I was content living at the ex-offenders lodgings, but the cost eventually led me to move into a flat on Melton Road. It was far less than the full board that I was paying, that had just gone up to £6 a week, at 17/- (35P), but of course meant I had to buy food and cleaners and stuff like that.
It was one room, with shared latrines and baths. But I felt more grown up somehow… for a while.
Within a week, the landlady’s buxom daughter arrived at my door holding a bottle of Walker’s Red Label whisky…
Things took place that I cannot fully remember but…
It seem I was legless when she returned back downstairs to her mater, and I thought it a good idea to cook some sausages…
A while later the fire brigade officer woke me from my alcohol induce sleep, and the landlady kindly threw me out.
From the flat, to another flat…
I was lucky, in quickly finding another flat on Ryland Crescent.
Again, an attic room, with a woman and her oh so scary daughters.
I had to avoid certain situations to be safe from them.
Then one Saturday night, they all went out, so I sneaked down and watched their TV. As I was watching Morecome and Wise on the set, a rather large built bloke burst in through the back door, demanding to see Christine (Scary daughter number two), and wanting to know if I was messing about with her. I indicated that I was not messing about with her, and she had gone with her family to the Odeon cinema.
“Oh, she don’t wanna go awt wi’ me though does she?” shouted the man, he seemed to be getting very het up. He blamed me for some reason, and started to trash the room – heroics called for here I thought (What a burk!) I tried to restrain him, and got the radio set over my head for me efforts, followed by a few well place thumps and a rather tear producing kick in the groin. We continued to struggle with each other for a while, until he suddenly stopped, broke down in tears, apologised and left?
I spent the next couple of hours trying to sort the room out as much as I could, and rewired the plug onto the radio – still not really believing what had just taken place.
The family returned, I explained what happened, she did not believe me, went upstairs and packed my suit cases and I was thrown out again!
A mate from work took me in for couple of days, and I found lodgings with a family on Huntingdon Street.) I’ve often wandered since then: Is it the law that landladies have to have daughters? Just a thought.
Moved to Digs off Huntingdon Street
Landlady Mavis, daughter one Audrey a night nurse at Rampton Mental Hospital (very handy cause she could visit me during the day), and Veronica.
I was only their a few months, cause the landlady had designs on me, Veronica the younger daughter was unsure what she wanted, and Audrey… phew, she was rampant!
Moved to Carrington and rented a small house…
The best thing about this place was Audrey would visit twice weekly, and left me feeling weakly… but oh so contented! (Ah memories)
It wasn’t me personally that attracted Audrey, it was any bloke would do, and did regularly, but without doubt I learnt more from Audrey than any other gal. Plump heavy gal, massively hairy armpits etc, and what a personality. (Shudders with the thoughts, and regrets of no longer being acquainted with the sexpot)
Carrington to a flat at 30 Bingham Road, Sherwood…
Stayed here for many years, and was happy, oh so happy too. I think it was £9 a week.
Had the entire ground floor to myself, big front room, bedroom, cellar, bathroom/toilet, living room, kitchen and garden too!
Started me angling here, joined a local club, it was quiet and peaceful, I just loved it.
One night while I was in this flat is worth mentioning...
I’d been out to the local social club at lunch, but didn’t even get through my first pint, when I started to feel oh so poorly. So I returned to the flat,
Struggled into the front room, and plonked myself on the settee, around 1230 hrs. I remember waking around 1800 hrs and seeing the lamp lights through the window swaying, going back and forth, and thought I’d better have a look in the medical box see if I’ve got something to take.
WARNING: Make sure it’s not out of date!
I found a bottle of ‘Night Nurse’, and consumed a good swig of it, then laid down back on the settee.
I woke up in the morning (later found out it was 0700 hrs) naked and flat out on the garden lawn, with the landlady bent over me slapping me face.
A neighbour later told me I was dancing like a pregnant rhinoceros with a broken leg for hours in the garden, and trying to sing?
I’ve never tried ‘Night nurse’ medications again!
But the landlord sold out and the new one wanted to update the place, and charge £20 a week.
*Incorporating his Guide to Visitors to the Arboretum
No mobiles or ipods, muggers, radios, drugs, beggars or rubbish in them days. Nice!
A place where an extensive variety of woody plants are cultivated. For scientific, recreational, educational, and ornamental purposes.
We start at Radford Road, departing from where the Alms Cottages were situated, until the 1960’s, when the then new Police Station was built, and later fire-bombed in the 1982 and 2011 Nottingham Riots.
