Another dog story but in a very different vein from my Bonnie story. I hope it brings a smile.
Let me introduce myself. My name is Toby, and I am the four footed aristocrat who owns the two humans living opposite Meg in her cul de sac.
Anne and Bill (that is their names), have decided to go off to Europe for some unknown reason. They, the aforesaid Anne and Bill, seem to think Meg can’t manage without them, so I have been commissioned to do the honours while they are away gallivanting.
Each day I have to attach Meg to my lead and walk her across the road from my house to hers. She can’t be trusted even for this small journey, and I have to continually tug her back from chatting to the neighbours or pulling a weed.
I have several complaints about the way I have to spend the days while my humans are away.I hasten to add that I insist on returning to my own bed at night. Aristocrats like me are quite unable to adapt to strange beds.
But I digress. On complaint that I have is that at my own home, I have a proper canine entrance as is befitting for the rightful owner of my palatial corner block dwelling. (There is a sort of stained glass contraption that allows the human entrance at the front.)
Meg. however, has no such provision, and I am forced to stand patiently waiting at her back door, with the occasional and very polite”Woof”, whenever Nature calls me into her backyard. Meg frequently ignores my polite request until I need to raise the volume slightly, and her impatience astonishes me.
Another complaint is that when I do venture forth, the two yappy and rather undisciplined little creatures (of a very inferior breed I might add) who live next door, go quite hysterical with joy at my appearance.
I attempt to suppress their enthusiasm with my deep baritone reprimands, but usually to no avail.
My humans keep sending Meg photos galore on her tablet, of churches, museums, stately homes, their ceilings (I ask you!), and paintings and not a Shih Tzu in sight. What possible interest is it to me when I could just as easily look at one of their coffee table books.
Meg needs exercise so I make sure I distribute my royal bundles at different locations in her back yard each day. She finds the bending. scooping and disposing far more beneficial than Pilates classes I am sure. and a lot cheaper.
In the evening when I take Meg back, again attached to my lead, she rather offends me, when I baulk at consuming the little white pill she attempts to hide under the rather boring meal she provides each night. I inform her that one day, when she reaches my age, she too may be forced to rely on a little medication for the occasional aches and pain, and then who’ll be laughing!
Five more weeks for me to be carrying out these responsibilities . I have a good mind to tell my humans when they eventually do return, that I am quite over my Meg sitting days for life!
My son, Mark has a
property in the forest area of Walpole, where huge stands of Karri and Jarrah
trees fill the landscape.
This is the story he
told me, of his dog, Bonnie.
She was getting
old. Her eyes were dim now. She couldn’t hear very well, and when her legs
began to let her down, all she could do, was lie in the grass and dream of her
puppy days.
Since arriving as a little black puppy all those years ago,
she’d had the freedom to run in the wonderful ninety acres through the tall
karri trees , lapping water from the dams, playing nursemaid to the baby
humans, a little girl first, then twins, a boy and a girl.
Her master was kind and she was devoted. He named her Bonnie.
Her back legs had begun to drag, so she mostly lay on her
mat now, being hand fed, and helped up and down from time to time. Her master’s
wife would stroke her head and tears would drip onto her head.
“I think it’s time,” he said. “She’s suffering too much. We
have to let her go.”
Arrangements were
made. A friend with a gun. A time was agreed.
The three children, young adults now, were sent away, the
wife too. Too hard to face.
He chose the spot in amongst his favourite maple trees, and dug the grave in readiness.
It was a beautiful day, blue skies and sunshine beating
down. The grass was green.
He laid the rug on the lawn, and carried Bonnie, unconscious
now, to lie beside her, for these last few moments.
He fondled her head, softy whispering words of comfort.
In the distance he heard the sound of the ute turning
towards the property.
Just then, Bonnie opened her eyes, gazed up at him, licked
his face, and closed her eyes in death.
The second of the series I am writing for my greatgrandchildren.
Noah’s Ark
It began to
rain on Tuesday. It rained and rained on Wednesday too, and Thursday and
Friday. It didn’t stop on Saturday or Sunday or even Monday. It just rained and
rained and rained.
