The Befouled Weakly News
1 November 2009 Good morning on a dangerously dark, dreary, dismal, and damp day in beautiful downtown Byfield. To be fair, today’s forecast is for sheeting rain – I guess the forecasters have to get it right once in a while. Yesterday, in contrast, was meant to be bright, clear and sunny. Oddly enough however, it provided us with very variable weather; much (if not most) of the day was, in fact, damp, grey and fairly miserable. Indeed, Ms Playchute had earmarked yesterday as an opportunity to begin the end of season onslaught on the borders and vegetable garden. Alas, it was too wet so she had to resort to hoovering the house instead. We had a lovely day with Molly’s surrogate family last Sunday. Jo (who I worked with for a number of years) and her husband Colin brought their three young children (aged 6, 4 and 2) for the day and we had a grand time. Pen had borrowed many of Sally’s collection of toys aimed at toddlers and the kids had spectacular amusement playing with the various collections of cars, farm animals, building blocks, trains, etc. We also moved the cars off the main part of the driveway so that they could all three ride bikes, scooters and cars all the way around the house. (I even had to clear a path through the fallen leaves on the patio to mark out a circuit for them to navigate). The kids enjoyed seeing Molly again and even she enjoyed the reunion particularly when each of the children arrived clutching a long (and undoubtedly very tasty) chew for her. Friday was to have been Sally next door’s last day at SeamStress. However, she was poorly so may be coming in to work tomorrow to have a “proper” final day. She has decided to retire from the parachute game and she and Pete are going to be doing “extreme fostering”. They’ve been through various training events and have been thoroughly investigated and, in theory, could start having placements straight away. These would be children, probably most often young ones, who need to be removed from the family environment urgently, often at a moment’s notice, and who need a safe and secure environment for a relatively short period of time. Hard but clearly very important work – certainly any children placed with them will be well cared for. All of which means, of course, that Ms Playchute is now in sole charge of SeamStress Ltd. The plan (at the moment) is to gradually wind the business down, using up the existing stock of rip-stop nylon in the production of the last few quality play parachutes known to man. Last chance to order! Gearing up to Bonfire Night this evening (actually, Bonfire Night which, of course, commemorates the attempt of Guy Fawkes and others to blow up Parliament, is this coming Thursday but the village’s fireworks are being held this evening). Disconcertingly, however, Molly has started exhibiting signs of distress at the prospect – the last couple of nights we have heard her whimpering and complaining outside our bedroom door as villagers have set off fireworks in anticipation. Her mother, Pippa, you will remember was petrified and used to arrive in the middle of the bed about two seconds after the first firework. Molly never used to be bothered but for some reason this year she has decided that it is worth getting worked up after all. Fortunately, she does not feel the need to be in bed with us. So long as the bedroom door is open she settles down, either on the bedroom floor itself or on the landing just outside. Could be worse. We were devastated (as I am sure we all were) to hear the news of John McComb’s death. It was always a real pleasure to visit with John and other McCombs, Sohuses and Tolls whenever the opportunity presented itself. We sometimes took the shuttle between the airport and Prescott but we also frequently went down to Phoenix with Mom and Dad to visit with Chuck and Barbara prior to our flights back to the UK. Oftentimes, someone will have organised a get together over lunch or dinner with John & Debbie along with Mary, Ellen and Chris and Matt. In spite of the fact that these reunions were fairly infrequent and far between, it was always a delight to catch up with John and reconnect seamlessly as if we were picking up where we had left off all those years ago when we were just two young boys growing up in southern California. The last time we had the pleasure of visiting with him was at Chuck and Barbara’s in the Spring of 2003. God speed and safe journey. Finally, a couple of articles caught my attention this week.
Two days later, I spotted the following article which seems to be taking the advice to a ridiculous extreme:
OK – the chances of this particular marriage not ending in divorce are pretty good, I guess. Much love to you all, Greg The difference between Ladies and “Real Woman” Ladies - Cure for headaches: Take a lime, cut it in half and rub it on your forehead. The throbbing will go away. Real Woman - Take a lime, mix it with tequila, chill and drink. You might still have the headache, but who cares? Ladies - Stuff a miniature marshmallow in the bottom of a sugar cone to prevent ice cream drips. Real Woman - Just suck the ice cream out of the bottom of the cone, for Pete's sake. You are probably lying on the couch in your bathrobe, with your feet up, eating it anyway. Ladies - To keep potatoes from budding, place an apple in the bag with the potatoes. Real Woman - Buy boxed mashed potato mix and keep it in the pantry for up to a year. Ladies - When a cake recipe calls for flouring the baking pan, use a bit of the dry cake mix instead and there won't be any white mess on the outside of the cake. Real Woman - Go to the bakery - they'll even decorate it for you. Ladies - If you have a problem opening jars, try using latex dishwashing gloves. They give a non slip grip that makes opening jars easy. Real Woman - Go ask the very cute neighbor guy to do it. And finally the most important tip.... Ladies - Don't throw out all that leftover wine. Freeze into ice cubes for future use in casseroles and sauces. Real Woman - Leftover wine?? A young boy knows about sex and where babies come from because his mother told him that "the man puts his penis inside the woman and she gets pregnant." A few days later, after pondering this for some time, the boy asks in all the innocence and wonder of a child, "Does the man ever get his penis back?" Murray and Paulie were in the barn, and Paulie was relating his quandary: "I don't know what decision I should make. I'm currently being pursued by a 23-year-old aspiring model who hasn't got a dime to her name and also by a 69-year-old widow with bazillions of dollars." "Hmmm," said Murray. "In your place, I wouldn't hesitate a second. With your age and looks, it's obvious that you're never again in your lifetime going to get the attention of a 23-year-old, even if she is broke and only an aspiring model. What counts is youth and beauty. In your place, I'd send the old bat off and then set up housekeeping with the beauty." "You're right!" says Paulie. "It's just amazing how friends can see the situation so clearly and offer such good advice." "No problem," says Murray, "but could you give me that widow's name and number?"
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