Panda

After the midweek Facebook Bible rant, I still had enough strength for a short burst in Lidl’s today. I was vaguely aware of a woman (poss mid 60’s) carrying a bush around in the shop. Gawd knows what it was but it was quite large and sticky outy (the bush I mean). She seemed to be accompanied by her husband. At the other end of the shop was a huge West Indian Guy and what I guessed was his girlfriend who was caked in makeup and tottering on ‘eye eels’ (Essex dress shoes). I also guess that she lived all her life in Essex possibly originating from Turkey – or maybe the Middle East. They were arguing about artichokes and I felt so sorry for the guy as her ultra annoying voice and attitude cut through just about everything. These 2 were roughly mid 30’s.

The conversation went something like this after the Essex Turkish lady (ET) appeared to shove past the bush lady (BL) and her hubby (BM). ET took a ridiculous avoidance dance to dodge the bush’s branches. BL barely moved.

ET – Oi Oi. What the hell are you doing innit?
BL – Sorry beg your pardon?
ET – I struggled to get past your bush then you jabbed me in the face with it.
BL – I’m sorry but I didn’t move when you pushed past me.
ET – You clearly did bitch you attacked me with your plant.

Then the Bush Man appeared and I noticed that he was wearing glasses with one of the lenses blacked out. Was there a chance that BL was a serial eye poker? I dismissed the idea and observed the continuation…

BM – Hey come on we’re peaceful people.
ET – I’m peaceful too but I’ve just been assaulted innit?

All this time the huge West Indian guy stared at his shoes with an embarrassed smirk on his face. I didn’t think that I wanted to get involved but almost subconsciously I was moving closer so maybe I fancied just a bit. I was close and began to stare. She caught my eye but then looked away, I was naughty and held my stare and then it happened. She looked again and bit….

ET – What are you looking at?
ME – Well I’m not sure but I could guess.
ET – Go on then mate. You just guess.
ME – Well, I guess that I’m looking at a woman who clearly has some sort of behavioural problem. I can’t believe you’re still upset about the artichokes that I heard you rowing about with your man a few minutes ago – I’m guessing that this is just an example of your atrocious personality. I bet you got all excited when you saw the bush lady’s predicament of having to carry that awkward load through the supermarket. An opportunity to ‘bring on the nasty’. Similar in some ways to your boyfriend’s predicament of having to get his own awkward load through the shop – and I mean YOU if that was a bit deep for you.
ET – What the fakkin ell is it to do with you?
ME – You asked me to guess what I was looking at so I did.
ET – You wanna watch your maff mate.

I glanced a little warily towards the huge West Indian guy but he was still staring at his shoes with the same look on his face. I took that as a licence to continue.

But I didn’t. Because I’m a nice guy. ET and partner moved toward the tills with ET still wittering. BL approached me and I braced myself for a hearty vote of appreciation but apparently I was in the way of the tomatoes. Charming.

I saw ET and her heavily oppressed partner get in their vehicle in the car park. I had assumed it was going to be a diamond white BMW X5 but turned out to be an X reg Nissan. Rubbish.

This next bit is very unlikely to have happened but you never know….

On the way back to Essex they stopped at Fleet services where I very much doubt if the following conversation took place between ET and a surprised fast food employee (FF).

FF – Good evening madam. How can I help you this evening?
ET – I wanna court a panda.
FF – Sorry madam, the exotic animal dating service is closed at weekends.
ET – Ya fakkin wat mate innit?
FF – Would you like something to eat madam?
ET – COURT A FAKKIN PANDA!!!!!
FF – Oh a quarter pounder. D’you want fries with that?

Vladimir

There have been many drunken skittles conversations in the past that have been sadly lost in the midst of alcohol driven sleeps. However there was one last night that I am determined to try to piece back together. It started at the last throw of the fourth hand when Colin appeared to call our captain ‘Putin’. As we walked out to the bar, the following conversation may have taken place.