Last week Mrs Next Door had come in for a cuppa with Mrs Noah and said, “Why is Mr Noah out there chopping and sawing and drilling and building a ginormous boat, when there’s not a drop of water round here to float it?
Mrs Noah had
a sort of secret smile, and said, “Don’t you worry Mrs Next Door. My husband
knows what’s what.
All the
neighbours were agog, when they peeped through their curtains and saw Master
Shem and Master Ham and Master Japheth herding all kinds of animals two by two,
up the gang plank and into the boat, which was called an Ark.
There were
camels and elephants and kangaroos and snails, giraffes and hippos and gorillas
and ants, puppies and goldfish, panda bears and bees, butterflies and canaries and absolutely every
animal you can think of. Even
Rhinoceroses!
When all the
animals were aboard, Mr and Mrs Noah told their family, “Hurry, hurry. Grab the
kids and get on board, shut the doors. Here comes the rain!”
It didn’t
stop raining until there wasn’t even one bit of land showing, even the tippy
top of a mountain, just water, water everywhere.
After the
rain stopped they all stretched and yawned, opened the door and began their new
life, all fresh and clean again.
God put a
rainbow in the sky to show how much he loved
them.
She’s all of 2’6, shaped like a TellyTubby, straight back, protruding tummy, little tree trunk legs planted firmly on tiny fat feet, pearly toenails and a delicate gold chain around one fat, little ankle.
Her hair has been pulled up on top of her head, and silvery golden tendrils fall in curls round her perfect little face. Eyes of clearest blue, she is beautiful, but totally unaware of her power.
Five huge adults provide her adoring audience, spellbound and slaves to her every whim.
A moment ago she was playing with her three life like baby dolls, carefully laying them side by side and attempting to cover them with a blanket twice her size, lifting it above her head and then tumbling over tangled up in it, and deciding to lie down with her babies instead as a much better option.
But something one of the giant adults said must have annoyed Her Tiny Majesty!
She stood up, her offended back to the giants, stock still, eyes downcast, head averted……silent.
The royal courtiers fell silent too, eyeing each other nervously, and wondering who the guilty party was.
The little pocket dynamo continued her statuesque pose, and the room held its breath.
A sigh of relief, as the decision to forgive travelled through her little body, and she once again became the universal little Mother.
All the girl power since creation seemed to be embodied in this tiny figure.
When I was 15, my mother and I decided it was time to
improve my looks, by giving me my first perm, a home perm.
Because we were away on holidays in the Blue Mountains, we
decided to do the deed in the first week, so it would have time to “die down”
before we went back home to Sydney.
Little did we know!
Obviously neither of us had any idea about the mysteries of
the permanent wave. We bought the home
perm kit at the chemist and read the directions carefully when we got back to
the holiday unit. We laid out the towels, the cotton wool, the glass jar, the
lotions, curlers, combs, rollers and little tissue papers, and made a start.
As soon as the first fumes of the chemicals wafted into the
air, my father and sister took off for a long walk.
My mother being totally inexperienced, was all fingers and
thumbs and the process of separating the hair into sections, soaking it with
the lotion and then attempting to wind it onto a tiny narrow curlers, took her
forever. Trying to keep one wound up section in place while she tried to force
another section onto another roller, was like a episode of “I Love Lucy.” When
it was finally finished my head looked like a untidy pink hedgehog. We put the
timer on. We’d better leave it for the maximum time, after all it had cost a
lot of money, and we did want it to work! But of course we hadn’t taken into
account the length of time my mother had taken in the winding.
Later on at the required moment my mother poured warm water
over my head, with the rollers still in, and applied the next chemical, meant
to fix the curl. After 5 minutes I was to take the curlers out and rinse under
warm water until the water ran clear. At this point my mother decided to go out
and post a letter, leaving the last part to me.
I knelt over the bath, pulled out the rollers and ran the
soothing warm water over my head. But horror of horrors, as my fingers ran
through my hair, it seemed to come alive. It grew and grew and grew and grew!
My hair was turning into an afro that would have been the envy of Tina Turner.
Appalled I turned off the taps, and madly towelled my hair.
