The AudlemOnline editors are, as always, delighted to publish a new piece by Steph Richardson.
Whilst drifting into one of my regular wine induced naps, although 'nap' sounds a bit childish as I prefer to call them 'horizontal life pauses', I contemplated my luck in having such loyal friends.
Friendship needs to be built on a solid foundation of alcohol, sarcasm, inappropriateness and shenanigans combined with the fact that real friends shouldn't get offended when you insult them.
Every week a select gathering of four of Audlem's dangerous divas play a version of Rummikub that only we understand. We start by sharing the latest news, although personally I never gossip. I merely observe and then relay my observations to the others, who are expected to then share my private, innermost thoughts with the rest of the village.
Now any game gives us a chance to shine, although some of us have tarnished our reputations, but that's a story for another day, but if you're playing in a group you shouldn't mind if you lose because you had the enjoyment of the company. This is, of course, a load of bosh. Due to our advancing years, the game tends to reveal any flaws in our mental agility and eyesight which we are eager to cover up, so we have an added challenge to the game...stress!
Now if stress burned calories I'd be a supermodel, but I leave that to another resident of Kingbur Place, and having tried yoga and pilates, I still find stress less boring. I bet I'm not the only person who walks around like everything's fine, but deep down, inside my shoe, my sock is slowly sliding off?
So how do I relax? I walk with ARS.
Now if you watch a game, it's fun; if you play it, it's recreation; if you work at it, it's golf.
I don't understand the game of golf. The people who created golf and called it a game must have been the same ones who invented bagpipes and called it music. It appears to be a game in which you yell 'fore', make six strokes and write down five? I suppose it does have some advantages over other sports as, unlike football, the fans don't spit or trample each other to death if their favourite team loses and, unlike Polo, players don't need to be smug, yuppy, aristocratic inbred dweebs!
So, whilst perambulating, or should I say squelching, the muddy fields near Whitchurch on a recent Short ARS walk, we came across this informative laminated notice face down in a puddle asking us to 'Beware of Flying Balls'!
We assumed, because we're an intelligent lot, that some of the male golfers had either lost some of the important parts of their genitalia through inaccurate strokes, although unlike cricketers, or come to think of it Nadal, they don't appear to adjust their testicles before each swing, or, less likely, one had finally made contact with their golf ball and were concerned that our agile group of mainly over 70's may dive head first onto their immaculate green to take an awe inspiring catch? This was of course possible, but highly unlikely!
And why do people use the phrase 'Grow some balls'? Balls are weak and sensitive, if you really want to toughen someone up we should say 'Grow a vagina', as they certainly take some pounding!
We're all capable of moments of silliness, but we all know a person who seems to take stupidity to a whole new level, and that includes me!
Now I like to think I can take care of basic maintenance problems around our house, as my husband has more important things to ponder upon. Faced with troublesome hair clogging up my drain, I went to B&Q and found a bottle of drain cleaner adorned with a skull and crossbones and a safety warning.
There was nothing on the label to say it was safe to use on my PVC plumbing so I asked an assistant for advice. 'Yes,' he replied with a smug smile appearing in the corner of his mouth. 'It's in a plastic bottle, isn't it?' 'Duh' was the word that came to mind as I quickly paid and left.
My children aren't above stupidity either but if I'm honest, it's rare for them to behave sensibly, but this event took the biscuit.
On one of those rare moments when they offered to wash up, they were filling the sink with water and when the sink was nearly full – they allowed for displacement by the dishes so they're not entirely stupid – they realised they couldn't turn the tap off!
Panic set in as the kitchen began to flood and they couldn't find the stop cock, but then they came up with a bright idea, fill the saucepans with the running water whilst shouting for help! Luckily we were not too far away, and my husband marched into the kitchen, only to view every pan filled with water on the floor and bubbles oozing over the units. Quick as a flash – sometimes he can move at speed – he removed the plug from the sink!!
90% of being married is just shouting 'What!' from other rooms.
Due to the rising cost of ammunition I'm unable to provide a warning shot!
Children today just don't know how lucky they are. when I was young i had to walk at least ten feet through thick shag carpet to change the TV channels!