Background:Experienced nurse Marie is helping out in the ward, and is also training a very young and pretty nurse, Daisy, in giving bed baths.She is showing signs of nervousness at having to treat youngish high spirited male patients.Marie has given her sensible advice – speak soothingly to them as you wash them and stick to practical subjects.
As she works, Daisy is at the next bed, around which screens have been drawn to afford the patient some privacy while he is being washed.Through the flapping curtain Marie can see that he is surprisingly well endowed.To a nurse with her years and experience this is merely a physiological fact, but she realises there might be a problem as soon as Daisy starts at the foot end, and the younger girl’s embarrassment is palpable through the curtain.“Stick to practical issues, Daisy”, Marie wills her silently, as she deals with her own patient.She hears her through the curtain.
Daisy (20):Well Mr Evans, if you would just lie flat for me... that’s it, thank you.Let’s do your feet first.
She then proceeds toknee level.
...Right ...er... I hope I’m not doing this too hard...No?....good...
...So...er...(ooh!)...are you married Mr Evans? ... No?Oh, what a waste....er a shame...
We say: ....But that's just me! (with a depracating shrug of the shoulders and a twinkle)
We mean: I'm unique, a one-off. Quirky and different, you could never forget me.
What it says about us: I need to feel original, in case I'm not.
PS: One year blog anniversary today! I never know for how long I'll be able to keep finding humorous or quirky things to say - I never have more than a few weeks' worth of posts stored up at any one time. To enable me to make entries every day they're not always original, they're chosen because they're MY humour. I hope they give you a daily smile.
I'm also grateful to Gustavo from Blogudeces de la Vida Cotidiana for the initial inspiration and encouragement, and for allowing me to pillage some of his stories to translate into English.
My Grandad who worked down Treharris Deep Navigation Pit, told of a bloke who when he first came to Merthyr got on the bus. Not knowing how to ask for a return ticket, he made the best of it and asked for a ticket back and front. From then on he was known as Dai Back and Front.
Scene: A senior consultant surgeon is preparing to go out to an important hospital dinner and he’s running a bit late. As usual he’s on his mobile sorting out some problem or other, his wife is coming and going, handing him a freshly ironed shirt, hunting for the cuff links he’s mislaid, and reminding him about the coins he’ll need to cross the toll bridge. 7 year old daughter Emma is getting in everybody’s way because she wants to be a part of the hustle and bustle. What she says next freezes all activity at a stroke.
Background: Rona works as secretary at a small branch of wholesale seed merchants. They sell grass seed for, among other uses, growing forage grass for milking cows. A recent innovation is the development of a special grass which contains higher levels of water-soluble carbohydrates – sugars - within the cells, and has been proven to raise milk yields by 6%. It’s known as High Sugar Grass, and the phones have been buzzing with farmers wanting to know more about it. Rona is taking many calls which she passes on to the salesmen, and it’s so busy that she’s finding it difficult to get on with her main work. She’s taken plenty of messages too, and at one point several salesmen are standing by her desk, waiting to be handed the various scribbled notes. The stress is getting to her...
Rona (50) – crossly: All this fuss about high sugar grasses... and anyway it must be terribly bad for the cows’ teeth...
I used to live in a street called the Bush Houses, in Clydach Vale, Rhondda. There was a wonderful character there, a chap known as Harry Penny (né Francis). He owned a donkey and cart, and each morning he would travel to Tonypandy Railway station, to meet the cockles and mussels train that would arrive at 4:30 a.m. from West Wales. He's take his collection home to be washed before going out on th streets to sell his product. He would sell the mussels and cockles in a pint jar, for a penny - and that's how Harry got his name. It was thought that Harry sired 22 children, most of whom I knew!