Worse. It grew inches more! It was a huge halo around my head and I didn’t
recognize myself as I looked, startled and aghast, in the bathroom mirror. My
face seemed to have shrunk in size, surrounded
now with the world’s biggest hair.
Wide angled combs hadn’t been invented in those days, and
there was no way an ordinary comb or brush could attack such an amazing
outcrop.
As I stood near to total despair, my family walked in, took
one look and began to laugh, rolling around the floor until they cried. They
just couldn’t stop.
When they saw my real tears, however, they tried very hard
to be sympathetic, but the gurgles escaped each time they sneaked another look.
The package said don’t shampoo for several days, so in the
hope that the thing would go away if we disobeyed these instructions, we rinsed
and rinsed day after day, but nothing worked .In fact the afro seemed to grow
at each washing.
In 2 weeks I had to go back to my friends and my new
boyfriend. I’d rather die. My life was ruined. I would never get over it. Never!
The loveliest thing I’ve witnessed this past week, is the number of bike riders in family groups just everywhere. Bike sales must have soared, I think.
One of my favourite walks is along the Estuary near my home.
The walkway is so close to the water in places, that kids can see and poke at the tiny fish darting in every direction at the shoreline. In the lull between children’s chatter, you can hear the slow waves lapping gently.
The path is wide and curves here and there, so that you can’t see too far ahead. It’s broad enough for walkers and bike riders to share, and tiny tinkles from behind, often alert walkers like me, to move to the side as a rider swishes past and on ahead.
The walk takes you past the beautiful back yards of luxury homes backing onto the estuary, and peeking in, comparing their ideas of landscaping and outdoor decor, occupies part of the walk, as I decide which house I’d make an offer for, if I won Lotto.
Since the restrictions I’ve witnessed far more camaraderie than ever before. Absolutely everyone says hello and smiles, so there’s often a chorus of deep throated bass voices from dads, followed by the contralto from mum and the squeaky following chirps of sometimes two or three little fledglings scooting along in their wake.
On Sunday afternoon my phone rang and it was my grand daughter, Ash, to say she and her husband and three little boys were on the way back along this same path, so would I drive down and walk to meet them.
I was in the car and on my way like a shot.
They were pretty slow. Their entourage consisted of a four year old child on a scooter, a two year old alternating between a push along two wheeler, and clambering in beside his baby brother, in the two seater Cadillac style stroller, the dad on a scooter and Ash, coordinating the enterprise, with snacks at the ready. So I’d nearly walked the entire distance before I met them for the return.
I guess there was an added quality to the nods and smiles this great grandmother received on the walk back.
Memories of the Farm as You Leave it Now, Forever.
Just a tip of the iceberg of memories from me to you, my beautify daughter, Julie.
It is nearly three years since my daughter lost the love of her life, her husband, Anthony. The agonizing decision to sell the farm, fortunately to wonderful dairy farmers who are next door neighbours, has been made.
The white kitchen table
The black and white kitchen tiles
The very green bathroom tiles
The deep comfy easy chairs
The grandfather clock
Anthony’s smile
The dogs
The many wooden picnic tables in the garden
The roses
The artificial tomatoes hanging in the kitchen
The fan whirring
Lunches at the white kitchen table
Driving down the farm track with anticipation of Sunday roasts
Playing table games with Anthony watching but not taking part
Playing “Thank God You’re Here” endlessly
Anthony’s smile
Admiring batch after batch of Ming’s intricate and exact drawing of the hundreds of Pokémon characters
Wondering what new hairstyle Ming would greet me with all through primary school
Anthony’s benign and constant onlooker smile
Christmas ,recreating your own childhood with bulging pillowslips at the foot of the bed, and even more packages piled high around the Christmas tree for an only and much beloved child, Ming.
