Monday, December 8, 2014

The Idler, Monday, December 1, 2014

The frogs are back

THE frog chorus has returned. At the Street Shelter for the Over-Forties the other 

evening, a bellowing and croaking from a small pond in the beer garden suddenly 

drowned out all conversation (which at the Street Shelter can be no bad thing).

Heads swivelled toward a well-known city advocate who is widely believed to be 

a ventriloquist of frog sounds. But he stoutly denied any responsibility at all and 

threatened to sue any accuser for libel.

At which the frog chorus went silent. Ah, the majesty of the law.

Where from?

BUT where do these critters come from? There are no rivers, marshes or ponds 

anywhere near the Street Shelter.

The beer garden pond is so tiny that wild duck don't alight there with frog spawn 

attached to their feathers (though the bouncers did the other night have to throw out 

an ostrich who was causing a ruckus at the bar counter. But ducks - no).

The last frog chorus, a month or so ago, was scooped into buckets and deposited in 

Bulwer Park, which is quite a distance. Have they been hopping back? Do they have a 

homing instinct?

The Guvnor believes they come from Musgrave Centre (I don't know why). He's 

never seen them squashed on the roads so he believes they hop along the pavements 

and activate the "green man" at the crossings.

It's a great mystery. As is the practice of ventriloquy.

Look you, boyos!

WHAT can one say but "Cymru am byth – Wales forever!" Leigh Halfpenny is 

now rated Fourpence.

A tough, hard-fought game, to be sure, strewn with errors and one we never 

looked like winning. Not a single try, either side.

But that's showbiz. Yet again, a result that shows a narrowing of the north-
south gap in international rugby. Likewise with England beating the Aussies 

after coming so close against us and the All Blacks.

It looks like being an absolute humdinger at the World Cup in England next 

year. The bookies must be scratching their heads.

More tips

LAST WEEK WE DISCUSSED THE Supreme Court judge who was mistaken for 

a lavatory attendant as he sat on a chair in the gents' taking a snifter from his 

duty-free cognac and waited for his connecting flight from Johannesburg to 

Durban. He collected a significant amount of cash in tips in that time.

It reminds reader Colin Hiles of the time he and some pals took their wives 

to dinner at the Durban Club. They were friendly with the maitre d' and 

arranged to meet him afterwards at the Maharani for a nightcap.

"He duly arrived, resplendent in his Durban Club maître d' formal dress, just 

as the guests at a large banquet were leaving the banqueting venue. Polite 

as ever, he stopped to let them pass.

"A gentleman pressed a R5 note into his palm. This was followed by more 

such gratuities. When he arrived at the bar to join us he said: "I've just been 

given R60 in tips so I guess the drinks are on me".

Judges, maitres d' ... I fancy I saw a couple of them at a robot the other day.

Shova!

IN THE local taxi industry you will now and again see the passengers get out and give 

the vehicle a push start. It's part of the system

In Siberia the other day, passengers had to get out of a Tupolev aircraft and push 

it down a frozen runway before getting in again to fly off.

It was captured on video and posted on the internet. The temperature was minus 

52 C. Passengers in thick winter coats are heard shouting: "Let's go!" and: 

"Everyone wants to go home!" as they put their hands on the wings of the plane 

and shoved it along.

The freeze had apparently immobilised the aircraft's taxi-ing capacity but once 

out on the runway it took off without any problem.

Fifty-two degrees below – and you have to get out and push. Siberia is not for 

sissies.

Tailpiece

"SO HOW was the fancy dress do?"

"Bad build-up. I texted my husband to tell him to get home, I'd made myself 

a 'naked lady' costume."

"He texted me back that he'd prefer a 'lady making dinner' costume."

Last word

The world only goes round by misunderstanding. 

Charles Baudelaire

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