Holes and Lies

There I was digging this ‘ole.

Who can forget those melodic utterances of Bernard Cribbins? He sang them before he became head of making people cry in Doctor Who.

Those words sprang to mind (the ones of Bernard Cribbins, not those I just wrote or in fact these) when I returned home from a hard day’s filming. I’m starring in a pornographic tryptic directed by Lars Von Trier. It’s like normal porn but there are no sets or other actors. I spend three hours a day nude and thrusting my erect member backwards and forwards, hoping that air pressure alone will be sufficient to induce an orgasm. Nothing so far though.

So I get home and notice they’ve blockaded the top of my road and dug a small hole in the middle of it. Of course they couldn’t just pop some metal stakes and coloured tape around it, like in the old days. Instead they had placed an impenetrable fortress of big yellow fences to ensure nobody could either drive past or fall into the hole. Frankly if somebody had vaulted the yellow Fort Knox and tripped over the small hole, they would deserve all that they got. Granted that would only have been a sprained ankle or scuffed shoe but they would still have earned the chore of bandaging or buffing the idiocy off them, the idiots.

Now my front door opens directly onto the road. Ok well not directly, there is a pavement. If did open directly onto the road then I would need to stop the traffic, when I wanted to lock it. Or buy a hovercraft.
Sorry I don’t mean lock it or buy a hover craft; rarely do I purchase Christopher Cockerel’s inventions on my doorstep. I find a boat yard or large hanger to be more appropriate for such transactions. What I meant, was that I may have to use a hovercraft to make me float above the traffic so that I could lock the door.

Where was I?

Ah yes…onto the road, so any movement on the pavement is readily detectable, whether it is people talking loudly while walking by or somebody in clicky shoes, I hear it all. Then imagine my horror when I heard a car engine revving slowly past. Yep somebody was trying to get past the barriers. I opened the door and found a car at waist height shunting slowly forward and pushing the barriers to one side.

I looked at the driver.

He looked back at me.

I scowled.

He looked frightened at the apparition standing next to him. Which from his point of view was a seven foot tall, fat and beardy man dressed in pyjamas and dressing gown who looked like he was about to crush his head.

By the way, the clothing, beard, angry face and fourteen stone bits are all true. I was only seven foot tall due to my door step. I don’t have Inspector Gadget legs.

His expression changed from frightened to apologetic and he put his car in reverse and backed slowly down the hill. Making a ‘sorry’ face as he went.

Be warned drivers. Barriers are there for a reason. Try to push past them and the beardy troll will stare at you.

Time for a bath.

Martin Wolfenden

Back in the early days of this Century, I made some money by saying the odd funny thing in public. On one of these occasions a fellow funny talker told me that I should write a blog (because that was the sort of thing funny talking people did back then.) Now, I’m not the sort of person who does things the easy way, so I rejected all the ready made blogging platforms and started my own website. Since then it’s become a repository for whatever stuff is bubbling out of my brains and a directory of various podcasts and videos that I’ve made with my friends and is completely unnecessary.

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