Canning Circus Police Station – fire-bombed in the last riots.
We walk up along the road, past where ‘The Grand Theatre’, where Nottingham’s first screening of films to the public on 13th July 1896 was situated. It closed in the 50’s. It reopened as the Leno Cinema, and was very popular. A pay-day loan company and a bookies shop that got raided last month is now at this spot on the road.
As we pass the Jeweller’s shop on our left, that was ram raided in the 2011 riots, and we pass the alleyway that Albert Staples (71) was stabbed to death in 2008, we come to the ‘We buy gold’ pawnbrokers, where the Co-op food store stood up until 2000, and the police car was fire-bombed in 2011.
As we get to where now stand’s the much shop-lifted Asda (Walmart) store, that replaced the twelve year old blocks of flats that had to be pulled down due to their crumbling concrete, we see the graffiti covered war memorial plaque near the market stalls, in front of the public house where two men were stabbed last March.
Over the road on our right, the church that has now become a mosque is sat between the Indian take-away, and the Benefits Office. Neither were attacked during the riots.
At the second-hand charity shop, next to the three closed down retail units, we turn left onto the damaged trees-lined Gregory Boulevard, with the remains of the fire-bombed cafe on our left, hidden behind the graffiti covered advertising panels.
We cross the road to our right, we pass the Oriental/Asian food superstore, with its colourful array of old fruit, wrinkled vegetables, and threatening stares from the gathering clan of local youths waiting to go to the Job Centre Plus.
At the traffic lights near the Forest recreation fields, and closed down church, we turn up Mount Hooton Road, where the Tram stops, and park & ride car park, that had three cars stolen and fourteen damaged in the 2011 Nottingham riots, is situated.
We walk up the hill, ignoring the condoms and blood on the pavement, and cross over the road at the ‘out of order’ pedestrian crossing lights.
At the top of the hill, we pass the Public House on our left of what now is Waverley Street, down the hill.
On our left, the P N E U Schools (Independent) with its Security Guarded gates at 13 Waverley Street, with its security guards and alarmed gates. Then on our right, the rows of old Victorian houses, in which the rich and wealthy of Nottingham once lived, the first two now knocked into one and occupied by the Ukrainian Social Club.
Down the hill, we come to the first gate into the Nottingham Arboretum (where I was mugged last September), where you can imagine in days gone by the nannies would take their charges for a stroll in their prams, listen to the music from the Band Stand, and partake in an ice-cream. Today it is where the prostitutes take their charges for a stroll into their knickers, listen to the music from their ipods, and partake in sex and drugs.
There was always a park keeper prepared to take care of you in the old days. Nowadays there is always a mugger lurking to take care of your money, mobile, and cash-card.
Where once the lovingly cared for beds of flowers flourished, the detritus and debris of the current lifestyle litter the place, fag-ends, dumped old cycles, condoms, phlegm, sweet wrappers, and the like.
Cleaner in those days yer know…
The large pond, once so praised and appreciated by Nottingham folk, now stinks as the leaves are left to rot in the water. The few ducks left struggle to swim in the murky water, and the peacocks have all been killed or stolen.
The CCTV camera put in place in 2006, and had its wires cut the same day, is still not operational.
Where once the cafe hut was always busy, and the chairs outside always full of happy sociable customers, now the chairs have been stolen, and they only sell coke and sandwiches through the narrow security grating.
We walk down passing the Mansfield Road entrance, we pass the Aviary, where the Police van was attacked in the 2011 Nottingham riots, and Karen Mitchell was raped last April, we pass the Park Bench donated in the memory of a local councillor, now vandalised and dilapidated, next to the spot where the police found a knife, that turned out to be the murder weapon used in the killing of a 54 year-old female shop assistant on Mansfield Road, another unsolved murder, in 2002.
We end this enjoyable Historical Walk of Olde Nottingham, exiting the Arboretum opposite the fire-bombed in the 2011 Nottingham riots, Police Station, now closed down.
Anyone interested in taking a ‘Guided tour of Olde Nottingham’, please contact the Tour Guide, Juan Inchcock, at Nottingham City Hospital, the Benefits Offices on Parliament Street, the Pound Shop or Alcoholics Anonymous.
More Historical Walks of Ye Olde Nottingham to follow.
Inchcock’s Guide to Nottingham’s arboretum
Your tour guide will walk you through the route from Hyson Green, to the Nottingham Arboretum – describing along the way, the current multi-culturally rich lifestyle as opposed to the history of Nottingham in the same area.
