Posted on by JonnyB

There is a knock at the door!!!

A man stands there, looking well-to-do. His Lexus is parked across the road. (I think it is a Lexus; I am not much good at modern cars).

“I’m looking for ‘Conifer Lodge,'” he announces, brusquely.

I stare at him, then shake my head.

“Sorry – that’s a new one on me.”

Now, Narcoleptic Dave’s cottage, where I’m currently staying, is small. That’s not meant to be disrespectful to Narcoleptic Dave, or indicate ingratitude for the kind use of this dwelling. It’s a mere factual description of this mean hovel in which I am forced to reside. Once part of a group of farmworkers’ cottages, it was taken over by the Church Commissioners last century, possibly as part of one of their charitable campaigns against battery farmworkers.

My point is, that the house is compact. Modest. Bijou, if you will.

In the front garden, there is a single rather forlorn tree. To call it a ‘dwarf conifer’ might be overstating the case. It is a dwarf dwarf conifer. A runt amongst firs. A treelet that, should I ever enter it in the Norfolk and District Bonsai Festival, would be subject to furtive and unpleasant pointing and sniggering.

“Conifer Lodge,” he repeats, making a point of looking very closely at my house. “It’s definitely in this road, and there aren’t that many houses.”

“Sorry – I really can’t help you.”

“Thanks anyway.” He retreats down the path, making sure to give one final accusatory look over his shoulder.

Posted on by JonnyB

I meet the Methodical Builder.

He is nervous and ill-at-ease for some reason. I strongly suspect I know what this some reason is. We walk to the back garden.

The Cottage is coming along nicely. I am particularly pleased with the walls. There is a big wall that contains what we call ‘Bedroom 3’. It is a well-constructed wall made of bricks and period breeze-block. The bricks are exactly as chosen and are laid as straight as straight can be. The mortar-work is excellent, as is the pointing. I cannot criticise the wall in any way.

We examine the wall together.

“Where,” I ask in a very calm and considered and keeping-a-lid-on-it way, “is the window?”

“Yes.” replies the Methodical Builder.

I look harder at the wall. Not being a technical type, I had imagined that a gap would need to be left in advance for the window, rather than some belated hollowing-out.

“I think the brickie had a bit of an off day,” he offers.

“An off day.”

“Either that, or he was looking at a different version of the plans.”

My mind searches in vain for any memory of these mysterious plans. “It’s just that I was rather hoping to use it,” I muse, “for looking out of.”

“Mmmmm.”

Posted on by JonnyB

The baby grizzles.

I try to buy her off with one of her furry animals. Servalan has several furry animals, principally three bears named Lionel, Tony and Rafael, and two rabbits.

The rabbits do not have names. That would be silly.

Bears and rabbits appear to be the key types of furry animal produced as baby entertainment. For some reason it’s been decided that babies will mainly like the species that are known for relieving themselves in the woods. (By ‘relieving themselves’ of course I mean taking a dump, not masturbating. Although for all I know, bears might well masturbate in the woods. I do not seek to judge.)

I grab Tony bear. “Come on. I’m a reasonably straight bear. Let’s draw a line under this crying and move on,” he says (although it is not really him, it is me just pretending). The grizzling continues.

My Canadian readers would know. They might have seen them going into the woods with copies of ‘Readers’ Bears’ or ‘Bearly Legal’ or ‘Bear with a One-Track Mind’. Let’s face it, they are pretty restricted for places to go. They don’t have bedrooms, or bathrooms, or Sketchley’s (when the assistant is not looking).

The happiest bears are the ones clutching a copy of ‘Coprophiliac Bear’. They have the best of both worlds.

Rabbits do not masturbate in the woods. They have no need.

I think the bear/rabbit monopoly might come from the Pooh Bear books. I am currently reading the one where Pooh Bear gets stuck in Rabbit’s hole, and they are pretty well the only characters in there. Baby Servalan is enjoying it, although I am still trying to work out my accents. At present I am playing Pooh Bear as a sort of north-country Jake Thackray type, with Rabbit adopting a more Terry-Thomas vocal tone.

(If you’re interested, of the non-shitting-in-the-woods characters, Christopher Robin is just a normal voice, Piglet is squeaky and Tigger is a sort of over-energetic Mick Jagger.)

Mick Jagger does not shit in the woods. It’s possibly that he might shit at the Woods’, if Ronnie had, say, invited him round for dinner and to stay the night.

I don’t know if Mick Jagger would masturbate at the Woods’. I don’t really care. He co-wrote ‘Gimme Shelter’ so he is allowed. He probably would if Jerry could not make it that evening. (Note to self – check if this is still a current reference).

The grizzling continues. I decide to change a nappy.

Posted on by JonnyB

The Short Tonies have gone to America!!!

We sat in the Village Pub discussing their impending holiday.

“It’s the food I’m really looking forward to,” said Short Tony. “Big portions.”

“That’s not necessarily true,” I warned him. “I’ve been to California and the food is rubbish. They don’t have flavours.”

“What do they eat in Florida then?”

I was a bit nonplussed by this. “Oranges, I guess. And Democrats.”

Flying on April Fool’s Day is always fun, with the amusing jokes and pranks you can play at the immigration desk. But, truth be told, I am a bit worried about his visit. Recently he has once more turned up at somebody’s house in the middle of the night slightly drunk and urgently requesting a darts game. Eddie was flying to Australia the next day, so wasn’t up for it and, in fact, hid in the back room – but the point is that if he does this on holiday then he might get shot as an intruder. This is America we are talking about after all, not sleepy Norfolk.

Either that or he will come back as a different actor, like on Neighbours.