Ming sitting on Anthony’s knee at every stage of his life, the huge teenager nearly swamping his dad
Baby days watching Ming attempting to crawl, toddle, tip over, run in the green lawns
Looking through the trillions of baby photo books
Generations of sausage dogs
Family parties in the garden or crowded into the kitchen
Ming wishing the cousins would come and then hoping they’d go
Anthony’s amazing 75th birthday party and the crowds of well wishers
The speech Ming made about his dad before running off and bursting into tears
Anthony’s smile
Your post wedding party when so many turned up to wish you well
The many pizza parties with truckloads of pizzas delivered
Anthony proudly showing me the once a year flowering shrub….once a year
Anthony presenting me with the best and biggest bloom from one of his amazing azalea bushes
Watching Anthony through the windows as he slowly circumnavigated the huge garden changing the hoses
Games in the old dairy with the little cousins intrigued with the circular gate
Dear old Arthur, the hired hand, and seeing you take out to his little farm hut, delicious meals on a plate
Going with you to all Ming’s primary school events
Watching Anthony, so unwell, attempt the long walk over the oval to watch Ming’s sports day
Anthony’s glee when you served him lashings of crayfish with your special thousand Island sauce
The special meals you made for every birthday of Ming or Anthony and always asking me to come
Ming doing his daily spelling homework….reluctantly
Baby Ming confined to the dog’s yard, his playpen
The splash pool and how Ming could only swim underwater
You playing footy with teenage Ming until you were crippled
When you turned the property into a bird farm, the exotic white peacocks displaying their incredible tail fans , the masses of other exotic birds, the ducks, the fierce gander, the peahens, turkeys, pheasants, emus, the losses and tragedies, the visitors coming to look, Ming’s hatred of the poo
Gasping at the parklike vista after each mowing
You being first time Mum at my 60th and baby Ming stealing the show
The pet miniature pig that grew to epic proportions
Ming’s two primary school amigos, always so courteous and sweet to his Grandma
Ming running to open the gates when he heard my car turn into the driveway
And doing the reverse for me when I left
The two gentle Llamas with wool to be clipped once a year
Ming’s two huge back surgeries and the anxious care as he recovered at home
Watching your face crumble as you watched the taxi carry Anthony back to the nursing home time after time, when it got too hard to drive him yourself.
Looking through dozens of baby photo albums
Taking the injured pet turkey to the vet to be fixed, just at Christmas time one year, a huge irony
Being cared for by you on the farm, as I recovered from my broken hip
Meeting Gar, the autocratic mother, who became devoted to this unique young housemaid
You sitting by Gar in the hospital as she died, something too hard for her family to do
Meeting all the older siblings and relatives over the early years, and the young ones like Simon and Christine, Biddly and Macca
Auntie Dorothy. The dozens of times she came to stay.
When your book was published and my pride
Anthony’s beloved garden and lawn
Anthony holding toddler Ming up on the fence so the old cow, Reject could suck his fingers almost to the elbow
Anthony’s smile
You sitting cross legged in the hall, behind the closed door, while Ming mused on things important, as he sat on the loo
The way you and Anthony adored each other, he the much older man, your hero, and for him, the lovely young thing, waiting 16 years for him to notice you’d grown up to become his bride
The death of Inky, Ming’s first beloved sausage dog
Ming’s green hair in Year 4,and his comment that now the kids would respect him
Admiring the framed footy jumper presented to Ming when his number was retired with honours, as footy was no longer possible after back surgery
Sitting next to you at his final Grammar School assembly when he was called foward to receive the special Headmaster’s Award.
On this last day of 2019 it seems a good idea to open up my long neglected blog with a couple of anecdotes and a poem.
“A little child shall lead them.” Isaiah 11:6
When I was minding three of my little great grandsons just prior to Christmas, I explained something of the true meaning of Christmas to four year old, Spencer. He went on playing with no further comment, but his mother sent me the following FB message just after Christmas:
“I forgot to tell you. I overheard Spencer chatting to Neve and Van (cousins 5 yrs and 3 yrs) and saying, “Did you know Christmas is God’s birthday? And do you know what God does on his birthday? He gives back all his presents and gives them to other people because he is kind. Did you know that?”
A couple of photos from my Sunday School’s Nativity Play.