Me – What did Colin call Skip?
Monkey – I think he called him Putin.
Me – That’s what I thought. Has he got the wrong Vladimir? With Skippy’s balding head and sprouting facial hair, I reckon he meant Vladimir Lenin.
Monkey – Yeah there is a touch of the Lenin’s about him.
Half Pint – What, JOHN Lennon?
Monkey – How can you say Skip looks like John Lennon?
Me – We said Lenin.
Ex Pro – Wavey looks a bit like Keith Lemon.
Me – What? Hang on we’re losing the plot. Let’s ask Colin – where is he?
Monkey – He’s gone for a gypsy’s.
Me – More like an Eartha – did you smell that out there?
Monkey – No that was me. Here he is. Colin – Why did you call Skip Putin?
Colin – Eh? What’s a Putin?
Me – What did you call Skip as he was throwing just now?
Colin – Oh. I was belittling his beard growing efforts and called him ‘Pubechin’.

Time for a right royal guffaw.

Monkey – Well that explains that then.
Me – With apologies to Putin, Lenin, Lennon and Lemon.
Nige – So what’s Skippy’s new name?
Me – Vladimir Pubechin but I doubt if it’s a stayer.

At least that was sorted. There was another briefer conversation about the sexual persuasion of Dr Christian but I forget the details.

These conversations, this blog, the skittles match and just about everything else at the moment is dedicated to John, Kath, Jordan, Callum and Bid. We’re all thinking of you guys in this arse of a situation.

For those of you out there who pray, do so for this family. Otherwise, cross your fingers – damned tight.

Eurochamps

The European Indoor Athletics Championships has been a great success. Well done Gothenburg. Not the stunning GB successes of last year but that’s not the be-all and the end-all of an athletics meet. Is it?

A couple of stars have emerged to watch in the future. Perri Shakes-Drayton to name but 3. I wonder what Drayton did to deserve such treatment by Perri. Must’ve been something bad because she’s a powerful girl and I reckon she’s got a pretty good shake on her.

Another one to watch is the magnificent Holly Bleasdale. When she first appeared I thought she was going to develop into pole vaulting’s version of Eddie ‘The Eagle’ Edwards. However she’s no joke now, coming away with a magnificent gold. She looks like an almost reluctant champion. She always looks embarrassed as though she’s snuck one out during an interview. A rustic face like a farmer’s wife who’s just come back from milking the cows. She wears sensible pants and is a sweetheart and I wish her all the best.

GB Team captain Jenny Meadows did well to come 4th as she has just returned from injury – as she told us – again and again and again. Stop whining woman.

Paula Radcliffe appears to have joined the BBC commentary team – so looks like we have to put up with her for the next few years with her face like a wet weekend.

The men’s pole vault fell foul of the rule book. The Frenchman won easily then went on to attempt the second highest vault ever. Up he went, gave the bar a bit of a clout but he flopped onto the mattress some 6 metres beneath the wobbling bar. Cue garlic scented euphoria. But in the background was a rather embarrassed official brandishing a red flag. The Frenchman first wondered what it was having only seen white flags before (heh heh). The vault was not allowed as the bar had jumped off its peg, though not fallen. Cue Gallic tantrum. FFS Pierre, you won the gold medal, show some composure.

I wonder whether it’s time to shake up some of the events. If we don’t, we’ll be in danger of people in the future laughing at us one day like we laugh at Grampa Joe performing in the black and white tug of war in the early part of the last century. We have technology now – let’s use it.

Did you know that it’s unusual for long jump champions to have jumped the furthest? Longer jumps are often completed by athletes whose feet have toed the naughty line or started too far before that line. So the athlete who comes away with gold is usually the one who can plant his foot in the right place. Not too much to be proud of. We could easily measure each jump from take off (from a take off area rather than an unforgiving line) to landing – and the longest jump will win. Easy.

High jump. Is that a fair reflection of performance? We know Sergey Mudrov won gold by clearing a bar that was 2.35 metres high but how high did he – or the other contestants – actually jump? Hello – we have lasers.

And what’s athletic about passing a stick between 2 people? Surely it’s only the running that matters? There’s plenty of other ways to do it without bringing in irrelevant baton twirling skills.

Still, all in all an entertaining few days though I still wish those high jumping ladies would eat something.

Before I go, WELL DONE HOLLY x.