The following statement was given to the Nottingham police, by a 67 year old, 5’3″ tall, made redundant, overweight, bald, bespectacled, hearing aids wearing, depressed, cardiac suffering, arthritic, lesser endowed, angina ridden, imitation man named Juan Inchcock, after he’d decided to take a walk (hobble) for the first time in years through the Nottingham beautiful Arboretum, to feed the ducks, in an effort to cheer himself up a bit.
The Statement:
On Friday 1st October, I took a walk to the Nottingham Arboretum on Dryden Street.
I meandered down the contraceptive ridden top path, walking down through the bottles and food packages, and the abandoned broken umbrella, to the detritus covered duck pond at the bottom of the site.
The ducks were not around, so I fed the pigeons some bread and seed, as I rebuffed the foul mouthed down-and-out Wurzel Gummage double who was demanding money from me.
I was walking between some bushes and trees towards the exit, two youths appeared, one holding a knife, and they demanded my cash and cash card. I(I realised this after a while, as it took me a bit of time to hear and understand what they wanted due to their accents and me hearing aids… but I got it after one pointed his steak-knife in my direction.) The one that looked like a miniature version of Wladimir Klitschko did most of the threatening and had the knife.
They were very unhappy when I told them I did not have a cash card on me, then I produced the £2.45 in cash I had on me… they searched me and nicked me mobile, then belted me around the head, and ran off with my carrier bag, that contained an apple, some medications, a pack of tissues, a pot of nuts, and a small carton of orange juice.
As I rose from the ground, I realised I’d landed in some dog excrement.
At least they did not take my bus-pass!
Signature: Inchcock Chambers
The officers I was reporting this to, called in other officers, who had a good read and jolly laugh at my statement wot I’d dun and written like.
One of the many duties Mummy gave me to do, was one of ‘supply officer’ – I’d get sent around to a neighbour to accrue various supplies, on loan, but of course they rarely if ever got returned.
The items would be, ‘a cup of sugar’, ‘a spoonful of tea’, ‘three slices of bread’, ‘ a knob of Echo (margarine, no one in our Terrace had butter), ‘a cup of milk’, or ‘two fags’ until whichever day she said she would return them.
The responses I would get would differ, but generally they would be: ‘Sod off’, ‘She hasn’t gave me, me bread (or whichever commodity) back from last week yet’, ‘A swift belt around the head and the door slamming to’, or occasionally they would encourage their dog to attack and chew on my leg.’
Oddly enough, I cannot recall any of our neighbours coming to our house to ‘borrow’ food or anything else really.
For a while, apart from the nub collecting, fag making, and hairnet packing etc – I was ensconced into a job in the wood yard, either bundling the wood or collecting scrap from building sites etc.
It was a friend of mothers who owned the yard, and he paid very well… it soon ended when he was sentenced to three years for nicking the wood in the first place.
Mummy Returns – Work Commences
Just as I was about to leave school at 14 years of age, Mummy re-appeared on the scene after a nice 3 year break.
And Dad once more relented and took her back in, a move he much regretted later. (So did I)
Dad got me job as goffer and van lad at Whiteheads Robin Hood Confectionery, Imperial Street, Bulwell. (the building is still standing today. (January 2014)
The wage was £3.3.0 a week (£3.15), for a 50 hour week.
Of course mother got most of it out of me by guile or stealth, to help her with her addiction to the weed, bingo, and betting.
I enjoyed the job, when I was out on the delivery run, a great adventure to me – but the few times when I had to help in the factory – I really liked!
Apart from helping yourself to any toffees in the production lines, it was the women and girls there that made my day, they would help themselves to me whenever they liked!
They would even play with me in the dinner hour and a half.
If only I could go back to that time…. Ah well, on with the disastrous dilemma of the Tales of Woe.
Several moves of abode
Later, I cannot recall why, most likely they were going to pull the house down before it fell down, but we moved into 52 Ipswich Circus, Sneinton Dale, into a council house.
Couldn’t resist this photo – how many of us can remember the brand packs on show?
I swapped jobs and went to work for Tesco, working my way up to assistant manager eventually.
And I met Sue, the love of my life, and started ‘Courting’.
But I later lost her. Best thing perhaps, because she always deserved better than me.
So, the house was gigantic to me, and the garden enormous!
