to thank us for not charging you for ringing us – this usually only takes 12 minutes 40 seconds or thereabouts. You would – if the Clubcard facility were available to you – earn 1 point for every £1 you spend on your energy. That’s 224 points a month you will discover you will have lost just by ringing us – free!

Yours faithfully,

Elaine ******

Customer Service (oxymoron)

The heat is on

Posted on by
Reply

bbq-grillI’m shamelessly blowing my own trumpet here, but there you go; I’m in control, after all. This is an article from the very first issue of the newsletter I used to produce for our local pub when we owned it. It concerned the barbecue on Comic Relief Night in 2001 run by Tony, one of our  fine regulars; his company supplied the burgers and hot dogs. The article was entitled “Tony’s Grill ‘n Griddle – a gourmet’s delight”.

It went as follows: “Tastes made in Heaven”, “I’m going to recommend it to all my friends”, “Why isn’t it in the Egon Ronay Guide?”, “How can you follow this without going to the Ritz or The Savoy?” These are just a few of the statements not one person could remember hearing on Comic Relief Night about the latest “in” eatery – Tony’s Grill ‘n Griddle at The Marquee In The Pub Back Garden (their staff will serve you right).

Tony and his assistants, Martin and Dave, were the purveyors of fodder to the starving masses. “You’d have to be starving”, confirmed one customer to me through the toilet door.

Tony’s revolutionary pre-cooked non-shrink burgers ensured at least that nobody would be poisoned. “We only had to make three replacements”, said Tony later. “Why was that if the burgers were pre-cooked?” I asked him. “Well, they didn’t like the fact the middles were still frozen”, he explained, “we didn’t have any complaints about the sausages”, he added proudly. Did he have any top tips for us? “Well”, he said, “don’t read between the lines; I’ve tried it and there is actually nothing there, oh, and be careful what you say and do, otherwise you’ll end up in the Newsletter!”

His remarks were prophetic; also somewhat ironic as tales from his own chaotic and confusing life proliferated in the cleverly named “Times At The Bar”.

An Anagramecdote

Posted on by
Reply

scrabble-lettersYou may have read the Anagramapoem in ‘Other Poetry’, in the introduction to which I refer to my brilliant invention, the Anagramecdote, of which that poem is an example in verse.

An anagramecdote involves concocting an entirely implausible and totally disingenuous story about someone (or something) and peppering it with anagrams of the subject’s name in capital letters, sorry, upper case! Well, in this case (upper or lower, it matters not), the story is not actually about THE TEN COMMANDMENTS, but contains anagrams of those three words. A variation on a highly original theme, I’m sure you will agree. OK, please yourselves.

Well, then. Our tale concerns Emmett Hammond, a quiet unassuming Londoner from Camden. Camden, you ask? Well, I SHAN’T CONDEMN EMMETT for that, you have to come from somewhere; I have better things to do with my time THAN CONDEMN EMMETT’S roots. Emmett was not afraid of hard work and had always wanted to run his own company. Unfortunately, his business ideas lacked a certain practicality – HAMMOND CEMENT TENTS Ltd was a prime example, although for a very short time it was a cause célébre, even attracting the composition of a classical anthem extolling the virtues of “concrete canvas”: a notable Telegraph headline at the time was: “ANTHEM COMMENDS TENT”. Unfortunately, ANTHEM COMMENTS TEND to be short-lived and the company quickly became the Bankruptcy Court in CAMDEN’S TENTH MOMENT of company cessation that particular day. All of this despite the extensive advertising campaign NAMED: “C’MON THEM TENTS!” (I think this is an example of “hard sell”).

Emmett left the court ruing his foray into the hardened camping market, muttering “DAMN CEMENT – THEM TONS of useless grey powder! What possible use are you?! Wait a minute! I could make boots for people who wanted to lean forward at a 45-degree angle without falling over!” Then he thought, “Hang on, Emmett, HADN’T CEMENT, MOMENTS before, epitomised my ineptitude in the concrete industry, indeed, industry generally? Forget it!”

Actually, although his business acumen proved wanting in many respects, he had salted away a little cash – just about enough to buy a bicycle made for two – right, let’s have your TANDEM COMMENTS, THEN; he and his girl-friend were planning to buy a flat and they would enjoy cycling around to view various suitable properties. TENANTS COMMEND THEM, apparently – flats, that is, not tandems.

