“It’s not as good as what it was before it got as good as what it is.”
Ken Haddy (1952-2013) – much missed wit and raconteur at The Scruffy.
I had the pleasure of touring a new customer’s premises the other day. It’s a bit like being Prince Charles only I have to drive myself and rarely get fed but at least I don’t go home with Camilla.
My customer prints stickers for all manner of industries. As he showed me around he proudly offered me a sticker advertising something called Bath Mate.
“What’s Bath Mate?” I asked.
“It’s a penis pump!” he declared “we print 50,000 a month.”
Apparently the world is full of men sat at home in the bath, having discarded the rubber duck for a penis pump, indulging themselves costing around £70 a…(stop! Ed).
I looked on their website – in the interests of research you will understand – and read that “…to understand how the Hydromax Hydropump works, first we need to understand the biology of the penis and what happens when we get an erection.”
Well blow me I thought, I never knew it was that complicated.
There’s a standard one and also a monster called the Hydromax which offers 35% more power “…giving you plenty of room for increased girth expansion.” It’s big enough to drain the bath.
Once again it’s a funny old world.
The Delivery Boy.
Five years on from departing the big bad world of banking I’ve sampled a variety of occupations. Most have been brief and proven that my talents are limited to say the least; I certainly will not make the grade as a delivery boy.
Local entrepreneur Patch runs a dental business in downtown Bramley, repairing smiles across Yorkshire and beyond. In a jam the other day as one of his drivers was off it was a case of “who ya gonna call?”
Offering me the North Korean minimum wage, no lunch hour and a day in a Kia Picanto, I mused how my life had spiralled downwards having left the warm and comfortable bosom of a big bank, company BMW and home before lunch to watch the cricket.
The night before I had succumbed – once again – to Big Al’s “charms” and eventually left The Scruffy in disarray. Imagine my horror the following morning to wake and see several inches of snow had landed to cloud my existing fog.
Choosing my most porous pair of shoes I set off, head pounding, about to suffer several hours of Ms Garmin chirping in my ear as I careered across Yorkshire.
As I arrived on site, wife Paula clearly sensed I was not on full alert. The training as to how to operate Ms Garmin was lost in an instant and I was sat in Kia’s equivalent of a dodgem car looking at this gadget, wondering if it would get me out of the car-park.
Fortunately, global warming around Leeds had melted the snow and so I aqua-planed on my way heading to the delights of Bramley, Morley and Hunslet.
In the Morrisons car-park in Morley the snow was still heavy and the Kia looked like it might need a tow. My feet were soaking and I did not give a shit if a few people ended up toothless for the weekend. Luckily, I avoided the tow-truck and off I went again.
It was on to Ponteland, Cas Vegas and Shakey Wakeyfield, fighting my way into crowded surgeries, the only compensation being that most dentists employ girls one step away from a job at Sky Sports News.
After the unbridled joy of Featherstone, it was up North to sample York; chalk and cheese sprung to mind and, as if to acknowledge this, the sun came out and the snow was a distant memory.
After six hours bouncing and sliding in the toy-car, I arrived back at base, starving after surviving on a Snicker and a full fat Tango, expecting warm greetings.
“Where you been?” asked Paula pointing at the time sheet “we nearly called the Police!”
I protested that six hours of listening to Ms Garmin and she was lucky I had not driven the bouncing Kia into a tree.
It was to no avail as Patch came out from the boardroom – the gents – and gravely announced he would have to give me my cards. It was back on the scrap heap…once again, where did it all go so wrong?
Men Who Speak With Forked Tongues.
Having just finished Tom Bower’s Broken Vows – Tony Blair – The Tragedy Of Power and witnessed the spectacular fallings out amongst the Government at the weekend, I suggest that we live in times characterised by weak and woeful leadership.
Whilst some reviews have described Bower’s meaty tome as a hatchet job on Blair, never has a man divided and, ultimately, disappointed so many. As an account of the last twenty years and more, it is an illuminating read if heavy going in parts.
Perhaps the current Government’s woes are simply a reflection of the lack of honesty and straight-talking that characterises modern life and politics. Today’s politicians are coached to never stray from being “on message” and often appear robotic and spineless.
Start telling it as it really is and we might have a better understanding of the bigger issues, especially Europe. Continue to rely on spin and soundbites and we slide ever more into the murky waters of deceit that eventually, even old Sleazy drowned in.
More From The Comedy Club.
I just do not know how any blogger could survive here in Bradford without the endless material supplied by the lunatics at the asylum. Hot off the press following news of blowing £100k on signs for the city centre comes this story.
Adorning one of the ugliest buildings in the city centre with coloured lighting is something only our Council could dream up.
“The lights will help people navigate around the city and improve the look of the surrounding city centre streets as well as making them safer, especially for people using the car park behind the building” said a Council spokesman whilst being dangled from his legs atop the nine-storey block styled along classic Soviet 1960’s architecture.
The utterly hopeless Councillor Slater, deputy leader of the Comedy Club, helpfully pointed out that: “It’s a pretty prominent building is Margaret McMillan Tower…it was thought…we would take that opportunity to put these lights on.”
Presumably just so everybody can see what a shit concrete monstrosity it is as they continue to try to find ways of demolishing the nearby Odeon? Time to jack it in love?
North South Divide.
Oldham in Greater Manchester is the most deprived town in England according to a study by the Office for National Statistics (ONS).
Reported on the BBC website at last a survey where we in Bradford opened our eyes and were relieved to see us avoiding the headlines for once.
However, the survey did indicate that Bradford had experienced house price deflation in the period 2010-15 a fact that suggests we need a bit more than a new shopping centre to get things moving the right way again.
And if you do live in Oldham, take some comfort from the fact that a bunch of number crunchers in Whitehall have little right to judge people simply by the value of their house. More bollocks from the centre as ever.
Customer Service Lives.
Puzzled as I was to why the lid on my flash Emile Henry cookpot had started to crumble, I was not hopeful of a reply other than the standard “tough!”
These guys do believe in their brand though as, not only did they send me a new lid – which sadly did not fit – but, as I conceded defeat, they sent a brand new pot.
A marvellous gesture indeed.
And Finally.
I decided the love life needed a bit of a pick up so wondered if this might do the trick?
If all else fails there’s always the Hydromax.
Happy Easter out there!
Gasman says
When describing the hydromax in your column,out came the unfortunate phrase, “well blow me”, think your readers and I might give you a miss there.