So big, I built a little shed for my motorbike to go in. (Fair enough it fell down within two weeks, but I did make the effort)
Then after about 10 months or so, I returned home from Tesco one Friday night, pushed my motorbike round the back where the shed used to stand, and went into the house – only to find the lights not working – so I stumbled my way through to the front door lobby where the electricity metre was, digging out a shilling to put in it from my pocket on the way.
As I entered the front room, the light from the street lighting, offered enough illumination for me to see that there was no furniture in the room – nothing but the television set! (and that was on tick from Wigfall’s Pay-Slot Rentals.)
Had we been robbed?
Surely not, they’d be hard pushed to get a tenner for everything in the room.
I made my way to the bottom of the stairs, all the clothes pegs were bare, I went upstairs, everything had gone, curtains, everything, I went back down stairs, thinking I was going mad, was I in the right house?
I opened the front door, looked around, confirmed I was in the right house, turned around to go back in, and then saw the ‘Eviction Notice’ on the door. Mummy had been at it again!
A neighbour, rushed up to me, apologising for missing my arrival, she’d hoped to catch me and break the news to me before I got in the house.
Dad had been given a railway house, and had taken all the stuff with him.
Mummy had done another bunk, and I could stay with her (the neighbours) house until I found somewhere to live!)
This seemed to please her Security Guard husband’s Alsatian no end, as I able to supply the snarling, vicious, yet pampered beast with a choice of bone selections for him to chew on overnight, as I slept on the settee.
To Follow:
Part 16: A Nottingham Lad’s True Tale of Woe – Inchy goes into an ex-offenders hostel – without realising it!
I actually managed to get into the Meadows Old Boys Junior football team for one match, a cup match against Corpus Christie at Wilford.
Okay, it was during a mass epidemic of Asian flu and there were not enough ‘proper’ players to make up a team, but I got there, and took part in a record breaking match in more than one way too!
Firstly, it was my first ever time to get a match – come think of it, it was the only time I ever got a match!
The 13-0 score line was the biggest in the Thursday League up until that time!
It was their biggest ever win, and Meadows Old Boy’s biggest ever defeat!
My only Football Match for my School House team
A few weeks later, (the flu epidemic was still rampant) I got into the school house team for a match on our Green Street pitch behind the pavilion.
Determined not to let myself or the house down, I ran out proudly with the number 3 on my back, my boots up to my kneecaps, shirt sleeves hanging around my ankles, and the studs digging through the boots into my feet. (Yes you’ve guessed it, they didn’t supply any tackle like the club did).
Nothing was to get passed me, I was resolved! Anyway, after they scored their fifth goal, three of them from their nippy winger who I just could not touch – I came up with a plan!
I would get him sent off!
I waited until play stopped for a throw in, stood next to him, bearing in mind I was a good 12″ shorter than he was, noticing the ref was behind him, I clutched my face, and went on a self-imposed crumble to the ground.
It worked a treat, and the lad was sent off! I was a hero… me!
They didn’t score again, fair enough we didn’t either, but the lads in my team actually spoke to me as we left the pitch!
After showering, I walked around the back of the dressing room, and as I turned the corner to go past where the coke for the boiler was stored – suddenly nothing!
I woke up in the ambulance, hurt and muddled, as I realised my right eye was painful and closed, and blood was coming out of my nose and cut bottom lip.
It transpires that the nippy winger was not best pleased with my play acting, and was waiting near the coke pile with a shovel as I turned the corner, he whacked in the face with it!
Looking back, I cannot blame him, and I decided I’d never cheated again.
My Boxing Début: Ahead on points…
Another chance for me to prove my sporting prowess came in the boxing competition.
I’m not sure how they graded the competitors, but I (all 4ft 2in and 4 stone soaking wet of me) was matched against a 5′ 8′ 10 stone dude! The school Gym master in his corner, and the caretaker in mine?
The bell (whistle) sounded, and I prayed I wouldn’t burst into tears if he actually hit me.
To my own amazement, he rarely made contact with his roundhouse swings, and I found myself well ahead on points with my jabs and occasional upper cuts (Not that they hurt or bothered him at all).
At the end of the third round, Bob (The caretaker and teller of fibs) told me to go for his stomach as he thought that was a weak area – so I did, managing to despatch my best ever punch, and I recall thinking how much it hurt my hand – the next thing I recalled was waking up in the showers.
Apparently it was such a good blow, that it made the dude so angry, and I never saw his punch coming.
So, it was off to the Children’s Hospital for an x-ray on my hand, and broken nose.
