Alf calls the police

I got to dial 999 the other day. On the way into work a woman managed to spin her Punto across 2 lines of busy, high speed dual carriageway. I can't believe she didn't manage to hit anyone; this was the A11 at 9am. I just saw this car veering across in front of me before hitting the barrier on the left hand side ending up pointing the wrong way. I would have tried to turn the car round for her but it was pretty damn dangerous with the speed of the traffic so I called the police instead. Luckily she was unhurt but it entailed a bit of a wait in the rain.

On the plus side whilst having to stand in the p..ersistent rain waiting for the police I did get to chat to a very attractive female accountant who had also stopped to help. The fact that she mentioned having a boyfriend during our conversation I am convinced was entirely coincidental.

Recently on the way home, three horses decided to make a break for freedom just outside Six Mile Bottom (insert your own jokes here). It may be close to Newmarket but the only similarity between these and thoroughbed racehorses is their eventual resting place inside 2,000 cans of Pedigree Chum. Again, it was highly fortunate that no cars hit them. I had no chance of stopping as they were hidden until the last moment by hedgerows and was fortunate that no cars were approaching from the opposite direction and so I could simply veer around them.

This is the second near miss in as many months; in AlfWord I'm getting nervous.

MacGregor Alf

We've got a rabbit in the garden. No, not a cuddly, floppy-eared house rabbit, but a grey, wild pea-eating one. In a garden where I have recovered an extra 10 square yards of land (inextricably fenced off in years past) for a vegetable patch, and recently demolished a rickety old 6'x4' shed (almost entirely covered by an enormous honeysuckle bush) for a second similar-sized plot, Alf's nascent veggie patch is a precious and treasured creation. The potatoes are up and 4 pea plants have sprouted.

Then Mrs Alf and Daughter informed me they'd seen a rabbit in the garden. I thought they were joking until I saw it from Son's bedroom window at bath-time, hopping nonchalantly from behind the playhouse to the patch.

Mrs Alf and Daughter were then creased up in hysterics as I shot downstairs to sort the thieving rodent out. To no avail, of course; it had sensibly disappeared by the time I got out.

"I wonder if there's someone I know with a .22?" I mused.

"What's a two-two?" asks Mrs Alf.

"It's a calibre. For a gun."

"You can't shoot our little rabbit. We like it!" they both cry.

"But it's eaten my peas! It has crossed the line."

Suffice to say I have neither the intention of acquiring a .22 nor shooting the pea-thieving offender. A couple of judiciously applied spare edging stones have blocked its likely entry points. The Alf estate is once again secure.

Another reader of the blog

At work, the Beglian forwards the blog URL to Israeli Girl. A little while later I walk past her desk as she is reading it.

"This is really good."

"Oh, is it?" (I struggle to hide a smug grin.) "Who wrote it?"

"Hadn't you guessed?"

"No."

"Me!"

"It's really funny. I really liked the bread one."

(Sudden, cold silence) "That's the one story that isn't mine."

*

She later foolishly relates to me the following.

'I was returning home still amused by the blog, stopped by the shopping centre to pick something up. Like a typical girl, has to make a quick stop in the restrooms*. Apparently your blog was so funny I found myself still giggling while inside the stall, and you know me, I can't even laugh quietly.

So, as I was coming out of the stall, a lady with a shocked face waiting there said, "I'm never that amused by anything I see in THERE, but I don’t know if that should make me worried about me or you!"'

* Or toilet as we say more accurately in English.