Gone to the dogs
I had a little too much to drink last Friday night.
I would have got away with it if it wasn’t for a few telltale signs. Sleeping like a log while everyone else around me was partying like it was 1999, talking like a washing machine at the woolens setting, and not being able to balance on one leg while locating my nose with my opposing index finger (though I have difficulty doing that at the best of times).
The occasion was Lurgan Rugby and Cricket Club’s Night at the Dogs at Drumbo.
I awoke on Saturday morning to find I’d been subject to the paparazzi treatment. Photos had been posted on the internet and people were approaching me to tell me how pie-eyed I’d been... people who weren’t even there on the night.
I’m actually glad photos were taken. Without photographic evidence there’s a danger of rumours getting out of hand.
“Did you hear about Cuzzy on Friday night? I heard he crawled into one of the dog traps and fell asleep.”
“Well I heard he bet two grand on number six only to find he was reading off the menu instead of the race card.”
At least the pictures are there to prove I was harmlessly sozzled. I am only human after all. If you cut me, do I not bleed. Just ask anyone who was playing the day up in Randalstown I broke my nose.
I wonder what the legends of ancient Greece would be like if society had been as intrusive back then as it is now.
“Medusa - wasn’t she the one with the snakes for hair who could turn you to stone just by looking at you?”
“Naw, did you not see the photos on Wikileaks - it was a wig, but granted she was a right moody cow and had a face like thunder.”
“What about Achilles - he was some boy. Pity about his weak heel.”
“Weak heel? Have you seen his medical record? If it wasn’t the heel it was the metatarsal or the cruciate ligament. He was never off the treatment table. He’d a couple of good battles and everyone had him down as the next Perseus.”
“Fair enough, but what about the mighty Zeus - the king of the gods, ruler of the sky, weather, thunder, law, order and fate. He must have been some sight, sitting on his throne, above the clouds, on top of Mount Olympus.”
“You’re having a laugh, aren’t you? I take it you haven’t looked him up on Google Streetview. He lived in a retirement home at the top of a hill. His name was Gordon and all his food had to be mashed up for him.”
As you might have guessed I watched Clash of the Titans at the weekend.
I must apologise. Last week I compared my Uncle Harold to a banshee by saying they were both elusive creatures of habit, famous for their high pitched moaning.
It was an inappropriate comparison. My Uncle Harold has a medium-pitched moan, not high-pitched.
I’ve some nerve calling myself a journalist.
A lady stopped me over at the shopping centre this week and asked, “Have you got the proper time?”
Did she not trust me? Did she take one look at me and think, this guy seems like the sort who would deliberately tell someone the wrong time? What time had she been operating on up until she asked for my assistance?
The long and the short of it was - she wanted the proper time. Not some fake time I’d pulled out of the sky. The actual, real, proper time, thank you very much.
I told her it was 11.35am. She thanked me and walked off. Little did she know I’d rounded up from 11.33am. I can be such a bad imp sometimes.
The answer to last week’s teaser was: the American is viewing the Great Wall of China in space.
Here’s a couple of teasers provided by my friend in Scouting Paul Best:
1. What has a bottom at the top?
2. What is HIJKLMNO better known as?
If you’d like to tackle more quiz questions from Paul be at the Jethro Centre this Friday night at 7.30pm for the annual 1st Lurgan Scout group quiz.