The wife likes to look up the agony columns on the net, she came across this one sent in to an agony aunt in Australia, so I copied it to let you see it, cos I know you never believe me.
It certainly does take all sorts to make a World, and as they say “As God makes them he matches them”. He sleeps while she makes love to an imaginary man she sees on his belly, how weird is that?:shock:
I have discovered a whole new meaning to ‘just catching my breath’…but I see normal service returning slowly but surely :-D:-D.
You learn a lot with those agony columns…remember Marjorie Proops! There apparently wasn’t anything she could not solve for you if you only had the courage to ask her…using a pseudonym of course. Old Proopsie had her own private living agony so I suppose she was qualified somewhat to give advice…but you do wonder !:shock:
There have been many since dear Marje but none quite cut the mustard but copy cats rarely do
Jem, just read, Christopher is dead, choked on a ball of Fluff.
God rest his soul, what a way to go, navel gazed to death.:shock:
People can and do get up to the most peculiar things in the privacy of their own homes/bedrooms, and of course there are the occasional accidents, if one is inclined to go in for sexual adventures of a third kind and go where no man has gone before, one should be extremely careful.
There is an old retired ambulance fireman who drinks with us and the tales he tells would make the hair stand up on your head, I kid you not.
However they would be too upsetting to post on here.
I was never keen on navels anyway, nor ears, personally I think ears are the ugliest part of the human head, fleshy cauliflowers plonked at the side of the head.
When God made the world they say it took 7 days, it took another 7 days for God to make Adam, mainly because he had these two ears left over and couldn’t make up his mind where to put them, finally he just gave up and stuck them on the side of Adam’s nopper. ;-)
Ah so poor old Marjorie had her own cross to carry. I have to admit that as a very young man I often glimpsed into her column, strictly to further my sex education you understand, nobody told us nothing back then, we had to find out the hard way and then it was too late, we were hooked lined and sinkered for life. ;-)
Whatever happened to the “Man in the Street”? Did the BBC make him redundant? or was he knocked down by the political correctness bus, taken to hospital and the “Man” bit removed?
Us old gentlemen would never say the “Woman in the Street” as that might be mistaken for something completely different, and God knows we had enough unfortunate young women on the Streets back then.
The Man in the Street has long since gone
His opinion was valued whether right or wrong
There once was a time when his words were heeded
Now he and his views are no longer needed.
Has he disappeared just like all the home made “Experts” we used to have in the pubs, Google definitely did away with them, now they just sulk in the corner thinking of their glory days before the internet.
You remember them chaps, they could name every one of “The Magnificent Seven”, every American president, tell you what James Cagney’s last words were in the film “White Heat”, Elvis Presley’s first record, how many soldiers were sculptured into the Wellington monument in the Phoenix Park, and where the other O’Connell bridge was etc., etc.
Then you had the real smart arses who’d ask you how would you walk across Dublin city without passing a pub, the regulars would ramble off in all directions naming all the streets they were “walking down” then someone would break in and say “Now hang on a minute Charlie, you just passed Mick’s Bar there at the junction of Parnell street and Capel street, you’ll have to go back to Henry street again”
Of course it was a trick question, the simple answer was not to pass any pub, just go into them all.
It’s a shame really, they were so well read and now all that knowledge, useless that it was, is no longer part of the Dublin pub scene, everyone is all Googled up and ready for action these days.
Sad times, when compos mentisness is reliant on cross reference with a Search Engine.
Thought I would be a bit of a drama queen and get admitted to hospital…istill feeing rough and glad to here. Never thought I would say that. With you in spirit if not mentally.
I hope you’ll feel better soon, Solo … best wishes to you.
Just as long as you are not Hospitalised due to partaking in too many “Spirits” solo.
My best wishes for a speedy full recovery Solo.;-)
My little summerhouse has a problem, more of a hut than a summerhouse really, it’s only 7’x7’ but you’d be surprised how big it is inside, anyway the roof is letting in water and we can’t have that, what with my books and the electrical stuff inside it. So off I goes to the local hardware shop to buy a roll of torch on roofing felt, hopefully that’ll do the trick for at lease another 10 years.
Phyllis has a list of “Men”, all wonderful chaps who can do anything in the building line, and one Polish lad in particular who she calls her “Mr Wonderful”, only problem is they are all up to their eyes in work as the trade is booming again, and there’s not a handyman handy anywhere, they’re like leprechauns, you have to catch one to get your wish.
So I’m up in the hardware shop with me little four wheeled shopping trolley courtesy of the wife, Yerman brings me out to the back yard of his premises and shows me rolls and rolls of roofing felt.
