Hot sex

The local pub is currently only opening on Friday and Saturday nights – whether this is a sign of lack of customers or the local drinking fraternity taking a vow of abstinence for December is not certain. Generously, they opened their doors last night as Jeanette and Gordon had organised a welcome drinks gathering for me.  The log fire blazed and all the old crew were there:

-          QC Gilmore and his wife, Mahri, who scored a double one at darts blindfolded at my farewell and for whom this was her first visit back to the scene of her triumph

-          Eric who recently went to London for the first time and by all accounts was surprised to see a black man. And another! And there’s another! And there’s a man dressed like an Arab!

-          Paul whose golf handicap SHOULD be 9 but remains a mysterious 13

-          Therese just back from New York almost a week ago and who is also waiting for her luggage to arrive; we are comrades in clothesless-empathy

-          Jean who has plagued me almost daily with very bad email jokes. Her excuse? An old lady of 90 who has recently discovered the joys of computing sends them to her and she feels compelled to forward them on. Like Jean, I feel the same compulsion, so here is today’s:

The Maid                                                             

The maid asked for a pay increase.                               

The wife was very upset about this and decided to talk to her about the raise.  She asked: "Now Maria, why do you want a pay increase?"

Maria: "Well, Señora, there are tree reasons why I wanna increaze.

"The first is that I iron better than you."                          

Wife: "Who said you iron better than me?"                            

Maria: "Jor huzban he say so."                                       

Wife: "Oh yeah?"                                                    

Maria: "The second reason eez that I am a better cook than you."     

Wife: "Nonsense, who said you were a better cook than me?"           

Maria: "Jor hozban did." Wife increasingly agitated:  "Oh he did did he???"                                                               

Maria: "The third reason is that I am better at sex than you in the bed."

Wife, really boiling now and through gritted teeth.                  

"And did my husband say that as well?"                               

Maria: "No Señora....... The gardener did."                      

Wife: "So how much do you want?"                                     

I did warn you.

-          Jean’s husband, John, who dropped her at the pub, gave me a hug, and then skeddadled home. Why?  He thought it was a girl’s night. We texted him to reassure him that there were blokes too so he came back again and had a jolly good fun time.

-          Elaine, my neighbour and poet, and her hubby Ronnie. “Elaine”, I said, “you seem shorter.” “Aye”, she said, “that’s because Ronnie keeps a-hitting me on the head.”

-          And several others who were there in spirit only because either (a) it was starting to snow and they were reluctant to be holed up all night at the pub or (b) they can’t get their cars out of their driveways or (c) they just didn’t want to come, I suppose.

After the pub we teetered back to my cottage, walking in the middle of the road to take advantage of the newly gritted surface, for tea, chocolates and a nightcap.  Jeanette stopped off and grabbed whisky and Edradour and a book called Hot Sex, which we never got around to opening because we too busy talking about luke-warm (and worse!) sex. Which was far funnier.