I had my first covid vaccination last week and, as with the flu jab at the end of last year, I was amazed that I never felt the needle go in.
That was unlike the time that I sliced into my left index finger with a fish gutting knife and required several stitches followed by both a tetanus and a triplopen jab into my left bum cheek.
The triplopen hurt so much that I couldn’t put any weight on my left leg and, having walked purposefully into A&E with a bloodied hand, I came out limping heavily. As Corporal Jones would say, “They don’t like it up ’em!” and neither did I!
Here’s the limerick…
A doctor was asked would she come To a man with a badly cut thumb. She put in some stitches Then pulled down his britches For a triplopen shot in the bum!
… and the bells were ringing out for Christmas Day
I am indebted to Laurence Fox, erstwhile leader of the newly minted ‘Reclaim Party’, for inspiring this week’s ALAW. His most recent populist tweet, seeking once more to belittle the British Broadcasting Corporation, brought a crushing response from a bunch of Anglo-Irish rapscallions:
So, here we go…
An actor once entered stage right And tried to Reclaim the light But that parcel of rogues That we know as The Pogues Just beasted that herrenvolk sh*te!
Regular readers will know that I’m a great fan of the Hatton Locks café on the Grand Union Canal as it approaches, er, Hatton, a small village just west of Warwick. In particular, its bacon rolls and mega-breakfast are to die for (probably literally if you overindulge).
And you get the mega-breakfast for less than a tenner. I make it a ‘must have’ treat whenever I’m in the English Midlands (especially on those days when you can sit outside, enjoy the view, and watch the narrowboats cruise slowly by).
I also rate the various breakfast options closer to home at Aberdeen’s Inversnecky Café – I recommend the breakfast muffin – and I’m a mug for Stonehaven’s Waterfront Café as well. Both are rather old-fashioned, traditional value-for-money establishments, but there’s nowt wrong with that!
So I was interested to read this week that London’s Savoy Grill is promoting Gordon Ramsay’s ‘amazing’ Full English Breakfast. A snip at only £19. Its launch has attracted a lot of flak, not only for its exorbitant cost, but also due to the paucity of product on the plate. I suppose the price is understandable if the Savoy wishes to keep out the great unwashed, but the lack of scran means it ain’t for me anyway.
Still, I remain a big fan of the Full xxxxx Breakfast (insert English, Scottish or Irish, I don’t mind – I’m a great internationalist), but would want something a bit more substantial than Ramsay’s Savoy offering even at half its price (for which you can get the Hatton Locks Café’s extra-Mega-Breakfast). However, as a long-term Anglo exile en Écosse I am also aware of the rather gruesome drink and diet related health statistics that concern Scotland (a sweeping generalisation, I know, but grounded in truth), so, all good things in moderation please!
Here’s the limerick…
An Aberdeen lassie called Becky Cooked meals at the town’s Inversnecky Café on the beach And it’s where she could teach The Savoy how to make a braw brekkie!
Postscript #1: On the subject of Full xxxxx Breakfasts, when sneaking a peak at Management’s Facebook account (with permission, of course – I’m no longer on it myself), I was intrigued to see this and scrolled through the comments…
I don’t know if the result of the poll was pro- or anti- tomato, but oh boy, most of the comments reflected very strong views on the other constituent ingredients. Clearly breakfasts are things not to be trifled with, but with one eye on my concern over Scotland’s health statistics, the following comment drew a wry smile…
Postscript #2: ‘Scran’, of course, is an old naval term for food, but I never knew until recently that scran spanners refer to cutlery.
A nurse in Clydebank, whose car had been wrecked by a drunk driver in between her 12 hour hospital shifts, was clearly moved by the offers of help that she received. Her comments made me laugh out loud just as I was taking a mouthful of tea. Laugh? I discovered a new word #snaughling
“I’m absolutely stunned, I’ve been greeting trying to wipe my snotters up through a mask from all the support.”
Postscript: I do know that Clydebank is not in Glasgow! The hashtags are intended as generic for the city and the towns and villages in its wider environs. Please send complaints about their use in this context to AA (An@llyRetentivePedants Anonymous)
The quote made me laugh, but the associated article had me in hysterics. It’s a long time since I cried laughing, but the guy’s explanation of the timeline of events really did for me and the hospital’s discharge note finished me completely: “Denies other magnets”.
I was too young to be allowed to watch the first series of Monty Python’s Flying Circus when it aired on TV, but I did catch the second and subsequent series.
There was a lot that was pretty average in most of the episodes and I’m convinced that they are now viewed as ground-breaking not because they were laugh-a-minute shows, but because of the open-ended and nonsensical nature of the sketches and the ease with which the occasional really funny parts could be repeated ad nauseum by schoolkids in the country’s playgrounds.
And now Terry Jones has died, becoming the second of the Pythons to have “shuffled off ‘is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin’ choir invisible”.
Subsequent to the Flying Circus series, Jones’ Ripping Yarns productions (co-written with Michael Palin) were, and remain, a joy to watch and, as an amateur historian, he successfully challenge orthodoxy, writing, for example, about the medieval era that:
A lot of what we assume to be medieval ignorance is, in fact, our own ignorance about the medieval world.
He also got to voice the best ever line in any of the Python productions…
better than: It’s only a wafer-thin mint, sir…
better than: Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!
better than: Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government.
and even better than: PININ’ for the FJORDS?!?!?!? What kind of talk is that?
’tis simply this: He’s not the Messiah – he’s a very naughty boy.
And here’s the limerick:
There once was a man so imbued With humour that verged on the lewd That he took of his clothes And sat in repose And played on his organ when nude!
Before The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy was a novel, film or video game, it was an original radio series and, to my mind, it was better than any of the subsequent adaptations. No-one ever came close to surpassing Peter Jones’ radio narration as The Book or to Stephen Moore’s depressive voicing of Marvin the paranoid android.
Stephen Moore died earlier this month. As someone who remembers the original series and its phenomenal impact, I think his Marvin was the most quotable of characters. I’ve often used the robot’s phrase “Why stop now just when I’m hating it” and occasionally wished I’d had the courage to tell someone “It gives me a headache just trying to think down to your level” or “I wish you’d just tell me instead of trying to engage my enthusiasm”.
(For those that don’t know the Hitchhiker storyline, a human, Arthur Dent, is saved by Ford Prefect, an alien researcher for the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, just before the earth is demolished to make way for an intergalactic highway. In escaping, they become stowaways aboard a Vogon spacecraft. When they are found they are subjected to a recital of Vogon poetry, a form of torture, before being cast into the void, which is where their adventures really start.)
Anyway, to misquote Marvin: “Here I am, brain the size of a planet and they ask me to write a limerick. Call that job satisfaction, ’cause I don’t”.
Farewell to the paranoid android And the actor that firstly deployed A robotically aesthetic Depressed cybernetic, Now they’re cast to a dark cosmic void!
The first advertisement that I remember was produced when I was seven years old. It was a billboard poster and depicted the Bayeux Tapestry as interpreted by Guinness, with the strapline: Battle of Hastings 1066, Bottle of Guinness 1966. I recall being fascinated by the play on words.
Sometimes, though, adverts can comprise a more soulful message.
Reflecting on the northeast of Scotland’s decadal exposure to dull, overcast and drizzly weather, the Garioch (pronounced Geary) Glazing Company is currently advertising its services on a local radio station, Original 106, with the following gem that made me laugh.
… and remember, dreich weather ayeways looks better through a Garioch Glazing window.