Well, there it is – get the idea? Don’t pinch it, or, if you do, please send me the results of your anagramecdoting.

Sounds like…

Posted on by
Reply

Now I love the English language, and I feel really sorry for any Johnny Foreigner who’s trying to learn it. There are such subtle nuances in pronunciation and spelling and so many things you can do to manipulate it. I mean, you can pepper food with salt, ponder whether Jonah did in fact have a whale of a time, consider that a good way of making the Vatican smell nice might be to spread a good bit of pot-pourri: go on, say it out loud quick!

Here are just some of many questions that may or not require answers:-

  • If the Prince of Wales had his name embossed on an item of underwear, would you have an Heir On A G-string’? Pardon? No, ‘Basque In The Sun’ does NOT work
  • Are Girls Allowed to sing?
  • If nobody knows about it, how would you be able to hear a Secret Policeman’s Bawl?
  • Should I feel privileged to have been able to listen as a child to Billy Cotton’s Banned Show?
  • Should a large baby be given a Wide Birth?
  • Should young swans become members of a Cygnet Ring?
  • Would a hymn dedicated to Wyatt Earp’s famous battle be called ‘Gunfight At The OK Chorale’?
  • Could pigeons topple a government by means of a Coo d’Etat?
  • To Maid Marian, was Robin Hood simply a ‘Beau And Arrow’?
  • Should Gorilla Warfare even appear on this list?

Finally, if you support Liverpool but are a little lax in the personal hygiene department, you know what they’ll chant at you? “You Never Wore Cologne”.

Buy for now!

Stars in my eyes

Posted on by
Reply

astrology-signsThe following are extracts from a spoof “Your Stars This Month” feature which I did a few years ago for our pub newsletter as resident astrologer Horace Cope, all with the devilishly cunning intention of inducing people to visit the pub (which we used to own, actually) as often as possible. More of the same some other time perhaps.

TAURUS (20 Apr – 20 May)
Why Taureans should insist on staying at home watching TV and doing household chores when there is a risk of their ceiling joists collapsing on top of them is beyond me. It is far safer to be at the pub where the only event likely to weaken the ceiling is Matt leaving the bath taps on in the flat on Quiz Night. Take out that well-stocked wallet and get down there post-haste. You know it makes sense.
Lucky Sign: Plus                   Lucky Ladybug: The Four Seasons

GEMINI (21 May – 21 June)
The sign of the Twins is very appropriate at the moment, as unusually virulent sun-spot activity will enable all of you born under this sign to “twin” with the pub, requiring many more than the usual number of visits to that friendly establishment. However, if you do not manage to remain seated at the table near the fireplace for thirteen and a half minutes without being evicted by the dominoes players, your body will be covered in unsightly warts for six weeks. If it is covered in unsightly warts already, then you needn’t worry about sitting somewhere else.
Lucky Film: 35mm            Lucky Book: Deuteronomy

CANCER (22 June – 22 July)
Most Cancerians will inexplicably suffer from a mild form of frostbite at some point during the next couple of months, possibly caused by falling asleep with their feet in the freezer. All I can suggest is that they quickly make their way to the pub (not hot-foot, obviously), spend a few quid, take off their socks or tights – oh, or stockings (come on, Dave, be a man!) – lie down and wave their feet around in the kitchen when the oven and all the deep-fat fryers are turned on.
Lucky stone: 14 pounds                              Lucky Jim: Morrison

LEO (23 July – 22 Aug)
You will win a big prize in the National Lottery next Wednesday week but, to precipitate this, you will have to go to the pub every Saturday night, take a table and four chairs, put them right where the regulars are dancing and sit down, preferably with your arms folded defiantly. The more defiant the pose you strike, the more money you will win. Good luck!
Lucky Dip: Cheese and chive                    Lucky Day: Doris 

VIRGO (23 Aug – 22 Sept)
Daily visits to the pub during the fortnight after you read this are clearly indicated in the stars for all you Virgoans because you could contract a particularly virulent infection of the intestinal variety if you do not heed this advice. It will attack without warning, so you should keep on your toes throughout the period indicated. If I were you, I would point them in the direction of the pub and move them very quickly forwards.
Lucky Room: Toilet         Lucky Paper: Toilet