“So you want the torch on stuff, OK but how are you getting it home?” he says, in this trolley says I, he just laughed. When I tried to lift it it wouldn’t budge, and I still have my strength for an old geezer, it must have weighed a ton and would have flattened the wife’s good trolley, so a problem had arisen even before I got the stuff home.
I had an idea and asked yerman could I use his phone, I don’t have and never will have a mobile phone, I rang the daughter who’s the only driver in my family, to come and collect me and the roll of felt, at least I got it home where I rolled it round the side to the hut, God bless her, she’d do anything for her old dad.
Yesterday morning found me up on the hut roof with a length of felt I had measured off, it was cold so I wore gloves but when I went to light the blowtorch I couldn’t flick the lighter with the gloves on, I had to take them off, then when the tarry stuff on the felt melted it was burning my hand so I had to put the heavy gloves on again in order to roll and flatten the felt out. That was going grand until a strong wind got up and started to blow out the torch every time I lit it, finally I managed to get the one strip of felt on and then I abandoned the task. More wind today so the job will have to wait for calmer weather.
In the meantime I’m relaxing with a glass of Sandeman port and a pipe full of the new “Harlot Brand” tobacco, tobacco that is already rubbed, well felt and costs a lot.
I never FELT more like singing the blues.
Jem, that was a Heart Felt post.
Talking about these windy conditions, it is very difficult tying a Poo Bag in a blast, sure as eggs is eggs, a face full of dog poop is inevitable.
Your tellin me! I know it so well, for the small dog I have he’s a hell of a shitter.
Back in the 1970’s there was a native American/Irish man with Irish business connections who opened two public houses in and around Dublin city, as usual I won’t give his real name, I’ll just call him Tom O’Hawke.
The first one he opened was way up the Dublin mountains, a “Singing house” as they were called, they had a special license for music and song along with longer opening hours, he called it “The Ring of Feathers”, I had many a good night there in good company, but it was hard to get home from, luckily there were usually lifts available back into town from helpful non drinking customers, and taxis didn’t mind coming to collect you once you didn’t grumble about the double fare (going out to collect you and bringing you back)
We used to joke with the tourists when they’d ask where the ring of feathers was “Around the hen’s arse” was the usual reply.
After the great success of the Feathers Tom bought an old run down pub off lower Abbey Street, the place had been let go to the dogs after a double murder happened in the lounge bar a few years previous, most tipplers avoided it so Tom knocked the whole building down and rebuilt a new pub, he called this one “The Last Stand”, as a tribute to his ancestors after the battle of Little Big Horn, but he could not get a singing license for it, too many other buildings around it with tenants and the noise would be objected to.
I made a visit to the Last Stand one night on my way home from working late. I got sitting beside an old lad and we were chatting away, he had been a regular of the original pub and he told me about the murders.
In a nutshell.
It seems the landlord was a bit of a ladies man who treated his wife like dirt, one night he brazenly walked into his own bar with his latest fancy and sat her down, his wife was serving behind the bar while he fetched a bottle of champagne and two fancy glasses from behind the counter, this was the straw that broke the wife’s back and she went and got his old civil war pistol from upstairs, came down and shot the pair of them, him first then his lady friend who died later in hospital, then she asked a customer to call the police as she just sat there staring into space.
There was not much publicity about the whole affair, he was an important man in local politics, then again aren’t a lot these ladies men.
I believe the court was very sympathetic with her, extreme provocation. and she only spent a year in an open prison. In my experience of following up murder cases I find they have always been lenient with women who commit murder over here, now had that been a man, extreme provocation or not, he would have got life for sure.
Now here’s an idea, Ladies if you want to get a new man, take the old one over here on a holiday, shoot him, or if you haven’t the stomach for that push him off the Cliffs of Moher, then after a year or so you will be free to take your pick of the available stock. ;-)
Times have certainly changed since they hanged poor Ruth Ellis.
Crimes of Passion are no more, Spitty is convinced of that, at least.
I could murder a passion fruit right now, love ‘em.
I could never figure out why we have to say a person was “Hanged”
We would normally say something that was in the past tense as
“My wife hung out the washing on the clothes line yesterday” And not
“My wife hanged out the washing on the clothes line yesterday” And perhaps she will
“Hang out more washing tomorrow if the weather if good” But when she read the weather forecast it said rain for tomorrow so she was disappointed and
“Hung her head in despair” Never would anyone dream of saying she
“Hanged her head in despair”
What idiot made up these stupid spelling rules anyway. ;-)
I suppose it’s important to get pronunciation right.
My poor Auntie Mary could never get her words right, and God knows she never stopped talking.
She went out to buy a fresh cake to take to her sister, they were to have afternoon tea in the sister’s house.
