» My Worst Vomit

Nobody vomits like a kid vomits.....
About five years ago, our eldest daughter - who was about two at the time - came toddling into the living room looking decidedly iffy, came up to me and said "Daddy I think I'm going to be ......", and then proceeded to blow chunks in a manner usually reserved for people accustomed to consuming 14 pints of guinness and a large vindaloo.... For some reason, I held out both hands, cupped in such a fashion as to catch the aforementioned liquid-laugh, little realising the phenomenal capacity of vomit that one so small can produce. Having reached overflow limit in a little over a second, I realised the futility of my actions, and deciding there probably wasn't a vessel in the house big enough to contain the tide of puke emitting from my offspring, I decided to abandon my original plan, and get her to the bathroom as fast as was possible....
Dumping the vomit I'd already collected onto the floor (this didn't seem to present a major problem, as we'd only recently had all the carpets removed and laminate flooring put down throughout the whole house....a fact for which at this precise moment I was supremely grateful), I grabbed my infant vomit-tardis, turned her around (let's face it, as much as we love 'em, we don't want them puking in our faces...), and headed off for the bathroom.

And this was my undoing....

To get to the bathroom (it was a bungalow), I had to pass from the living room, through the hall, across the dining room, into the inner hall, and thence into the bog. We made it as far as the dining room before she upchucked in an even more spectacular fashion than previously. Unfortunatley, I wasn't aware of this fact until my bare feet made contact with it........did I mention the fact we'd recently had laminate flooring laid?

The resulting fall would have looked unbelievable even by cartoon standards. There was the running on the spot sequence - featured highly in Scooby Doo episodes where Shaggy tries to leg it but never seems to get anywhere - followed by the slow motion descent straight onto my backside whilst yelling "Noooooooooooooooooooooooooo......!" in perfect synchronisation.
Somehow, throughout all this, I managed not to drop the author of my misfortune, and turned her round to make sure that she was alright. With hindsight, this wasn't one of my better ideas......yep, she barfed all over me....
The attempt to get up, and distance myself as far as was humanly possible from this waking nightmare, must have looked like an old Keystone Cops episode as I slid this way and that but couldn't find any purchase on what had now become a technicolour skating rink.
Fortunately, my wife was on hand to piss herself laughing at my dilemna.....did she help? Did she arse. She stood there shaking and clutching her sides as the tears streamed down her face, whilst I lay sprawled in the stuff bad dreams are made of, praying for God to inflict a prolapsed uterus upon her....

I can look back and laugh about it now, and my psychiatrist has told me that my bedwetting should stop within a year or two.....

(sorry about the length, but sod it....those of you who have an elderley relative, of whose will you are the sole beneficiary might want to take a few pointers from this....lubricated laminate floor, dodgy eyesight/ticker/hip....you work it out)
(Fri 20th Aug 2004, 12:01, More)

» Foot in Mouth Syndrome

Shamed into confession....
Having posted earlier about one of my wife's (many)faux pas, I am now forced to confess to one of my own.....I'll never hear the end of it if I don't....come to think of it, I've never heard the end of it anyway....

About 10 years ago, my younger brother turned up at our house unannounced, to show off his new girlfriend, Carole. Whilst reasonably pleasing to the eye, it soon became all too apparent that she had the IQ of a lawn sprinkler and the charisma of a burning orphanage....

As we all sat there struggling to fill those awkward silences, I noticed that amongst the many necklaces she was wearing, was one with a gold letter 'D' on. As we had already learned her name was Carole - and my brother's name begins with an S - I thought "Aha! A perfect opportunity to open up new lines of communication....."

Obviously, during the five minutes or so we'd spent in her company, I had somehow managed to put my brain in neutral (must have been infectious), whilst leaving my mouth very firmly in gear....conversation went as follows:
Me: If your name is Carole, how come you have a gold 'D' on a chain round your neck?
Carloe: That was for my last boyfriend...he was killed in a car accident....
Me: Oh. So, 'D' for Dead, eh....?

