The notable absence this week has been Small H. I asked UT about his whereabouts, and was told that he'd gone 'ferreting'. For those unacquainted with British wildlife, the ferret is a small furry predator that is tradiotnally used to warm the nether regions in winter. I suspect Small H has a more practical use for his pet. Oh, but I can't call him Small H anymore. Apparently he's from an important landed family, very big in ferreting circles, and from this point forward I shall call him Lord H.

News of Lord H's elevation to the nobility does not phase me. Wandering about the countryside as I do you occaisionally encounter these individuals. For instance, many years ago I had a conversation with Prince Philip. Needless to say it was a pleasant suprise to discover that he watched the same television programs as everyone else.

Queen - "I say, Philip, this television show is a programmus horriblis. Do be a dear and change the channel to something less vulgar will you, one hasn't got the remote gadjet."

Prince Philip - "(Belch) Yeah, righto love. Pass anuvver beer... cheers Liz"

But joking aside, there was that upper class gentleman I once delivered a consignment of expensive china tableware to. He was very impressed by the speed of the delivery, very appreciative of my willingness to carry the parcel to his garage, very generous in his tip, and very unaware that the grunts at the depot had thrown the box on board and whole was smashed. Never have I felt so low for so much praise...

Then there was a woman who ran a business out of a small cottage a few miles away. She wasn't too impressed to see a dirty great van rumble up in front of her picture postcard perfect home, and even less impressed when I pulled a tree down on her spotless gravel drive on the way out... Can't win 'em all...

Funny thing happened in Henley, a verrrrry well to do area. I arrived at the address and asked a guy doing some brickwork at the front of the house whether...

"Excuse me!" A woman in a bathing suit interrupted, "Now that you've finally found the place, would kindly bring it up here?"

Oh dear. Well, I lugged the box up the steps and round to her back door. Nice place, love the goldfish. She merely glanced back at me. I put the box down at her door.

"Umm, don't really want that box in the sunshine. Could you bring it in please?"

Ok. Lift.. And plonk down in her rear hallway.

"Umm, I don't really want the box at the back door. Could you bring it in a bit further?"

Oh good grief. Well the customer is always right, so in I go.

"Ummm..." She looks thoughtful at a door further away inside her home. Thinking quickly, I produce the docket and get her to sign, making my getaway before I'm late for my collections. Oh boy was she bored...

Then there was that woman of mature age I played pool with in a country pub one evening. She was a little well watered, and very chatty. The conversation got around to motor cars.

"I like the AC Cobra, " She said in an astonishing deep gravelly voice, "Seven litres, plenty of thruuuuust!". I get the hint dear. Luckily her husband was on hand to rescue me from a fate worse than hatchbacks.

I suppose you have to make your own entertainment in the countryside. And you thought Emmerdale was a soap opera...

Groan of the Week

I'm afraid the booze fairies were at large last night, and deposited half a ton of gravel on my car. Cheers boys, just what I needed. Please feel free to share your generosity with other people next time?