And lastly the poem I wrote for this wonderful season of the year:
I wrote this little story many years ago for my grand daughters who are now young adults. I now have a crop of great grandchildren, so I am inserting their names as the good and naughty fairies, and adding appropriate and colourful clip art pictures throughout, I tried it out last weekend on my three year old great grandie, Huntah.
Tomboy Fairy by Grandma.
The Fairy Kingdom was agog with
excitement.
Twin baby girls had been born to
Queen Leticia and King Ob.
The Royal Radio broadcast the news,
and the Prime Minister declared a public holiday.
King Ob wasn’t sure if he was pleased
with two babies at once.
But Queen Leticia smiled and smiled.
The Royal Spiders spun shawls of
gossamer silk.
The Royal Dressmaker sewed two little
jumpsuits, with slits for the wings.
The Royal Bootmaker stitched two miniature
pairs of satin bootlets.
The Royal Bees brought
thimbles, full of sweet honey.
The elves and pixies painted the baby
toenails purple.
The Royal Goanna rocked them to sleep
on his broad back.
The Royal Kookaburras read them
bedtime stories
And the Royal Crickets chirped them
to sleep.
At their baptism, Archbishop Patrick
Koala named them Princess Huntah and Princess Airlie.
Everyone came from far and near.
Everyone wanted to see the Royal
Twins.
The church was packed and the organ
played rock’roll.
The palace was bulging with presents.
The Royal Wombat made the christening
cakes and wrote their names with his claw.
Princess Airlie slept
in her gumnut cradle, and smiled in her sleep.
But Princess Huntah
clenched her little fists and glared and glared. GRRRRRRRRR!
The King and Queen began to worry.
When the time came for their first
flying lessons, there was trouble in the air.
Princess Airlie flew like a butterfly
and danced through the sky.
Princess Huntah dive bombed the duck
pond and frightened the geese . SPLASH!
Never before, had there been such a
child.
While Princess Airlie polished her
wings, and brushed her golden curls, Princess Huntah played leapfrog with the joeys, and shouted rudely at the magpies.
While Princess Airlie said her
prayers, Princess Huntah squirted cream all over the prayer book. SPLAT!
She absolutely refused to wear a
dress.
She absolutely refused to brush her
curls.
She absolutely refused to play with
her dolls.
She absolutely refused to cuddle the
cat.
When the King came to take them to
Granny’s, Princess Huntah wanted to go to Macdonald’s.
When the Queen asked her to help the
Royal Gardener, she chased him with his spade.
The Royal Cook refused to serve her
lunch.
The Royal Chauffeur locked her out of
the Royal Limousine
Governess after governess left in a
huff.
The Queen was in despair.
Every morning the Royal Maid laid out
their clothes for the day.
For Princess Airlie, there were silk
stockings, teeny red ballet shoes,
lacy satin dresses with ribbons, bows,
bracelets and beads.
But all Princess Huntah would wear,
were her grubby blue jeans, with frayed cuffs and her knees
poking out. WHOOPPEE!
Princess Airlie ate with a silver
spoon and her little finger sticking up.
Princess Huntah perched on the
curtain rail and ate with her fingers.
She burped and made other rude
noises.
Princess Airlie never did.
When they were five, the twins went
to school.
Princess Airlie skipped into the
Fairy Schoolroom, laughing and smiling at the teacher.
Princess Huntah slouched in with a
scowl, and kicked the chair over. BANG!
Princess Airlie learned to read and
loved the library.
Princess Huntah did finger painting
all over the walls and read her books upside down.
Mr. Bilby gave Princess Airlie gold
stars on her forehead.
He gave Princess Huntah angry looks.
The Royal Principal, Mrs. Echidna,
decided to try something different.
She wrote secret
letters to all the other parents.
Next week, there would be a surprise!
For the rest of the week, the school
was in chaos.
When Mr. Bilby read to the class,
Princess Huntah did dive bombs from the ceiling.
When Mr. Bilby wrote sums on the
board, Princess Huntah, made rude faces behind his back.
When Mr. Bilby took them out for
games, Princess Huntah kicked the soccer ball through the window.
When Mr. Bilby lined
them up on the veranda, Princess Huntah
flew backwards down the line and knocked off
all their hats. BLP!BLP!BLP!