Strangely, the romance didn't last....although to this day, whenever anybody in the family has an outbreak of foot-in-mouth, it is referred to as a 'D for Dead' moment.
(Wed 21st Apr 2004, 15:32, More)

» Heckles

Not technically a heckle, but....
Many moons ago (circa 1984), just prior to the advent of karaoke, a friend of mine had discovered that a local pub ran what was known as a 'Free And Easy' every other Sunday night. The premise of this, was that the microphone was open to anyone - for a small fee - to get up and sing two songs, with whoever was voted best on the night winning the accumulated entrance fees. As my friend fancied himself as something of a chantoose, he was very keen to give it a whirl, and persuaded a group of us to go along and support him.... As I mentioned, this was pre-karaoke, so all accompaniment was provided by an ageing drummer and an equally decrepit female organist. The standard of the singing was in some cases actually quite good, which was entertaining, down to the absolutely dire, which for obvious reasons, was even more so.
Anyway, word quickly spread about the event, and by the third time we went, the pub (The Stocks in Warrington in case you're interested) was packed to the rafters. Takings must have quadrupled overnight...
The Landlord, obviously realising he had hit upon something here, decided to cater for his new-found clientele, and jazz things up a little.This included providing a compere to act as master of ceremonies for the evening's proceedings...
Picture if you will, a recently liberated inmate from Auschwitz, wearing a demob suit that would have looked 'roomy' on Bernard Manning, and you're only at the tip of the iceberg...this guy was to hosting an event of this magnitude, as the Queen Mother was to all-in wrestling...
Another inspired idea on the part of mine host, was to introduce a 'Guess The Song' competition - little realising that most of us were already doing this whilst the acts performed.
One particular evening, we had got there early and secured seats for the coming laugh-riot that the fortnightly debacle had become, and the place rapidly filled to capacity.
Enter our compere to warm things up. In his hands he clutches an envelope with the letter 'Y' on it. He then proceeds to move around the pub thrusting his microphone under the noses of the crowd and asking them to guess the title of the song within the envelope, which does indeed begin with a Y. Most people are happy to hazard a guess - little realising that if correct, in order to win that evening's 'bumper' rollover prize of 15 quid, one had to get up and sing at least one verse of the song in order to claim one's booty. Those of us that had been in preceding weeks were all too well aware of this fact and therefore somewhat reluctant to partake in case we guessed successfully....

It was at this point that the MC decides to stick the microphone rather unceremoniously into the face of one of our number, Alan, who, whilst having a reputation for being the life and soul in familiar company, is painfully shy in front of a room full of strangers.
"Any ideas son?" booms Alan's nemesis.
"Fuck off" mumbles Alan reticently.
Unfortunately for the MC, the mic is so far into Alan's face that the entire pub (and probably the neighbouring estate)hear his response.
In an attempt at a witty rejoinder, the compere snatches the mic back, and in an effort to defuse the situation shout's "No son, it begings with a Y!", then makes the fatal mistake of thrusting the mic back into Alan's face, for the reply "WHY don't you fuck off?"

Oh, how we chortled....
(Sun 9th Apr 2006, 13:35, More)

» Take my Mother-in-law...

Take my mother-in-law.....please.....
After the somewhat traumatic birth of our first child, I went outside the hospital for a well needed cigarette and to ring everyone and tell them the news that I wouldn't be sleeping for the next five years or so.... On ringing my mother-in-law, I was informed by her partner that she was already on her way to our house.....a fact that nobody else seemed aware of, least of all me.....
When I finally left the hospital later that night, I arrived home to find her sitting next door with the neighbours drinking tea. WTF???

She then proceeded to spend the next five days expecting to be waited on hand and foot, whilst I was back and to the maternity ward trying to prepare for the arrival home of our little bundle of joy. I took her into the hospital the following morning to introduce her to her my first born, where she was greeted by my better half saying "Hello mother, hasn't your son-in-law given you a lovely grand-daughter...?" To which she replied the now immortal line "Well Helen, there is always the sperm-bank, you know...."

How we chortled as I laughingly felled her with a forearm smash..... (warning: this last sentence may contain traces of untruth)

To make matters worse, on the day they were due home from the hospital, she very kindly(!) stayed at home to prepare the house for the impending arrival. At the time we had a very old, and very infirm cat, who could no longer negotiate the cat flap, and had to have a litter tray. We arrived home - the proud parents and the beautiful baby - to be greeted by a smell second only to some of last week's QOTW answers, because the cat had be-fouled itself, and the mother-in-law felt she was above such menial tasks as emptying a litter tray. The following row was a joy to behold, as my wife - bless her - basically and somewhat succinctly pointed out to her mother that it might be best for all concerned if she re-mounted her broomstick and fuck off into the sunset, which , I am delighted to report, she did......

Now who said there was no such thing as a happy ending?
(Thu 8th Sep 2005, 10:20, More)

» Obscure Memorabilia

Beat this....
I managed to 'acquire' the brake cable from Dodi and Princess Di's limo. Apparently the car got wrecked shortly afterwards, so lucky I got it when I did......
(Thu 4th Nov 2004, 15:01, More)