I have a silk robe too Spitty, wear shorts underneath it on hot nights. so cool and comfortable, makes one feel like a Sheik in a Harlem, or as my old Aunt Mollie would call it a ‘Hair loom’, and a cameo brooch she wore she called a ‘Family harlem’, she was one mixed up old girl I can tell ya, rest her soul.
And what do the women do in a hair loom?, why they weave wigs for baldy Sheiks of course.
Noel Coward’s old joke “Did you know that a Sultan’s wife is called a Sultana?”
Do women think different than men? Of course they do, every man knows that, we don’t need surveys or polls to tell us.
Women may change their gender, their bodies, their hair colour, but they cannot change the way they think, that’s what makes them so special, real women think like real women and are proud of the fact they are women, and men love them for that.
I could argue that point, but, I like you too much.
I believe that this division is rapidly changing.
As female brains are about 140 grams lighter than male brains, the old concept of men are better at reading maps, and that women were the inferior sex thus better at empathy and multi-tasking.
Now it is also true that bigger people do in fact have bigger brains, irrelevant to gender.
It is also a factor that environmental situations and experience, does change the thought process.
I am in fact far better at reading maps than my husband, he is often more responsive to emotional situations than me. The reason for this is our past experiences.
In a given situation, of let’s say a road accident, most people of both sexes are liable, to naturally take the bye stander bias route. Most people do look for a leader, it is a human trait. I suppose being first born, I am generally a natural leader. This doesn’t imply that I believe I am any better at handling a given situation, just that I think quickly on my feet.
I want to write more, but still, feel rather groggy.
Men have a Toggle, women have Knobs, well I never.
I have to say I’m very impressed with the female jockeys of today, especially the jump jockeys, there are about half a dozen of them rising up through the ranks who could put some of the males to shame, years ago nobody would bet on a horse with a female on it, that’s all changed now, a whole new way of female thinking going on methinks.
Your feeling groggy Sweetie, spare a thought for me.
With all this voting going on in parliament this evening, I’ve gone like Quasimodo, me nose is to the right and me eyes are to the left, me ears are standing up like a donkey’s and I’m left with lockjaw…unlock and clear the chamber!
The wife has it on, I’ve no interest in it, and the result is that I’m left with no deal, sorry meal, on the table.
Bloody politics there’s no getting away from them.
well we all like your soft border Jem and long may you be a softy!
Smugglers haven.
What utter chaos!
Deal, no deal!!!
It is like my family choosing what to eat, the best deal for my lot, is to all eat in different restaurant’s.
Crazy !
Good Night Possums.
Good Night John Boy.x
erhm good morning maryellen x
I am on the verge of panic, poised like the getaway coach perched half on and half off of that Alpine hairpin seen in THE ITALIAN JOB.
(1969 original version).What you will surely wonder is causing this extreme reaction in our very own dear RJ?
Body parts, that’s what is causing RJ grief.
Since becoming a fully qualified Septuageranium last year I am becoming a host mass for a number of body parts developing within my carcase. Swollen veins, spots, scars & many other blemishes common to peasants develop indiscriminately upon my person
Finally, you may say “ What of it”
The problem is.
“ I don’t think I know what the back of my hand looks like”.
It’s an expression thrown in to many a conversation to firm up a point made earlier.
Guaranteed to demolish any argument is the sweeping of the hand and a confident demeanour accompanied by the words,
“ I know this to be true, I know it as well as I do,THE BACK OF MY HAND.
Bingo, end of argument, it can’t be topped.
The problem is that.
I can’t remember what the back of my hand looks like. If a hundred severed hands were placed in a heap in front of me, I would fail to identify mine.
I am wafted back to my childhood days & my mother bending my ear back and saying, You’ll feel the back of my hand if I find out you have been eating the glace cherries again.
well thank you very much I don’t think - like waiting for the no 9 bus waiting for you to appear!!
Trevor is a good neighbour to Frances , next door but one. Though they are both in their late seventies they are still pretty fit and enjoy each others company in a purely platonic way.
Bridge, Whist, Line Dancing & swimming are just few of the activities they take part in.
Sadly , just lately cracks have appeared in this seemingly idyllic arrangement . Trevor has had a hot tub installed in his large conservatory and has taken to sitting in the tub for hours on end completely naked, despite his calls for Frances to join him she has found the dynamics of their relationship changed. It wasn’t in her nature to take part in anything so , well frankly, improper.
Worse, Frances had developed severe hypochondria, not a terminal condition but nevertheless disabling. Trevor was now spending lots of time taking Frances to the doctor, the nurse & the chemist, even on one or two occasions the A & E department.
“For goodness sake Frances ,you must rid yourself of all these worries” Trevor advised, nodding sagely . Encouraged by her smile he went on.
“You are more likely to get knocked down by a number 9 bus”.
Too late to engage brain, the damage had been done. They lived on a number 9 bus route.
It was two days ago when he rang to say that he was so frustrated by the situation, but could not think of how to help her.
“Best get it over with Trevor” I said.
“Push her in front of the next number 9 bus, she’ll be ever so grateful & won’t suffer”
“Thanks Robert” he said & put the phone down.
He knew I was just kidding, didn’t he?
the tellng gets better and matures with age!!
I see your postcard arrived at long last.
Dear Possums, I am not missing you, and don’t wish you were here.
I have enough bother with the apes, they follow me everywhere.
One jumped on my back, and tried to steal my handbag!
I might need a new one now.
Sweetie x
My thoughts exactly Gummy, since he hit the big 70 he’s telling’ em with that extra bit of flair, good on ya RJ!
My hands are OK but I got two quare things on the back of me back, the ‘big’ one is about 6mm in size and is light brown in colour, it is situated smack in the centre of me back. The smaller one is about half the size and of a similar shade and about two inches from the big one.
Why mention this you may well ask, well they were not there last week, they just ‘sprung up’ out of the blue, I’m not bothered about them, no itch or irritation of any kind and I wouldn’t have noticed them at all had I not been in the ‘tub’ with the wife last Monday night, but I’ll say no more about that, yiz can mind your own business.
That’s what happens when you reach 70, bits fall off and other bits appear, so check everything out carefully when you step out of the tub and take stock of your bits.
I knew an old fella of 95, he told me that on one Saturday night he stepped out of his tub and dried himself down vigorously, when he went to put on his trousers he found four assorted toes and part of an ear on the bathroom floor.:shock:
Were they his or someone else’s?
You are way ahead of me D as usual.
All hail El Spitto
