A DAY OUT.

Peripheral

Dedicated Member

It was a beautiful sunny morning as I stepped out of the house into the garden. I carefully avoided the remnants of last night's beverages. I surveyed the scrunched up cans and plastic bottles and focused, with great interest, on a mouse that staggered out of a beer can singing merrily at the top of it's voice, SHOW ME THE WAY TO GO HOME. It was obviously somewhat Brahms & Liszt. It must have spent the night drinking the dregs. There wasn't a cloud in the sky and I contemplated taking my wife out for a run in the country. She is a good lass and the thought of her enjoying a good run made me realize that I am not as bad as what her mother says I am. That was it, I would take my wife out into the country for a run. To make sure that she came to no harm I planned to follow her in the car.
"VERONICA" I shouted, "LET'S HAVE A QUICK BREAKFAST, I'M GOING TO TAKE YOU FOR A RUN IN THE COUNTRY."
Veronica appeared at my side dressed in a winceyette nightie and her face covered in what can only be described as a poor man's salad. Cucumber eyelids, tomato ketchup lips, lettuce leaves stuck up her hooter and her face covered in what looked like salad cream. It was some magic potion that supposedly was made up of properties that were capable of dispersing the wrinkles that appear from nowhere. The cream had to be applied with a bricklayers trowel and left on overnight. I'm not kidding it was like sleeping with an out of date Tesco's cream horn. It did countless damage to her pillows and I distinctly remember one night, being awakened by the call of nature and banging my toes on the bedside cabinet. I yelled in pain which woke my wife who sat up sharply with the pillow stuck to the side of her face. She screamed and the pillow burst open covering her face with feathers. She looked like a worn out sunflower waiting for the gardener to come and dead head it. Sorry, I digress. Where was I? Oh yes, I had just informed Veronica that I was going to take her for a run in the country.
"Don't want to go for a run in the country," she said, "I want to go to Mablethorpe".
"You want to see Mabel?" I asked, "Mabel who"?
"MABLETHORPE " my wife snapped. "It's not a woman, it's seaside resort near Skegness," she told me, "we once went there for a day trip. Think back man, don't you remember?" After a heavy verbal defeat I drove to the coast but reached a point where we needed directions. We stopped to ask a man who was eating a squid sandwich and drinking burdock from a worn out welly, the way to Mablethorpe. He told us it was that place where there was a phone box, a cottage with one and a half chimneys and a little girl playing in a pile of sand". Actually, it was quite a nice place, one of the guest houses had a vase in the front window with a rose in it. So picturesque. We decided to stay for the night at a bed and breakfast joint called the 'OWNLEEWONNBOG' hotel. After a meal of arthritic sardines on toast we decided to go to the theater to see a show called 'FOLLIES ON PARADE'. I say theater, huh, it was two long wooden sheds joined end to end which meant it only had one door through which people could go in through or leave through. We payed our 4 new pence entrance fee and sat down on an old upturned tin bath ready to watch the show. It started with a couple of old broa...err ladies singing 'I DO LIKE TO BE BESIDE THE SEASIDE' These were followed by a comedian whose jokes were older than he was, and he was 97. Next was magician come fire-eater who would put out the fire on two lumps of 4 x 2 wood by sticking them down his clack. To end the first half we were lucky enough, or so the compere said, to see the dazzling routine of a troupe of Basque specialty dancers. They looked wonderful in their brightly coloured costumes and were excellent dancers. Unfortunately, the previous performer had failed to extinguish the fire on one of his pieces of wood which started a big blaze in the structure of the theater, I.E. the two wooden sheds. The audience made a bee-line for the only door and I am pleased to tell you that all seven of us got out quite safely. The Follies all followed and the Basque dancers were being herded to the door by their frantic manager. It was at this point that a terrible calamity occurred. All the dancers, so eager to get out, became wedged in the door and I'm very sorry to tell you that they all perished in the flames. It was all so, so sad.

Their is a moral to this story which I feel I must impart to you.
Please remain seated while I tell you the moral and promise to give me 50 yards start.
The moral is,


YOU CAN'T PUT ALL YOUR BASQUES INTO ONE EXIT.
 
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