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Time Wasters

This page is dedicated to the art of idling away time in a totally unproductive way, giving or taking advice, however stupid, increasing one's knowledge of completely useless facts, having a giggle and just about anything you want, really.   Budding authors from any corner of the globe, probably but not necessarily from Yarcombe, are welcome to submit their masterpieces for consideration here.   Publication not guaranteed of course...

To get the ball rolling, here's a few great YouTube comedy clips:

Epic beer/darts match on Not The Nine O'Clock News Learn Swedish with The Two Ronnies  
Monty Python's Bicycle Repair Man Del goes hang gliding in Only Fools And Horses  
Peter Sellers plays billiards in Shot In The Dark Peter Cook's Experiences Down The Mine  
Our Geoff on the Spoons at The Yarcombe Inn!      


A Life Story - Just The Almost Interesting Bits



1963 - The Long, Hard Struggle to Find a Job

Oh how I remember those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer - and in particular the one back in 1963.   It was the year I left school armed with a handful of GCEs and a desire to do absolutely nothing!   And this I achieved with distinction, even if I say so myself.   Hours in front of the telly watching the cricket, or on a blanket in the garden with shorts, sunglasses and the occasional can of Coca Cola saw me alright, day after day.  

Of course there were times when I worked extremely hard.   Similar-minded friends would call round with their football and I frequently broke into a gentle sweat during what could be loosely described as matches in the local park.   I scored some good goals, too!   I'll always remember that one I hit with the inside of my foot and how it curled just inside the far post, out of Hipwell's reach.   Then I discovered how relaxing it was to lay on the grass idly gazing at the tiny wisps of cloud changing shape before they melted into the wonderfully blue sky.

The number of times I had the "Ah - this is the life!" thought, was incredibly high.   If this is life without school then I'm all for it - I should have left years earlier.   Now, what shall I do tomorrow - swimming, the cinema, or perhaps a cycle ri....?   But then....

I can still feel the sense of horror and confusion, the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.   If it wasn't for my ample tan I'm certain the draining of blood from my face would have turned it a deathly white.   What on earth did my father mean, "You'll have to start looking for a job soon, otherwise they'll all be gone"?   I was stunned - what was the rush?   It was only mid-September!

The shocked feeling was still with me the following day when my ever-helpful father drove me to the Employment Exchange on the back of his Lambretta.   Sadly he was wrong about the jobs, they weren't all taken.   In fact they were crying out for a school leaver at the building company down the road, I was told.   The thought of carting a hodful of bricks up a ladder all day brought back that sick feeling, but the man behind the counter quickly added, "It's an office job."   Yeah, but pens can be heavy too, I thought.   And what about that writers' cramp?   I've heard it can be a killer.

The interview came and went the same afternoon; it all happened so quickly.   I remember thinking how unfair it was that I hadn't had the chance to say I didn't want the job, any job.   I'm sure the only question was, "When can ye start?" followed a tenth of a second later by, "I'll put ye doon forrr next Monday, here juss noo!"   The interviewer was a broad-speaking Scot named Donald MacDonald (I kid you not), someone who, despite this unfortunate meeting, I was later to grudgingly respect over a period of some four years.

Introducing Chunky



I forget how long I'd been there before the place was graced with David's presence.   An interesting individual, also straight out of school, he was very quickly assigned a nickname based on size, shape and weight, all of which were quite considerable in one so young.

Many years of overeating  had taken its toll on Chunky's ample form and he had started smoking too early.   His trousers were patched, his crumpled shirt was dirty and hell-bent on escaping the constraints of a belt which only just made it round his circumference.  Then there was the aroma and some rather unsavoury personal habits, but we won't go into those.

It wasn't long before some rather unkind poems were written about the dear fellow:

 It would not be fair to state,   Chunky's figure, as you can see,   Our mate Chunky, as you know,
 That our friend Chunky's overweight.   Is 30-40-53.   Started here some time ago.
 No, it would be much more fun,   Food is very good for health.   It really makes me want to spew,
 Just to say, "He weighs a ton."   Be like Chunky - stuff yourself!   He picks his nose then starts to chew.
        That's really not the end of it,
        He swallows it, the filthy git.
    Chunky's really very fat,   No wonder he's so fat, not slim,
    Full of shyte and things like that.   There's half a ton of snot in him!
    Although this sketch is drawn to scale,    
    He's twice as fat should he inhale.    

To be continued.....