Oh how we laughed
.
To set the scene, I worked with a young guy - Alan - some time ago. Alan hadn't had the easiest of childhoods (his dad died, his mum hit the bottle, and he ended up being raised by his gran) but he had emerged pretty much unscathed.

So anyway, one morning, there's no sign of Alan. We were a little concerned, but not worried sick. Then the phone rang. It was his gran.

"Alan won't be in today. He was taken queer on the train. (Which conjured up an image of Scotrail sponsored child abuse - he looked about 14.) They've taken him to Falkirk Royal and they're talking about doing an indocrination. (This really raised eyebrows, but turned out to be "endoscopy" instead.) He was sicking up blood (hence the endoscopy) but the doctors think they can make him better."

The poor manager taking the call didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She managed to keep a straight face and assure his gran that Alan's job was in no danger.

In the fullness of time he returned to work, having never discovered why he was vomitting blood and much leg pulling ensued. Good lad that he was, he laughed louder than anyone at the thought of being maliciously buggered on the way to work.

If he's reading this - and he displayed some very b3tard-like humour as he settled in - I'd just like to say one thing.

Alan, remember when we used to take turns to buy cream cakes and you'd always hold yours up (oo er) and ask if anyone "wanted your cherry"? You were fooling no-one, mate. There isn't a 20 year old lad alive who doesn't know what that means. We weren't laughing with you, we were laughing at you. And you knew it!
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Thu 12 Jun 2008, 17:35, Reply)