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As I Was Saying
I used to enjoy telling my children fairy stories but when they got to know them by heart I started adding bits and changing the end round. You all know how Goldilocks and the three bears ended. She has eaten their breakfast, broken the furniture and wrecked their beds, then upon being woken up she jumps through the window and makes her escape. By today’s standards a most unsatisfactory ending! My children now have kids of their own and I often wonder if they tell them the version where Goldilocks sticks her fingers up at the three bears, jumps out of the bedroom window straight into the fish pond and drowns. ‘Serves her right’ is the common response these days. So the Woodcutter chops off the head of the wolf in grannies clothing and saves Little Red Riding Hood’s life. She is extremely traumatised and it is too dark for her to walk home alone. The kind woodman takes her to his cottage and tells her she is safe. She enjoys a mug of warm drinking chocolate and feels his big strong arms around her as he lifts her from the chair and takes her to bed with him! NO NO!!! Not really. See, I’m changing it for you now! I personally have always enjoyed a happy ending but I've even been banned from saying that since my holiday in Thailand.
As I Was Saying
Whilst having lunch in a well known London restaurant a few weeks ago I let out rather a loud belch. I was drinking Prosecco and it caught me by surprise.
I had put my hand up to my mouth and quickly apologised to those seated around me but one old crow insisted on referring to me as an ‘ill mannered pig!’ She looked a right wasp chewer so I took great delight in telling her how my mother used to praise me for that particular bodily function. ‘There’s a good boy David’ she’d say whilst putting me over her shoulder and patting my back which often resulted in an encore. The old crow was not impressed so I continued. ‘Do you know what else I was praised for? I’ll tell you. Whilst sitting on my potty in the middle of the day room she would encourage me to ‘do one for mummy’. If her sister was visiting mum would say ‘do one for auntie Lilly there’s a good boy.’ Now I can’t remember if visitors wrapped em up and took them home but I was chuffed to bits at being called ‘good boy David!’ In all fairness it didn’t help matters that the wasp chewer had sausages on her plate. Now this is what I’d like to know. At what stage of my life did I cease to be good boy David and become an ill mannered pig?
Stay Safe. Colane