I was plonked on a trolley to await my turn in the queue, as I was a little dizzy still. I’m not sure how long I waited, but I fell asleep I think, or must have moved, and fell off the trolley onto the marble floor.
So they x-rayed my ankle at the same time as the hand and nose, which was just bruised, but the ankle was badly sprained.
Now this naturally worried both mummy and daddy – mummy wanted to know if I could still go nub-ending for her, and daddy showed anxious concern that I could still do my double paper-rounds! Dad said “Surely you can still ride yer bike?”
I explained that dear mummy sold my bike two weeks earlier. (Dad had always been observant).
Determined that I should continue with my duties to the household, he went out to his cobbling bench, got some wood out of the coal-house, and supplied me with a knobbly home-made walking stick! (Which was more than the hospital did)
When I returned to the Children’s Hospital to have the wadding removed, (Mummy would have come with me but it was double money winnings at the bingo club that day) they decided I had to have another tetanus jab, and believe me, in those days the needle was more like a sword! It seemed to me that it was about a foot long, anyway after the nurse said “What a brave little boy, even if you have got holes in your socks and shoes, you didn’t even cry at all!”
Well, it’s hard to cry when you’re as frozen with fear as I was!
I put my sporting career on hold after that… come think of it, it’s still on hold. Hehehe!
Yes you’ve guessed it; dear mummy did yet another bunk.
Immediately after she absconded, the usual callers seeking her whereabouts were received: Loan sharks, bookies, neighbours, solicitors, the police and various others. We even had a Nun call? Never did get to the bottom of that one. Why the policeman would arrive looking for Mother with a dog I’m not sure; maybe the dog was new and he wanted to tests its bravery if she was there? The usual note was found left on the table. They usually went something like: ‘Gone to Matilda’s to look after her for a few days ‘cause she’s poorly’. Why she did not just tell the truth ‘Coppers after me, must go on the run’ I just don’t know? Perhaps, her being an excellent con artist, she thought if she showed herself in a good light in the note she left, it might soften the resolve of the authorities and people she owed money to pursue the debts?
However, the resulting events this time were of a more interesting nature.
The night after she left, dad and me were sitting by the fire, when the door was knocked upon, Dad (a rarity when I was available) answered the door himself to find two bullish men who were representing ‘Brental’s Hire Purchase Furniture Shop’, on Carrington Street, asking to talk to a James Timothy Gerald Archibald Percival Chambers (eight year old me?) about a hire-purchase agreement on a three piece suite that has not been paid. (We have never had a new three piece suite; one would not have fitted into the house anyway!)
Dad tried to explain to them that J T G A P Chambers was eight years old, and started to open the door so they could see me, when one of the bullish types made the mistake of trying to push past daddy to get into the house.
When the ambulances left the scene, the local bobby said: “Not to worry Harry, those two had it coming to ‘um, any further trouble give me a call, any time mate.”
The only time I recall my Dad knocking hell of anyone but me.
The Part-Time Jobs wot Dad got fer me…
Dad soon started to organise me unwilling search for employment.
Nearby where we lived (did I say lived?) was a hardware store on Kirk Wight Street, Heason’s was the name.
Daddy very kindly got me a Saturday job with them, to help supplement my double paper round jobs funds.
I think I got paid 2/3d for a full nine hour day (11p). But it didn’t last too long. Among my duties, was burning the weeks rubbish in the back yard, and delivering small items bought in the shop to customers on an ‘errand boy’s bike’.
On about the fourth weekend, I set fire to the shed, then the bike ended up under a trolleybus on Arkwright Street, when I came off on the icy road, and the table lamp that was in the basket got broke… well crushed under the trolleybus wheels actually!
I was not injured in either incident, not that anyone asked.
Mr Heason was very good about it, and let me work for another two Saturdays and kept my wages in payment for the lamp, and damage repairs to the bike before sacking me.
Daddy was not pleased, and sent me immediately to the Grove cinema, to apply for the job advertised as a gas-lamp lighter, and snuffer in the evenings and weekend.
Amazingly they took me on straight away, and paid well too, about 7/6d a week. And! – I got to see the pictures, even the X-rated for free! It things a bit hectic cause on the lighting shift, I had to dash back home and wait for Dad to return whenever, and light the fire and get his nosh for him. The Snuffing-out shift was okay, and I got to search through the rows of seats for anything that had been dropped or left behind by the clientele.
Amongst my ‘odder’ finds were; A Parade magazine, contraceptives, a walking stick, umbrella, a hobbing iron, shoes, cigarettes, a prosthetic leg, coins, and one day; A ten shilling Note! These were amongst many other items.
