Spam's Off.

Following a fleeting visit to the clinical chaps for a drop in check up and a cup of hospital cappucino (?), my renal stats continue to excel, our kidney is fine and just dandy thank you for asking. Why yes, little pancreas is also performing like a star actor learning lines well and giving a superb performance.

Much like the customer service operative at our little local cinema the other day....allow me to explain:

The combination of a hot day and the premise of a good film enticed us into the local air conditioned cinema;

where dinner can be delivered to your seat during the show.
 Yes, on a plate, not just thrown at you in the dark....
In order to minimise the time spent queuing and ordering our evening repast I arrived early to confirmthe food order.

Fish and chips please, delivered to Row F, seats 5 and 6.

Sorry, the fish is off.

(Sensing a spot of opportunistic mischief making)
Well in that case can we have 2 fresh ones....

This was received about as well as Lady Gaga arriving at the Surbition Ladies Guild Knitting Festival.

We don't have any fish, its off the menu, the teenager helpfully explained, with a look of pure condescension.

Ha, perhaps someone should run to the supermarket I quipped. (It's a  five minute walk, or less than 2 minutes in a car)

The pimply one looked aghast. Not at the thought of actually going to the shops, but at the horror of having to deal with someone so unbelievably insensitive to modern catering practices..His mouth spoke words but his dagger eyes spoke volumes.

We're not allowed, it comes in a delivery truck every morning.

I'd better back off from this fishy assault and get back to thinking inside the box.
Ho hum then, 2 pizzas please, assuming they are not "off" too, of course.
I paid and shimmied out the door, pleased with my efforts at shaking the tree of corporate customer service and making this branch of platitudes wobble, if only ever so slightly.

Oh  and if you were drawn here by the Python reference, then I'm sorry, but Monty's off.

Get Fresh at the Weekend (Showing Out)

Ah the weekend, lazy mornings on bed, a relaxed breakfast, the bliss of not having to shave and time to relax with friends. Mel and her kin, Kim, meanwhile urged us to get fresh at the weekend, implying that during the week we ignore deodorant and ablutions?

Perhaps we are meant to spray “room fragrance” and Febreze around to make the place seem more alluring over the two days.

On Saturday we escaped to Browns Bay, a pleasant seaside suburb with shops, bakeries and cafes galore, in order to meet a friend of Glenn’s. I had yet to meet this friend in person, and human nature being what it is, set out to make a good impression.

With this in mind I selected a very eatable black forest gateau slice, complete with a decent fork to partition it and deliver it to my mouth in suave sophisticated gestures. A sensible latte arrived in a cup (with a handle, so not messing about there either). Our guest arrived and we stood up to greet her, like a gentleman would……..and then knocked the table, so coffee spilled over the brim and filled the saucer. Oops!

Nothing disturbs the intimacy of a cosy meeting than the clash of china against glass, and the froth of coffee teetering over the edge of it’s vessel like the waters of the Ruhr pushing against the Mohne Dam.

It was with a tangible sense of relief that we relocated to the beach, to catch some rays. (sun not manta). We chose a shady nook of trees overlooking the sand, waves lapping the shore, and a clear view of Rangitoto, our friendly local neighbourly volcano. Dormant and not very fresh.

After a good hour of more chat, a sparkling use of wit and a liberal dose of jokes and puns, I resolved to move the car, which was parked in a metered space.

My leg by now was quite numb, from bad (but sophisticated) posture and lack of movement, so I said my goodbyes, and stood up.

Except I didn’t stay up for long.

I suddenly had no support in my legs and fell backwards to the ground. Oh how very sophisticated I must have appeared.

“it’s all right, I’m OK, just numb….” And made to stand up again.
The sandy grass kissed me once more as I plummeted earthwards.

Hmm, time to shake the old leg to freshen up my circulation, and hastily make a respectable exit. I limped off like a late forties ex diabetic with organ transplants, collected the car and quickly drove off.

Thriller

Darkness falls across the land. 

The midnight hour is close at hand. 

Creatures crawl in search of treats. 

To terrorize your darkened streets...

We give grateful thanks to that annual US Halloween import: endless news items about things most "spooksome", all set to Michael Jackson's Thriller, for maximum chill factor.

However I do not appreciate that other American "holiday" (its just an evening!) custom, the Tricking and the Treating. The English of course are immune to that unexpected knock on the door, being raised as we are on a diet of Cherry Door knocking and Knock Down Ginger. (if you aren't aware of this childhood prank then do please rush to your local UK embassy or High Commission and knock on the door)

This year of course, we completely forgot to buy some sweet treats to throw at the little ghouls and goblins, which of course usually invites the wrath of the miserable parent waiting for their horrible tricksters at the end of the drive. Not wishing to encounter any damage to our garden this year I decided to lay low and ignore any knocks form the "other side".....

The first came at 4.30, as I lay low, surrounded by books and my ipad (no TV as that would alert them to my presence) The dogs barked and howled, and eventually after many taps the ghouls went away)
This was repeated every few minutes, as the procession of vile costumes continued apace.
Hark! My phone beeped.....Had they worked out how to trick or treat by text? Thankfully no it was Glenn.

"Shall I get some lollies?"

"YES!, I'm trapped in the house surrounded by the undead, all manner of foul demons, witches, warlocks, wolves, orcs, plus  Batman and a goat.

After yet more hidden spectral manifestations at the door, the lollies arrived and I felt sufficiently armed like a Victorian vicar replete with garlic and silver.

Time to succumb to the inevitable......Switch on the Pumpkin light

Aaaaarrrrgggghhh!