She even did a pop off!
Just wait till next week, thought Mrs.
Echidna.
When Monday came, what a surprise!
Every fairy child came dressed
exactly like Princess Huntah!
Their jeans were dirty, their hair
was all tangled and their faces were smudged.
Which one was Princess Huntah?
When they lined up for Assembly, Mrs.
Echidna called out, “Would Princess Huntah please step forward.”
They all stepped forward.
“Princess Huntah, please write your
name on the whiteboard.”
They all wrote their name on the
whiteboard.
“Will Princess Huntah please recite
the alphabet.”
They all recited the alphabet.
“Will Princess Huntah please go to
the Principal’s Office.”
They all went to the Principal’s
Office.
The next day Princess Huntah came to
school in her school uniform. (She still
had her jeans underneath though). Her wings were shiny and her curls were
brushed.
She wrote neatly and changed her
library books.
She sang in tune and played netball
with the girls.
But at the weekends, it was another
story! SHHHHHHHHHH!
THE END.
The Fairy Kingdom was agog with excitement.
Twin baby girls had been born to Queen Leticia and King Ob.
Twin babie
King Ob wasn’t sure if he was pleased with two babies at
once.
But Queen Leticia smiled and smiled.
The Royal Spiders spun shawls of gossamer silk.
The Royal Dressmaker sewed two little jumpsuits, with slits
for the wings.
The Royal Bootmaker stitched
two miniature pairs of satin bootlets.
The Royal Bees brought thimbles, full of sweet honey.
The elves and pixies painted the baby toenails purple.
The Royal Goanna rocked them to sleep on his broad back.
The Royal Kookaburras read them bedtime stories.
And the Royal Crickets chirped them to sleep.
At their baptism, Archbishop Patrick Koala named them
Princess Ash and Princess Sage.
Everyone came from far and near.
Everyone wanted to see the Royal Twins.
The church was packed and the organ played rock’n roll.
The palace was bulging with presents.
The Royal Wombat made the christening cakes and wrote their
names with his claw.
Princess Ash slept in her gumnut cradle, and smiled in her
sleep.
But Princess Sage clenched her little fists and glared and
glared. GRRRRRRRRR!
The King and Queen began to worry.
When the time came for their first flying lessons, there was
trouble in the air.
Princess Ash flew like a butterfly and danced through the
sky.
Princess Sage dive bombed the duck pond and frightened the
geese . SPLASH!
Never before, had there been such a child.
While Princess Ash polished her wings, and brushed her
golden curls, Princess Sage played
leapfrog with the joeys,
and shouted rudely at the magpies.
While Princess Ash said her prayers, Princess Sage squirted
cream all over the prayer book. SPLAT!
She absolutely refused to wear a dress.
She absolutely refused to brush her curls.
She absolutely refused to play with her dolls.
She absolutely refused to cuddle the cat.
When the King came to take them to Granny’s, Princess Sage
wanted to go to Macdonald’s.
When the Queen asked her to help the Royal Gardener, she
chased him with his spade.
The Royal Cook refused to serve her lunch.
The Royal Chauffeur locked her out of the Royal Limousine.
Governess after governess left in a huff.
The Queen was in despair.
Every morning the Royal Maid laid out their clothes for the
day.
For Princess Ash, there were silk stockings, teeny red
ballet shoes, lacy satin dresses with ribbons,
bows, bracelets and beads.
But all Princess Sage would wear, were her grubby blue jeans,
with frayed cuffs and her knees
poking out. WHOOPPEE!
Princess Ash ate with a silver spoon and her little finger
sticking up.
Princess Sage perched on the curtain rail and ate with her
fingers.
She burped and made other rude noises.
Princess Ash never did.
When they were five, the twins went to school.
Princess Ash skipped into the Fairy Schoolroom, laughing and
smiling at the teacher.
Princess Sage slouched in with a scowl, and kicked the chair
over. BANG!
Princess Ash learned to read and loved the library.
Princess Sage did finger painting all over the walls and
read her books upside down.
Mr. Bilby gave Princess Ash gold stars on her forehead.
