Obituaries And Opinions

As strange as it sounds, I love reading the obituaries. I like to compare between The Telegraph, The Times and The Guardian.
Sometimes they have the same names but not always.
The great and the good having their arses kissed one last time.
Occasionally there is a gem.
This is my absolute favourite obit of the year.
They don’t make them like that anymore.
Although, imagine getting this Bloke as your Legal Aid Brief?!

Check out the last three paragraphs of this article.
The Queen of England is married to an immigrant.
An immigrant whose family had been kicked out of their own country, so he was an Asylum Seeking Immigrant!
Brilliant!

Not for the first time, I have had an evening of being asked my opinion, and then the person getting offended when I give it.
Picture the scene.
A knitting pattern.
Yes! Imagine my distress! While football was on!
A fecking knitting pattern was thrust under my nose followed by the question,
‘What do you think?’
It continued like this.
‘Who for?’
‘My sister’
‘Which one?’
Sister specified.
‘Dear Christ, No!’
‘Oh. Why?’
‘Well, that is for a petite person.’
‘She is petite!’
Raucous laughter, lasting until realisation, I was the only one laughing.
‘Are you serious?’
‘She is petite but at the moment it is hidden by several layers of fat.’
‘Then she’s not bloody petite is she?!!’
‘But! She is underneath’
For my own sanity, I had to stop it before the feedback loop kicked in.
So, not for the first time, I have ended a conversation with,
‘Just don’t fucking ask me, ok? Just don’t ask!’