Feghoots - A Pink Elephant and a Water Bottle

This is not my own work, though I wish it was. I consider it to be well thought out and clever, and when I first heard it, some years ago, I couldn't stop laughing. Forgive me if I'm repeating something you readers already know. If, by any chance it is new to you, I hope you find it amusing.

"A frog goes into a bank and approaches the teller. He can see from her nameplate that her name is Patricia Whack.

"Miss Whack, I'd like to get a $30000 loan to take a holiday."

Patty looks at the frog in disbelief and asks his name. The frog says his name is Kermit Jagger, his dad is Mick Jagger, and that it's OK, he knows the bank manager. Patty explains that he will need to secure the loan with some collateral.

The frog says, "Sure. I have this," and produces a tiny porcelain elephant, about half an inch tall - bright pink and perfectly formed.

Very confused, Patty explains that she'll have to consult with the bank manager and disappears into a back office. She finds the manager and says, "There's a frog called Kermit Jagger out there who claims to know you and wants to borrow $30000, and he wants to use this as collateral."

She holds up the tiny pink elephant.

"I mean, what in the world is this?"

The bank manager looks back at her and says, "It's a knick-knack, Patty Whack, give the frog a loan. His old man's a Rolling Stone." "

 

 

 

And another, again not my own work. I found this hilarious.

 

 

 

 

The Lord of the manor had a butler named Wibble. One day he called Wibble and said, "What about running my bath, Wibble?"

"Certainly, Sir," replied Wibble. "Will there be anything else my lord?"

"Yes, Wibble, what about my dressing gown."

"Certainly, Sir. Will there be anything else my lord?"

"Yes, Wibble, what about my carpet slippers."

"Certainly, Sir, will there be anything else my lord?"

"No, Wibble. If I require anything else I shall call you."

With that, the old lord lowered himself into the water and let go a long, loud fart. Five minutes later, Wibble returned with a hot water bottle on a silver tray.

"Here you are, my lord, your hot water bottle."

"I never asked for that," said his lordship.

Wibble replied, "But you did, my lord. As you lowered yourself into the bath, I distinctly heard you say, "Whadabowdawadderboddlewibble."


I hope these examples can be classed as Feghoots. In any case, I hope they have made you smile or even laugh out loud.
No poem today. Nothing could possibly complement.


Thanks for reading, Pam x

 

 

 

 

 

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Oscar Wilde - Come to my Party

If I could host a gathering of people from bygone times, Oscar Wilde would be way up at the top of my guest list. I would sit him next to me for a good while so I could hang on to his every word and hope that his brilliance and wit might rub off on me. Eventually, I would have to set him free to mingle amongst my other guests and allow him to entertain, as is his nature. Sometimes, I’m quite sure I belong to Victorian times. I enjoy the written work of Oscar Wilde. I prefer his plays to his poetry and best of all, his novel, The Picture of Dorian Gray.

A decade ago, I visited Dublin with a small group of fellow writers. It was just four of us and amusing to us that we were English, Irish, Welsh and Scottish, gone to Ireland to see a play by a Russian, (The Three Sisters by Chekhov at Dublin’s Abbey Theatre) and a film about Welsh poet, Dylan Thomas, ‘The Edge of Love’, which had just released. We packed a lot of literary based interest into our three day adventure and spent as much time as possible in the fascinating Dublin Writers Museum. I enjoyed everything we did and everywhere we went. My personal highlight was going to Merrion Square and seeing the birthplace of Oscar Wilde then spending ages in complete wonder at Danny Osborne’s 1997 sculpture.

This is my own photograph, one of many taken that afternoon. I thought the statue was painted, but the colours come from the different materials used by the sculptor. The torso is made from nephrite jade and pink thulite, the legs from blue pearl granite from Norway and the head was originally porcelain but replaced by white jadeite when the porcelain showed early signs of cracking. The Trinity College tie is made of porcelain. The stone he is placed on is quartz from Wicklow.

Oscar Wilde read Classics at Trinity College, Dublin then continued at Magdalen College Oxford where he gained a double first in his B.A. of Classical Moderations and Literae Humaniores.

It is well documented that Wilde led a ‘scandalous lifestyle’ for which he served time in prison. Last year, he and others were posthumously pardoned for committing homosexual acts which were no longer offences.

To me, he was a great writer, with nothing to declare except his genius.

 

John Betjeman's poem,

 

 

The Arrest of Oscar Wilde at the Cadogan Hotel

 

He sipped at a weak hock and seltzer

As he gazed at the London skies

Through the Nottingham lace of the curtains

Or was it his bees-winged eyes?

 

To the right and before him Pont Street

Did tower in her new built red,

As hard as the morning gaslight

That shone on his unmade bed.

 

‘I want some more hock in my seltzer,

And Robbie, please give me your hand -

Is this the end or beginning?

How can I understand?

 

‘So you’ve brought me the latest Yellow Book:

And Buchan has got in it now:

Approval of what is approved of

Is as false as a well-kept vow.

 

‘More hock, Robbie – where is the seltzer?

Dear boy, pull again at the bell!

They are all little better than cretins,

Though this is the Cadogan Hotel.

 

‘One astrakhan coat is at Willis’s –

Another one’s at the Savoy:

Do fetch my morocco portmanteau,

And bring them on later, dear boy.’

 

A thump, and a murmur of voices –

(‘Oh why must they make such a din?’)

As the door of the bedroom swung open

And two plain clothes policemen came in:

 

‘Mr Woilde, we ‘ave come for tew take yew

Where felons and criminals dwell:

We must ask yew tew leave with us quoietly

For this is the Cadogan Hotel.’

 

He rose, and he put down The Yellow Book.

He staggered – and, terrible-eyed,

He brushed past the palms on the staircase

And was helped to a hansom outside.

 

                         John Betjeman

 

 Thanks for reading, Pam x

 

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