Grumpy and I were enjoying a quiet afternoon at home the other day when I heard a car pull up in the driveway. Looking out I saw that it was my beloved father, Bloody Ern.
He staggered through the door, "Can I use your dub?"
"Hello, father; yes, please make use of our lavatorial services. Pray, what brings you to our neighbourhood - your septic tank has overflown, mayhap?"
But he ignored me and strode on. All the while plugging numbers into his mobile. As various doors shut behind him we could hear him yapping away.
Grumpy looked at me, quizzically - naturally. I nodded and shrugged. It's in the genes. Many is the occasion I have been on the phone to my wretched grandmother, Don Mary, and heard the rattle of a toilet paper roll in the background. No doubt one day I shall myself choose to turn our loo into a phone booth. It's my birthright.
The chat continued and then there was a flush and a splash of water. Bloody Ern emerged.
"What?"
"Well," I said, "at least you only had to wash one hand."
No comments:
Post a Comment