LIBRA (23 Sept – 23 Oct)
Listen very carefully to the local BBC radio station over the next ten days between 6pm and 8pm; when you hear your name mentioned – and I can assure you it will happen – rush to the pub and claim two free drinks. You will have 15 minutes to get there so, don’t forget, keep listening! The only restriction on this staggeringly attractive promotional offer is that you must subsequently buy five more drinks (plus one for the landlord)
Lucky Ear: Left                      Lucky Channel: English

SAGITTARIUS (22 Nov – 21 Dec)
The arrows of Sagittarius fly true to their target this month and, unfortunately, you will be shot in the leg with one. Every cloud has a silver lining, though, because the injury will not be serious and you will be quickly patched up and signed off for five weeks with an explicit instruction to be wheeled regularly to the pub for repeated doses of the healing liquid of your choice.
Lucky Archer: Grace                                    Lucky Bow: Cross

Making the connection

Posted on by
Reply

connectionYou may remember reading about the rivetingly interesting car number plate game which I invented. Well, the other day, I recalled reading in a book once about another game (not invented by me this time) which I cannot remember the name of just at the moment, where one person says a word and the other person has to say a word with absolutely no connection with the first person’s word. Now you may think that sounds quite boring, but the fun part of the game is the challenge! The challenge, that is, of the first person who must maintain that there actually is a connection and proceeds to describe the thought processes involved in linking the first and second words with, of course, hilarious consequences. Hopefully.

For example, the first person might say “Camilla”. Now, clearly, the second person could not say “horse’s bottom”, for example, but he (or she) could say “Tiger”, fondly imagining that the first person would certainly fail in the attempt to establish any kind of link between the two. The first person, however, is probably made of sterner stuff and, although possibly stumped momentarily, would undoubtedly respond in magnificent fashion by revealing the following intricate mental itinerary not envisioned by the second person: Camilla – Parker Bowles – Bowls – Woods – Tiger. Get the idea? Oh, please yourselves; you can’t help some folk.

 

Food for thought

Posted on by
Reply

pork-and-apple-burgerSome little while ago, I was temporarily laid low with a rather unpIeasant stomach bug and I wrote an imaginary conversation that I had with the likely suspects.

Me: “Look, this is about the tenth time today I’ve had to dash to the little boys’ room. And it’s all your fault.”

Lamb, Mint and Redcurrant Burger: “I’m sorry, it most certainly was not my fault; there is obviously some problem with your digestive system. We have to undergo the most rigorous Quality Control procedures following manufacture and then the ignominy of spot checks by Mr Waitrose and his bullies.”

Me: “I can assure you there is definitely nothing wrong with my system – I’ve got the constitution of an ox, and I hardly ever get stomach upsets.”

Lamb, Mint and Redcurrant Burger: “You cannot verify that to any acceptable standard of proof. I’ve only got your word for it.”

Me: “Well, if it wasn’t you, it was you! (points at Pork, Sage and Apple Burger accusingly). You actually tasted quite odd, now I come to think of it.”

Pork, Sage and Apple Burger: “Oi! Don’t try and blame me. As my colleague has explained to you, the processes to which we are subjected prevent harmful bacteria from being present among our ingredients to any substantive degree. And we are extremely conscientious about hygiene. We certainly don’t want Mr Waitrose and his trained thugs working us over.”

Me: “I don’t accept that; I haven’t eaten anything else all day, so what other conclusion can I draw?”

Pork, Sage and Apple Burger: “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do about it. I would suggest you should look for the culprit a little closer to home. You’re just looking for a scapegoat.”

Me: “Scapegoat? No thankyoueversomuch, I think I’ve had enough meat for one day! I’m obviously wasting my time arguing with the two of you.”

I think I may have eaten something that disagreed with me.

Reading things out of proportion

Posted on by
Reply

reading-trainOne of the bewildering twists and turns of my 37-year local government career actually resulted in my going berserk at Reading (Berks) – as opposed to Reading (Books). It was a simple chain of events. Oh, and the Books thing was just a cheap joke.

I worked at Rochdale MBC for six years in the seventies then went back to Bournemouth, where I was born and had begun an illustrious local government career in October 1966! Upon my return, there was a recession in the North West and thousands of workers were suffering a three-day week. The property market was therefore pretty stagnant in that area and I spent the next two years (the time it took to sell our house) travelling backwards and forwards on trains. The one I mostly caught (on every other Friday) was the daily 09.26 service (or was it the 09.24? it seemed to matter in them days) from Bournemouth Central to Manchester Piccadilly, which took a cross-country route (thus involving no changes in London) and took six hours or thereabouts.

