Oy! Giddoutovit

[Sir_Nigel]

Whatever happened to Old Men? I mean proper Old Men. Men with a certain odour about them. Men with trousers so voluminous that they could pull them up to their chest and fasten them there with a length of rope - trousers that were worn shiny and thin by 30 years of continuous wear and bore the stains and marks of every drip, splash, dribble and spillage that had ever taken place in their vicinity. Bent and shuffling old men who kept pocket watches in their egg-stained waistcoats, smoked pipes and pottered grumpily in gardens and allotments. Men whose hacking coughs could rattle windows and whose noisy expectorations could linger stubbornly on pavements for days.

 

Well I suppose to answer my own question - they’re all dead. They died long ago of industrial diseases and lingering war wounds. And from unidentifiable infections picked up through lack of basic hygiene. Their successors today are all neat and dapper little chaps, virtually indistinguishable in their easy-wash Farahs and slip on shoes and car coats and shiny Far Eastern cars. They give no thought to tradition - there are no snuff stains on their moustaches and their shoes aren’t warped and bent into weird and unlikely shapes. Old men now are jolly chaps who spend their days learning to surf the net or jetting off to their Spanish apartments when they should be out planting root vegetables and shouting at urchins.

 

When my time comes I intend to become a proper old man and shuffle about being smelly, hairy-eared and unapproachable, muttering grumpily to myself, frightening children and spitting noisily on the pavement. I certainly won’t bother about such trivial matters as health and appearance and changing my clothes. As a piece de resistance, the voluminous Old Man’s Trousers I will sport will be unlike any seen these past 25 years, they will come up to here and, once I’ve worn them in a bit, will stand up on their own and attract interest from members of the medical, legal and scientific professions. And I want a shed to potter in too – something that will be condemned by the council. But damn my youthful good looks, positive outlook and robust health - that day is still a long way off. But there’s a horrible old man inside me waiting to get out.

[shoeshine]

Shut thi gob, you poser! Youth takin' the mickey!

 

B**ger off!

 

ps I'll get thi an allotment next door to mine if tha wants.

 

1/2 ounce of rough baccy will suffice.

 

Just spit on thy side of the boundary when tha chews it! I'm 99 years old and "health conscious" these days. There's a certain lady I'm fancying and she wants to share my hobby. And it's not "growing shallots"!

 

:):)

[Malanimal]

Heh, t'was so gud ah nearly spat out me pipe

[pattricia]

Another great story from Sir Nigel.

[coyleys]

Excellent, chuffin excellent.

Yet another crack from Sir Nigel, I like the reference to the pavement oysters.

[Mantaspook]

Loved it, a very funny story Sir_Nigel, I’m sure everyone knows of a character like that, it certainly reminds me of someone I used to know, he never threw anything out.

 

He had a garden shed full of old jam jars containing rusty screws, extinct lawnmowers (that last cut the grass in 1837) and demi-johns of a homemade wine, t'was a potent concoction, the chemical properties of which would have delighted any scientists at ‘domestos’ that aspired to nail that elusive last 1%.

 

One day his wife poured some down the sink and the street immediately resounded to the sound of clanking manhole covers as the rats fought to evacuate the local sewers.

[pattricia]

Ive read this again, Sir Nigel. Very funny.

[Sir_Nigel]

Thank you for your kind words. I only hope that, for a few brief moments, I have brought a little light into the grey, humdrum lives of a few desperately sad and lonely people who have nothing else in their eternally dull days to look forward to. But please – I ask for no thanks for this service. The expressions of gratitude on your homely, trusting faces is reward enough.

[pattricia]

Thank you for your kind words. I only hope that, for a few brief moments, I have brought a little light into the grey, humdrum lives of a few desperately sad and lonely people who have nothing else in their eternally dull days to look forward to. But please – I ask for no thanks for this service. The expressions of gratitude on your homely, trusting faces is reward enough.

 

Yes, we bow to you,Sir Nigel.

[coyleys]

Thank you for your kind words. I only hope that, for a few brief moments, I have brought a little light into the grey, humdrum lives of a few desperately sad and lonely people who have nothing else in their eternally dull days to look forward to. But please – I ask for no thanks for this service. The expressions of gratitude on your homely, trusting faces is reward enough.

 

No problem Sir Nigel.

Your writing makes you want to start "singing in the rain"