Now at that time we had several fine bakeries in the city, all bakers of excellent cakes, Mr. Kipling was not available here until the late 70’s, but we had the likes of Kylemore and Gateaux to name two, Gateaux being the best of the lot.
She went into a cake shop in fashionable Grafton St. and asked the snooty looking male assistant for a cake by “Gat-tex”. He picked out a fresh cream cake then looked down his nose at the small frail grey haired old lady in the black shawl and says “It’s not a cake by Gat-tex madam, it’s a cake by “Gateaux”, we don’t pronounce the “X” do we?”
“Alright I’ll take it”
“Shall I put it in a box for you madam?”
“No thanks, yeh needn’t bother yer Ballo”
Over 50 years since man set foot on the moon, I would have thought there would be world wide rejoicing on the anniversary of it, what happened? 
All the talk now is about going to Mars, well good luck to them, we’d all be sad individuals if we hadn’t got our dreams, but wouldn’t it make sense to have a launch site on the moon first, you gotta crawl before you can walk, with the weak gravity there the take off would be far easier on the old juice.
I’m always amazed why they never went back to the moon since the 70’s, yes I’ve heard all the excuses about no money available and the public are not interested anymore in the moon, I’m no geologist but I’d wager anyone that there are precious metals up there and precious stones, who knows maybe even new metals we’ve never known. surely with the terrific advances they have made since 1969 it would be a doddle now? Yet three years ago they sent an unmanned ‘Probe’ craft to the moon then had to crash land it there, surely a waste of money? what was that all about if they are not interested anymore?
My laymans guess is that they either forgot how they got to the moon in the first place or else they just can’t do it, sure enough it’s marvellous that they can send machines all over the universe, but how long has it been since a man ventured beyond a space station?
Surely a base on the moon would be the sensible thing to do first. There are too many questions that haven’t been answered properly, methinks we’ve all been had en masse and the whole thing was filmed in some desert in the USA. time will tell us the truth eventually.
We all love our moon dearly, so please don’t shun it for greater glory, go there ye gallant men and caress it’s crust, cry in it’s crators, blossom in it’s beams, and give it a bug hug from all of us.
“I see the moon, the moon sees me
shining through the leaves of the old oak tree
Oh, let the light that shines on me
shine on the one I love”
There is no point in a launch site on the Moon, it is in the opposite direction:-) and, don’t you go telling me that with space travel, “The only Way is Up”
This Human search, it comes to something when a geezer has to go to Mars, just to get a bit of peace and quiet.
I once received a reality check, it Bounced.:-)
One has to escape reality now and then, too much reality is bad for you, that’s why we have to sleep so often. ;-)
Just about the time they were going to the moon in the late 60’s the pint of Guinness was selling in most pubs at 3/6, this was before decimalisation, and 3/6 was considered an out of this world price at that time. There was a popular singing pub in the town centre called “Mahers”, pronounced “Mars”. The joke doing the rounds then was there were two fellas sitting in a pub complaining about the price of drink and one fella says to the other
“I believe the pint is only 2 shillings in Mahers”
“Would that be Mahers of Moore Street?”
“No, Mars the far side of the Moon”
That was the first clue I had as to the direction of Mars, don’t forget compasses and spirit levels don’t work when you’re on the moon, and according to all the photographs taken of the moon landings there are no stars to guide you either, so you really are in the dark up there.
We had several pubs in Dublin called “Mooneys” the one pictured below was “The Parnell Mooney” just a few doors away from where I worked, I seldom used it and when I did I would only drink Red Barrel ale, their pint of Guinness was lousy, then when they were the first chain of pubs to charge a penny extra on the ale, I refused to use the place on principal, as did many others, ale was becoming very popular with the younger folks then otherwise there was absolutely no reason for it bar greed. Eventually all the pubs started charging extra for ale, but it was the Mooney chain that started it off and that was never forgotten.
Come to think of it now, my granny’s maiden name was Mooney, she had a brother who was a top jump jockey in his day, I met him once when he was retired, a tiny little well dressed man with snow white hair, a real little “Mickey Dazzler” as they used to say, he was 98 when he died.
Strange how folks who work with horses seem to live longer, old Lester Piggott is still going strong as are the two jockeys who survived cancer Bob Champion and Jonjo O’Neill, and Peter O’Sullivan was way into his 90’s when he died.
In the meantime here’s a bit of free advice from an oldie to those who are getting old.
When you walk through a storm hold your neck up high, then nobody will see the wrinkles.
And don’t panic when your lusty bits become rusty bits, it’s all part of the ageing process. ;-)
https://i.postimg.cc/bv1CrvwB/Parnell-Mooney-Street-Shot.jpg
The Knackers must get a Thraping when riding an old Knacker, and, that Guy needs to tuck his shirt in.