One of the scheduled stops was Reading and, if my memory serves me right (it very often does on more than one level!), it was not long after the introduction of the whizzo Inter-City 125 service (so-called because the trains actually went 125 mph – well, when there wasn’t dust or jam on the tracks), one of which passed through Reading (without stopping) on the way from London to Exeter. It was quite impressive to see one of these new machines thundering through the station!

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, going berserk. On my first journey on the jolly old 09.26, we duly arrived at Reading (forwards). Can you see where this is going? I thought I was going to be able to at the time. After some rather unnerving joltings, the train began to leave – backwards. Coupled with the need (entirely whimsical, I accept) to sit facing the direction of travel and the resumption of the journey in a direction completely opposite to that which had been hitherto prevalent, my senses took a turn for the berserkness. I could not understand why we were going in the opposite direction – obviously I was on the wrong train and goodness knows where I would end up, or how much more it would cost me (times were hard). For a short time, I ran amok with a mental machete, chopping the heads off passengers and an assortment of British Rail (remember them?) employees for not telling me I was on a train that was going anywhere other than my desired destination.

After I found out that Reading was where the diesel engine was replaced with an electric one and, via a system of intricate points and other nifty railway-type devices, we ended up going in a north-westerly direction as planned, my running amokness subsided and I returned to my seat, mentally apologising to all the people I had hacked to death in my information vacuum.

When all’s said and done, it had been an unnerving experience. Funny how the mind plays tricks.

Travelling Companion

Posted on by
Reply

fast-asleepOn the sad occasion of Sheila’s stepfather’s funeral a few years ago, I had to drive up to my mother-in-law’s in Manchester; Sheila had already been there for a week, keeping her mother company. I thought it would be a good idea if Matt came with me, instead of going in the evening with his brother, his brother’s girl-friend and his cousin, so he could be company for me on the 250-mile journey.

Well, he was company in the sense that he was in the car. For the first two and a half hours, he watched ’24’ on his portable DVD player, then, when the battery failed, he made me stop at Warwick Services so he could get his CDs from his bag in the boot. My heart sank, for I knew then that Blink 182 were about to rattle my head, thus rendering all conversation impossible.

The next incident of note was his descent into a fairly deep sleep, to wake up only when we were five minutes away from my mother-in-law’s house.

So that was nice.

The Sausage and Mash Award

Posted on by
Reply

sausage-mashI wrote this in memory of a visit to Letchworth for a work meeting and, in particular, to a supper at the nearby hotel where I stayed overnight. Imagine a ceremony similar to the Oscars.

Gorgeous lady presenter: “And the Award For Having To Eat The Most Disgusting Sausage And Mash goes to……”

(pause for suspenseful effect)

“……Mr Hants Bluepants!” (raucous cheers, gorgeous presenter takes a deep breath and kisses me)

Me: “I just can’t believe it!” (I kiss the gorgeous lady presenter again). “This means so much to me. I was hoping that the hotel in Letchworth where I partook of the meal in question could have allowed the chef to attend tonight but he is busy poisoning some other unsuspecting diners or helping to clean up the customers’ vomit.

I would like to thank the first waitress who obviously misheard me when I consulted the Menu and ordered the ‘Sausages and Mash In A Yummy Gravy’ since she got the kitchen to rustle me up a dish of sewage instead.

Thanks are also due to the second waitress who brought the steaming, er, dish to me and asked if I wanted some tomato ketchup on it! On reflection, it might have improved the taste considerably.

I must take the opportunity of expressing my gratitude to the knife and fork – it couldn’t have been easy for them. And I couldn’t possibly have accomplished any eating at all without the help of extreme food deprivation brought about by a lack of lunch.

And when the first waitress came to collect my dish, she asked if everything had been all right. I cleverly avoided giving her a direct answer by asking if I could please pay the bill. What I should have said was that, yes, everything had been all right, inasmuch as it is all right to give someone food that has only marginally more flavour than industrial effluent, and actually resembles it, but it was 7.30pm and I was quite tired and emotional from a four-hour journey that should have only taken two and a half.

Thank you so much! I love you all!” (holds golden sausage aloft, gorgeous lady presenter backs away)

That really happened – except the award ceremony.