Of course I still had to fit in school, chopping wood for the fire, clearing and cleaning out the fire grate, laying it in readiness for Dad’s return from work (remembering not to light it until he actually arrived home, Dad thought lighting it for one was a little financially extravagant).
The housework, the shopping, (when I could extract any money from Dad), cooking etc.
Of course mother returned later, Dad paid off her debts again – and we started hiding out valuables again. Tsk!
One of the benefits of getting older is that for some obscure reason there lingers around the peripheries of most societies the quasi-folkloric idea that the old can be very wise. Frankly, this is too good an opportunity to miss. That’s because it provides you with a licence to talk cobblers dressed up in profundity.
You know you’re getting older when it takes you longer to get over having a good time than it took to have it!
Age steals away all things, even the mind.
Virgil
Middle age: Later than you think and sooner than you expect.
Earl Wilson
We are young only once, after that we need some other excuse. Anonymous
Inside every older person is a younger person wondering what happened.
Jennifer Yane
Zea, n: A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced.
Ambrose Bierce
At eighty-eight how do you feel when getting up in the morning? Amazed.
Ludwig von Mises
Don’t worry about avoiding temptation, as you grow older, it starts avoiding you.
Anonymous
The first sign of maturity is the discovery that the volume knob also turns to the left.
Jerry M. Wright
Don’t worry about temptation as you grow older, it starts avoiding you. Inchcock
Old age is like flying through a storm. Once you’re aboard, there’s nothing you can do about it
Golda Meir
To get back my youth I would do anything in the world, except take exercise, get up early, or be respectable.
Oscar Wilde
Selection small selection of Age Related Jokes‘Wot I like’
Locket of Husbands Hair
“I bought a new locket to keep a keep a lock of my husband’s hair in as a memento.”
“But your husband is still alive!”
“Yes I know, but his hair is gone.”
HubbiesFuneral
Just before the funeral service for her husband, the undertaker approached the widow and asked: “How old was your husband?” She replied… “98, two years older than me”
“So you must be 96?” He replied.
“Yes.” The widow responded. “Hardly worth going home is it?”
The Senility Prayer
“Lord, grant me the senility to forget the people I never liked anyway, the good fortune to run into the ones I do.
Oh…and the eyesight to tell the difference.”
GettingOlder
“I’m not saying I’m getting older, but when I lit the candles on my last birthday cake, five people passed out from heat exhaustion.
Candles
You know you’re getting old when the candles cost more than the cake.
Rocking Chair
You know you’re getting old when you get the same sensation from a rocking chair that you used to get from a roller coaster.
Well Planned Life?
Two senior ladies met for the first time since they were at school together.
One asked the other, “You were always so organised in school, did you manage to live a well planned life?”
“Oh yes,” said her friend. “My first marriage was to a millionaire. My second marriage was to an actor. My third marriage was to a preacher; and now I’m married to an undertaker.”
Her friend asked, “What do those marriages have to do with a well planned life?”
She sang in Reply:
♫“One for the money, two for the show. three to get ready, and four to go.” ♫
The Haunting Promise
An old man and woman were married for many years. Whenever there was a confrontation, yelling could be heard deep into the night.
The old man would shout, “When I die, I will dig my way up and out of the grave and come back and haunt you for the rest of your life!”
Neighbours feared him, and the old man liked the fact that he was feared. To everyone’s relief, he died of a heart attack when he was 88 and his wife had a closed casket at the funeral.
After the burial, her neighbours, concerned for her safety, asked “Aren’t you afraid that he may indeed be able to dig his way out of the grave and haunt you for the rest of your life?”
The wife said, “Let him dig. I had him buried upside down and I know he won’t ask for directions.”
Senior Citizens having a natter over coffee
A group of old folks sat talking at the Community Centre coffee morning.
“My arms are so weak I can hardly lift this cup of coffee,” said one.
“Yes, I know. My cataracts are so bad I can’t even see my coffee,” replied another.
“I can’t turn my head because of the arthritis in my neck,” said a third, to which several nodded weakly in agreement.
One shouted “speak up my hearing aid battery has gone!”
“My blood pressure pills make me dizzy,” another went on.
“I guess that’s the price we pay for getting old,” winced an old man as he slowly shook his head.
Then there was a short moment of silence.
“Well, it’s not that bad,” said one woman cheerfully. “Thank goodness we can all still drive.”
