Adrian has been banned from his local supermarket after a fracas at the checkout.  He insists he is the damaged party and has written to the store to state his case.  I’ll leave anyone who reads this to decide if Adrian will have the ban lifted.

 

Dear Sir,

 

I feel I must write to clarify what happened at the Basingstoke store in order for you to reverse the decision to have me banned from shopping there.

 

The Thursday concerned was my normal shopping day, and as my loyalty card will confirm, I am a long standing customer.  As I queued at the checkout I found myself behind a young woman with two incredibly rowdy children.  The mother seemed engrossed in conversation with the lady on the till and I waited patiently until one of the children slammed my trolley onto my ankle.  The children thought it hilarious and when the mother glanced my way I tried to avoid a row, simply commenting that the terrible twins were having a bad day.  Her comment that “they weren’t f---ing twins you stupid old sod,” seemed uncalled for.  Perhaps my response that I could understand her partner opting for artificial insemination instead of the normal method could be deemed sharp but my ankle was very painful at that moment.

 

You must agree that I had no idea that the lady on the till was the woman’s mother.  Her tirade about a hard working daughter and an ignorant old man seemed to have no place in the discussion and when I began to laugh it was not aimed at the mother.  Her daughter had bent forward to lift something from her trolley and her jeans had slipped down to reveal a tattoo.  I can only describe it as looking like the tree of life growing from between the cheeks of her bottom.  The significance of the multi-coloured butterfly at rest on a large stretch mark was lost on me but I couldn’t stifle my laughter.

 

I apologise if I accidently caused offence and hope that now you have the full story you will reconsider your ban.  I am perfectly willing to change the day I shop and to avoid the checkout manned by the girl’s mother.  I didn’t note her name badge but she’s easy to identify, being morbidly obese with more than a hint of BO.

 

Yours sincerely,

 

 

    Unsurprisingly, the subject of tattoos raised its head with the obvious round robin question.  Sam had his first wife’s name, Kim, on his shoulder.  His second wife hadn’t been recorded.  His reasoning made sense.  Alexandra would have cost more and hurt more.  She only lasted a year anyway.

    Ben showed us his, the result of a legless night in Malaya during National Service.  He hasn’t a clue what it is – the nearest description we could offer being the arse end of a rat disappearing up a drainpipe.  Maybe it has a fundamental meaning in Malaya. Sam’s alternative of a pissed off female tattoo artist who’d suggested marriage another good option.  Nobody else had one which led to the inevitable challenge. 

    Jez must have been waiting for the doors to open at the Iron Duke but he commandeered our table so all is well with the world.  He’d forgotten that the local kids had already gone back to school, still chuntering about their behaviour.  His comment about the need for more parenting classes stopped the flow for a minute. The rest of us weren’t sure where he’d heard about parenting classes, or even what they are.   

 

    Ben’s on the list for a hip replacement and is getting lots of advice about how to avoid MRSA and other joys.   He’s concerned his consultant won’t be doing the op and wanted ideas to make sure he got the top man.  Paddy suggested finding out where the consultant’s kids went to school.  We’ve often wondered what job he did in Belfast.  One of other comments was helpful though – Adrian offered to buy his slippers if the op went tits up.          

    One common denominator for the group is stiffness; everything gets stiffer – well almost everything.  On the positive side you can get replacements for most bits and pieces.  Adrian reckons he has more technology in his chest than the rest of us in our computers.  He insists that his inability to use the self-service tills in Tesco without calling an assistant is due to his pacemaker.  We just nod knowingly.

    When our grandkids get together they compete with the latest Iphones and apps.  With us its pacemakers – hips and knees are passé now.  Sam posed the question, what would we have if we could replace anything we wanted?  The answer was predictable – it’s a bloke thing regardless of age.  It’s the same reason we still notice young women in short skirts though my wife put that in perspective.  She says dogs chase cars but they can’t drive.

    Another regular discussion is bowel movements.  We don’t just talk crap, we analyse it.  There are two old boys I know from my club – when I say know, I don’t mean their names – just their bowel movements.  Frequency, size, shape, consistency – you describe it and I’ll tell you who it came from.  If either of them ever became unrecognisable due to an accident, I could identify them quicker than that CSI lot on the tele. 

    One other benefit we all get is free prescriptions.  Our table in the pub sometimes looks like a Smarty convention when the lads lay out their tablets and compare notes.  Our GP’s must hate to see us walk through their doors, knowing there will be a discussion about why one of us gets a generic version of a tablet when our mate is on the branded one. 

    We all got a shock this week when Ben laid a Viagra tablet on the table.  Paddy said they call it the Pfizer riser in Ireland.  Inevitably it raised questions, mainly because Ben isn’t married and doesn’t have a girlfriend.  When he said he takes one each night before bed, nobody could think of another question.

   

 

 

    Easter's almost on us and we couldn't get our normal table for lunch at the pub, which caused a few grumbles.  The better weather had brought families out in droves and they didn't care whose table they sat at.  Four of us have grandchildren but the loss of that table seemed like a personal affront.  Still we found another and eventually settled down.  I tend to be the quiet member of the group and just soak up comments to help me to write the blog. 


    Adrian's a bit of an intellectual and he had a few things to say about the holiday.  Easter celebrates the resurrection but since it can vary between March 22 and April 25 it can be confusing.  Paddy suggested that maybe there were several comings to give more people a chance to see it; an early  marketing ploy to push up the audience numbers to get more believers.  More impressive was the fact that they only had a rock as a prop, but I bet marketing still managed to blow the entire budget!  I once heard a theory about a third coming, this one in disguise as a man called Harry Houdini.  Once you've learned the escape techniques and had an audience, it's hard to give it up.


    Many traditions have grown up around Easter - eggs, cards, bunnies - supported by the church and all the major supermarkets.  They like a decent religious festival do supermarkets.  There's a rumour the supermarkets have been in discussion with the church about inventing a new festival but we're not convinced chocolate choirboys will sell to a mass market. 


    The tradition Sam has adopted comes from Slovakia.  On Easter Monday men spank women with a special hand made whip called a Pomlazka.  The whip is made by binding together 24 withies - willow rods to those of you not from Norfolk.  The legend says that women need to be spanked in order to keep their health and beauty for the following year.  To show their thanks for the spanking, women are required to give a present of a coloured egg to the man who does the deed.  To help the economy, a well known budget airline has organised low cost flights from the UK to Slovakia on Good Friday.  The flights land in Poland from where you take a six hour coach trip to your destination.
    Sam has posted a note on his church noticeboard offering his services, own Pomlazka provided.  To date the only name on the list is that of the vicar.


    According to Jez, the largest Easter Egg ever made was reputed to stand over 25 feet high and weighed over 8000 pounds - we still talk old money to.  It was built of chocolate and marshmallow and supported by an internal steel frame.  Rumour has it that the designer was a dentist.