Qu'est ce que jolly c'est

In honor of my father, who died in 2006, I wanted to list a few of his favorite phrases here. Actually I should have done this on his birthday, which was July 24, when he would have been 84 this year, but due to laziness and pressure of work... no actually, just laziness, I didn't. So here they are now. (I have listed a few of these in previous posts):

- Qu'est ce que jolly c'est?

It's funny, this is the worst phrase, and Lord only knows where he got it from, but every time something a tiny bit unexpected happens, I say this, and of course no-one can understand it.

- This is a one-eyed joint

Likewise, who knows where he got it from, and if you look in Google, apart from this blog, it appears once, and I'm not quite sure why. He did, however, say it all the time to describe places which did not come to the expected standards.

- I say, you chaps

Well, pure Billy Bunter, and my father was in boarding school from 1933 until I'm guessing, 1944. No mystery there. My father always addressed the family en masse in this manner. Actually, he usually prefixed most sentences with the words "I say".

- What?

My father usually finished up a sentence with the word "what". He wasn't asking a question. The "what" was used as the "n'est ce pas" in French. For example, "Well, it's nice weather, isn't it, what?"

"Damn all"

"I've got damn all time", "There's damn all to see on the telly".

Oh, I will think of more.

Queen Scenes (Number Five)

Queen: I say, Philip, the press appear to be rather concerned about your health. Apparently you have not made any politically incorrect comments for at least a month! And you seem to be restraining your politically incorrect activities to an absurd norm.

Philip: Absolute poppycock! I whacked that blonde housekeeper on the arse last Monday.

Queen: Is it possible that one needs to make a more public demonstration of such activities? I see that you will be opening a new Sainsbury’s in Peterborough on Thursday, perhaps you could wave an indecent hand in the direction of one of those ladies who might be operating the check-out counter, or whatever it is called? After all, one doesn’t want rumours of Altzheimer’s disease or worse appearing in the press.

Philip: The “§$%& press! The only thing I’ve ever known them concerned about is their own circulation! If I kicked the bucket tomorrow, that would sell a few million papers, and if I whacked a cashier on the arse it would sell a few hundred thousand!

Queen: One’s not asking you to kick any buckets, Philip. Whacking or kicking something else is another matter altogether. But, in line with your previous history, it might be appropriate to drop a racist comment or similar, simply to keep the herds at bay.

Philip: Well, I’ll tell you what. If I whack a blonde cashier on the arse, can you get rid of those bloody Paki call centers? Last time I tried to do something on my offshore account, I was transferred to Islamabad!

Dracula Bites Thumb

The plays and musicals of the open-air theater in our town are currently running all summer!

Last week I attended an excellent performance of the musical "Dracula".

And last week I had a little Dracula experience myself.

As a victim of the menopause, I have been trying out all kinds of therapies, hormones, etc. All expensive and unsuccessful, not to mention the side-effects.

So it was through the Internet that I learned of a new therapy, in the form of a cream that one rubs on various parts of one's body twice a day.

Well, it only cost €19.95 and according to reviews, is the miracle therapy of the 21st century.

So I hotfooted it to the website and ordered it.

The miracle cream arrived last Saturday morning. I had thought that I was ordering it from England, but in fact it was sent from a company in the Channel Islands, La Guernsey to be precise. More confusing was that when I tore open the package and found said cream, the description on the little tub said that it had been "Manufactured in the USA".

The little tub was enclosed in one of those welded-on plastic covers that it is impossible to remove. You know the type. First you break two fingernails, then you exercise some energy with a pair of scissors. You throw the tub around the room a couple of times, then you nearly burst a blood vessel trying to tear it apart. Finally you find your sharpest knife and attack it in a manner that you know is going to lead to tears or even a call to the emergency services, but you do it anyway.

In this case I was able to make a tiny tear in the plastic but an even larger tear in my thumb. Blood sprouted profusely, it was clear that I needed to divert my attention to that rather than the opening of the tub. So I fumbled around in the plaster drawer.

Less than 3 minutes later, I had managed to stem some of the bleeding with a plaster. The plaster drawer was quite full of blood by this time. I decided a second plaster was required, which led to more blood in the plaster drawer and quite some blood on the kitchen floor.

I turned my attention back to the little tub, while realizing that my blood was now spurting out through the sides of the plasters and depositing itself over more kitchen surfaces. Cursing, I snatched a couple of sheets of kitchen roll and attempted to stem the blood flow by wrapping the kitchen roll very tightly around my thumb.

The kitchen roll was soon soaked through and after clutching at more roll from the dispenser, which was now empty, I attempted to find a new roll in a cupboard. Blood was now being freely dispersed into the cupboard, into the sink, the bin and again, the floor.

Cursing further, I realized that the only way to stop the flow of blood would be a visit to the emergency doctor. The emergency services are located about 10 minutes walk from my flat, so donned with a further 5 sheets of kitchen roll and clutching the entire roll, I made my way there through the pedestrian precinct.

Already visualizing the headlines in our local paper: Dracula Bites Thumb, Distraught Woman Sighted With Kitchen Roll.

It must have been a good 35 minutes after the accident that the emergency doctor finally viewed my thumb, which was still bleeding! He bandaged it up, apparently not very well, as blood was still flowing faintly around 5 p.m. And when I returned, I needed to clean the entire kitchen.