The Swear Box

 A couple of weeks ago my oldest granddaughter and I had a falling out. The details are for us alone to know but I must admit, I lost my temper. 

As she reported to her mother, the worst thing was that I swore. I felt bad when I heard this and I suggested to Martha's Mama that maybe we should install a swear box. Because of our proximity to a Covid case (Aunt Lizzie) it was two weeks and a negative test before Nellybert had the girls again. All was forgiven but the swear box was discussed and duly implemented.

All went well. Just one mild expletive passed my lips at lunch and 25 pence was deposited. Until it was time to drive them home. Martha had noted that Granny suffers from 'Road Rage' and that this might be an opportunity to expand the coffers. It had already been agreed that any monies in the swear box would be Martha and Evie's to spend as they wished. There was a delay in setting off due to a forgotten item and a 50 pence expletive was uttered. 

Quick, Evie!

Said Miss Martha,

While you're in there, take 50 pence out of Granny's purse and put it in the swear box.

I robustly refused permission.

All went well on the journey home apart from one small annoyance and another 50 pence was left owing. Martha remarked something along the lines that driving seemed to be a difficulty for me in that I was easily annoyed. She gave the impression that she could cope with this if it meant that the fines might benefit her and her sister.

As soon as I got home I transferred a pound coin from my purse to the swear box. Hopefully, it will be the last time I'll ever have to do that. This is the best idea ever, for my delight in thwarting those rascals out of their swear box monies will be far greater than the short-lived release of firing one off.  

A picture from way back when we could have actual days out.

Loudmouth and Alpha

On Monday I engaged in a little bit of food stockpiling, just instant coffee and long grain rice but it's a start. Only joking! I've been hoarding food forever.

The reason why that lot is sitting on the kitchen table is that Nellybert bought a new kitchen from Ikea today and the first unit that is being built is the larder cupboard.

The Kenco coffee and long grain rice were purchased in Lynas (wholesale to the public) and after stashing enough rice to last six months and enough coffee to see us through a month I decided to pop into the charity shop next door. There was a lot going on there. A four-way conversation about shoplifters (foreigners) and attitudes towards. The one doing most of the talking (I'll call her Loudmouth) was a woman of mature years with a bad hair dye job and a worse attitude. She was ranting on about how much she disliked foreigners. She was talking about the Roma people as they are the ones with the bad rep for nicking stuff in charity shops. Anyways, Loudmouth was giving it harsh about what she'd like to do about all these thieving, gipsy foreigners who come over here, live in our houses, take our jobs, rob our charity shops and shit in our second-hand Sunday best suits.* Really! What Loudmouth would like to do would tip their boats into the sea and drown them! She'd hold them under. She would!**

Obviously, this woman was an evil bitch. And crazy. You wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of her. I didn't. I never said a word.

And the other people, the volunteers, the other few customers - they didn't say much either. Just sort of smiled and nodded. Loudmouth left the building. A few remarks were made, not entirely disapproving. One of the women said something, I didn't quite catch it but I gathered it contained some mild swearing. What my mother would have called 'rough talk'. Immediately the alpha volunteer lit on her. We'll have none of that kind of talk in here! The poor woman was mortified. She made some reference to Alpha being 'good-living'. Ballymena talk for a person who considers themselves to be 'saved' or 'born-again'. I may not have mentioned that this particular charity shop was raising funds for Christian missions.

I left the shop (without making a purchase) and went for a walk. I felt soiled and cross with myself for not speaking up. This woman, Alpha, the saved Christian, was happy to listen to the vilest of racist abuse from one woman yet baulked at another, milder woman, swearing. I wondered what Jesus Christ would have made of it all if He'd*** been in the shop with us rummaging through the menswear rails. Alpha would have been keeping a tight eye on Him, with His swarthy Middle Eastern looks, most likely a thief. Those bloody foreigners.

*She really said this!

**Loudmouth was a complete ignoramus. The people she was talking about do not travel here by boat.

***Capitalisation for dramatic effect.

Salty Talk

You know you've been watching too much 'Deadwood' when your husband returns from the village and says,

That nest of celestial cocksuckahs are on their fucking holidays.

His meaning?

The Chinese takeaway was closed.

Frankie and Nelly

My legs hurt. She Who Must Be Obeyed said it's not the distance walked that counts but the speed employed. So this evening Francis Joseph Banjo and I headed up the Dreen Road at some speed. It was Paddy's turn to be walked but Rosie and he were being scunging devil dogs again and were off on some rabbit-bothering expedition. It wasn't marching up the road that made my old joints ache. It was the descent that did the damage. Nevertheless after a short recovery period I took Frankie out through Bert's Baby Wood for another walk. Frankie is a very short dog. His little legs are only about four inches long. Consequently when he is being walked through long grass be bounces along as if he is on springs. This is very amusing to watch. Now about two-thirds of the way into Bert's Infant Wood there is a little drain or sheugh*. Frankie is a dog of very little brain and usually falls into the sheugh. This evening he jumped over it on the outgoing journey but missed it on the return and fell in. When I got back I suggested to Bert that he should take Frankie over the field a run before he gets too wise to the sheugh. Bert did take him over and reported a very satisfactory result.

"He fell in. Twice!"

*Sheugh - pronounced shuck And bearing that pronunciation in mind here's part of what I had to listen to last night outside my bedroom window in Spide City.

Girl: Ye feughing did! Boy: I feughing didn't! Girl: Ye feughing did! Boy: I feughing didn't!

And so on until Girl spots someone she knows,

Girl: Ya'right Maggie!

Then:

Girl: Ye feughing did! Boy: I feughing did'n.....

Fade into blessed distance feughing and blinding as they went.

Your Arse In Parsley

Rats! I go back to work today after spending almost all of September on holiday. The thought has disturbed my sleep. Last night I dreamed that we added a new criteria to our client group. They had to be murderers. Does this mean I hate my job?

On a lighter note I have a query for those of you interested in the Norn Iron turn of phrase, as I found myself saying this about the Wee Manny the other day. It was in relation to some nonsensical statement he had come out with.

His arse in parsley!

Familiar to anyone? I'm going to start abusing the client group with it. If they complain I'll swear I said "eyes" not "arse".