You often hear the expression…..
…..’You couldn’t make it up’
Well, life is sometimes stranger than fiction !
Yesterday with the G.-moll at my side…..
…..or actually more accurately…..
…..The Groover beside the G.-moll…..
She banged fearlessly at the door of a distant relative
that happened to be residing a mile from the Casa G. in
…..Unprepared for what followed…..
Greetings (and not a little astonishment) were exchanged
at the doorstep
Then the G.-man followed the G.-moll into the lounge where
I sat down and listened attentively…..
…..and lobbed in a few pleasantries
I needn’t have bothered ! ! !
‘Don’t you think he looks just like Aunt Emma?’ I heard
our hostess ask
Puzzled, I wondered who the hell our hostess could be
However, I was the only ‘he’ in the room !
This was swiftly followed by an apparent high-pitch
imitation of Aunt Emma’s talking voice…..
…..Which ‘he’ also uncannily also appeared to possess !
I was still the only ‘he’ in the room !
The G.-man was being accused of resembling an aged
aunt and talking falsetto-style
This was not turning out to be a good day
I was wearing a lumberjack jacket, timberland boots and
an egregious pair of sidies………
…..for once I had left the spandex at home !
What was this woman on ?
This demented Asian faux Dolly Parton !
I left bewildered and not a little confused
This odd experience follows hot on the heels of another
Last Thursday I fell into conversation with one of the carers
from the local nursing home in Herne
‘You live in Herne?’ I enquired pleasantly
‘No, I live in a cemetery’ she answered
Not quite the answer I was expecting
‘Err, any particular cemetery?’ I tentatively asked
‘Yes, the one in Herne. My husband is a gravedigger’
Lightbulb moment ! ! ! ! !
‘I bet you live in that nice lodge at the entrance to the
cemetery, the Victorian building built in 1880?’ I wanted
‘Yes’, she answered, ‘And we married in the chapel next door’
Before I could reply she followed up with, ‘I was driven to my
wedding in a hearse and I wore black’
My mouth dropped open……
……my brain wrestled for something to say…..
…..’The vicar arrived on a Harley Davidson’ she continued
Got it ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
‘You’re a bloody Goth, aren’t you ?’
‘Bingo ! she laughed
‘First Goth wedding in the country’ she went on
Then at the serious risk of being satanised I asked…..
‘Did you stand in a grave for the wedding rites ?’
‘No, you daft bugger’ she laughed
So in conclusion I would argue there are……
None so queer as folk…..
And then there are Hernies !
Give me my G.moll every day of the week
ps, I picked up my order of real Cornish pasties this week
from Miles, the champion butcher.
They were the mutt’s nuts.