He gave Princess Sage angry looks.
The Royal Principal, Mrs. Echidna, decided to try something
different.
She wrote secret letters to all the other parents.
Next week, there would be a surprise!
For the rest of the week, the school was in chaos.
When Mr. Bilby read to the class, Princess Sage did dive
bombs from the ceiling.
When Mr. Bilby wrote sums on the board, Princess Sage, made
rude faces behind his back.
When Mr. Bilby took them out for games, Princess Sage kicked
the soccer ball through the window. Smash!
When Mr. Bilby lined them up on the veranda, Princess Sage
flew backwards down the line and
knocked off all their hats.BLP!BLP!BLP!
She even did a pop off!
Just wait till next week, thought Mrs. Echidna.
When Monday came, what a surprise!
Every fairy child came dressed exactly like Princess Sage!
Their jeans were dirty, their hair was all tangled and their
faces were smudged.
Which one was Princess Sage?
When they lined up for Assembly, Mrs. Echidna called out,
“Would Princess Sage please step forward.”
They all stepped forward.
“Princess Sage, please write your name on the whiteboard.”
They all wrote their name on the whiteboard.
“Will Princess Sage please recite the alphabet.”
They all recited the alphabet.
“Will Princess Sage please go to the Principal’s Office.”
They all went to the Principal’s Office.
The next day Princess Sage came to school in her school
uniform. (She still had her jeans
underneath
though). Her wings were shiny and her curls were brushed.
She wrote neatly and changed her library books.
She sang in tune and played netball with the girls.
But at the weekends, it was another story! SHHHHHHHHHH!
It’s a long, long time since my last blind date, but I just unearthed this anecdote from my memoirs, so thought I’d share my smiles. (with apologies to the nice little unknown man) Names changed to protect……….
BLIND DATE.
Over a cup of tea, she said, “Henry’s a really nice chap. He’s been on his own for a
while and would love some good company. Nothing serious, just someone to take
out for a meal, or walk, just some company”.
What harm could there be. I’m a widow. My daughter- in -law has
recommended him, and I too would like some company.
So we decided a game of golf would be a good place to start.
We were to meet at the golf club, so when I arrived, I unpacked my golf
clubs and waited for him on the verandah, wondering what he’d look like.
My girlfriend was just about to leave, but her curiosity was too
strong, so she waited with me. Suddenly, a dreadful rusty little Mini Minor
came pelting up the driveway, and a funny little man sort of scuttled over to
the Pro Shop, but then hurried back and got
into his car.
I breathed a sigh of relief, and
we were still giggling about the awful possibility, when to my horror, and my
friend’s delighted disbelief, he emerged again and made his way towards us. Oh
no, it WAS him!
He had no golf balls so I found half a dozen old ones, which he dropped
into the deep recesses of his tiny little golf bag, slung it over his shoulder
and followed me to the first tee. He sort of scuttled along, and for the rest
of the 9 holes, seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time rummaging in his
golf bag.
I sensed his absence at one
stage, and looked back to see him miles behind me, in the middle of a fairway,
looking bewildered, with the contents of
his upturned golf bag strewn all over the grass.
On the greens he would watch me
putt my ball into the hole, and then either pick his ball up and put it in his
pocket, or else take putt after putt, back and forth, over, alongside, beyond,
behind, anywhere but in the hole.
There was no conversation, and he seemed too timid to even squeak. As we neared the Clubhouse, relief that it was nearly over turned into a new anxiety. Courtesy demanded that I take him in for a drink and to introduce him to other members. I couldn’t do it. No one could ask me to do it. Much too difficult.
Thinking desperately for a way out of this, as we neared the parking
lot, I got an idea.
A startled male club member, quietly packing his car, backed away in
shock as I threw myself at him, pretending to apologize for being so late.
The fact that this poor chap had never seen me before in his life,
rendered him speechless, so we stood together for a moment while I waved goodbye
to my “date”, who quickly disappeared down the driveway, in the little Mini Minor
like a puff of smoke.
It was impossible to try to explain to my bewildered car park “saviour”.
So I didn’t try.
That and a little bit of this 