The Children’s Entertainer smiles brightly.
“And does your granddad still do that?”
“No. He’s dead.”
There is a short pause whilst the Children’s Entertainer processes this information. “Shall we do the Hokey Cokey now?” she concedes.
I turn to the Chipper Barman, who has the face of a man who would rather be in the Village Pub. “Did you ever consider Children’s Entertaining as a career?” I ask.
His detailed reply is cut short by the approach of one of the Village Young Mums. “We saw you going for a run the other day,” she offers, clearly impressed by my sporting athletic prowess.
I shoot her one of my best wolfish FILFy smiles. “I…”
“We did wave, but you didn’t wave back. I’m not sure that you could lift your own arm.”
I am crushed by this, and it renews my determination to get my body back to its previous tempicular state. Somebody approaches with left-overs; I take a hot dog and a slice of pizza. It will not be easy, but it will be worth it.
A small child approaches and grabs the Chipper Barman.
“These are our Saturday afternoons now,” I call after him, as he gets pulled away screaming into a swirling morass of children.
‘Tempicular’? hmm!! Think i’ll look it up. But what are your chances of really bcoming tempicular?
Brilliant!
You tempicular FILF you.
I doubt very much you qualify for the ILF part of FILF, Jonny, and in any case the initial F bit is still open to debate given the crushing disparity in reproductive appeal between you and the LTLP. Personally I think she only keeps you around for childminding purposes.
Speaking of which, if you really want to entertain the kids you could jog around your back garden two or three times, after which they could derive hours of innocent enjoyment from your prostrate form, in much the same way that my boys can while away an entire afternoon poking a dead raccoon with a stick. You might even lure one of the Young Mums into giving you mouth-to-mouth, although I understand it’s less pleasurable when you actually need resuscitating…
At least she didn’t make a comment about you having to drag that massive head around on your shoulders and how it must create a tremendous amount of drag if you built up anything approaching a trot.
JonnyB – built for comfort, not speed.
Wolfish? don’t you mean chicken-ish?
Filth!
And nobody called ME?? I happen to be the best children’s entertainer EVAH.
Hold on … 2 year olds are too young – wait another 3 years. What? Servalan is TWO? Already?
How did that happen?
Is FILF a common way of saying filth? Or has it another meaning? Just musing really. And watching my P’s and Q’s.
It should be, DILF, silly. F is way too formal for such a rude idea.
Regardless, anybody can run. Not too many people can use tempicular in a blog post. It seems that you are the first! That makes you much more DILF-able, so the LTLP had just better keep you on a short lead.
And no, there is no such thing as a GDILF.
Pat, google ‘MILF definition’ & swap the ‘mother’ for ‘father.’
Im intrigued to know what Grand-dad used to do!
Brian: thank you. I can’t believe I’ve wasted 20 minutes on that. I would say ‘Dream on Jonny’ but I must not be cheeky.
FILF?
Somebody? Explain? Please?
“Fatties I’d Like To ……..?” I think you’re being a bit harsh on yourself.
My grandfather used to do all sorts of things and he is dead now as well. Just to be safe, avoid golf, bridge, penuche, wearing long robes and waving incense [Episcopalian dean], silly hats with bobbles on and bad jokes.
Running however is quite safe. Also I have no memory of him eating hot dogs or pizza although posh and dull dinners at American country clubs could be lethal.
I’m sorry to be so prejudiced, but children’s entertainers are just plain sinister. Remember the Peid Piper?
And there was me thinking it stood for Fathers In Lovely Fens.
You’ve spoiled everything now.
All this subterfuge and divergence to keep us from asking how the Bowls season is progressing – sounds ominously like a return to normal form!
Johnnyb, you made tempicular up, you mean typical!
Why limit youurself to a temple…why not just settle for being a bloody great Cathedral…..
The GDILF would be one with a very, very bad heart, a very, very large fortune… and no heirs.
I could set aside my anti-matrimonial prejudices for a guy like that.
Nadia: see # 11.
John.g: he does that a lot.
Jonny, Jonny.
FILF?!?!?
Considering I always picture James Herriot when I read your blog I really can’t relate to that reference.
But you never know, just keep on jogging!
Must be a new fad going round, as I was called a DILF the other day. Wonder where Jonny copied it from?
Children’s parties don’t come round all that often as they have cliques of Special Friends even at the age of 2. Enjoy them you mardy old goat, the kid will be grown-up in a minute.
Thanks, Pat. Bit slow, on holiday and all that… All is now clear. Unfortunately.
Nadia: your doggies are enchanting.
Why, thank you, Pat! I’m thinking of going into chickens, but as they would be bigger than my dogs I’m not sure.
Love your blog, by the way!
James Herriot?!?
James HERRIOT????!!!???
I’m a bit gobsmacked by that. I mean… you try your best to… I mean… I can’t believe… like…
hang on. Sorry. I was thinking of Ainsley Harriott.
Carry on.
In your village, is there no Rugby?
Lugui
Lugui: Rugby is further north in Warwickshire
Woman 1: “There’s Jonny B. He’s jogging.”
Woman 2: “Poor lamb. He can barely lift his legs.”
Woman 1: “They really should give it up when they get to that age, shouldn’t they.”
Woman 2: “Yes. For some people there is no hope.”
Woman 1: “Still, quite funny though.”
Woman 2: “Yes, let’s laugh at him.”
Woman 1: “Ho ho ho.”
Woman 2: “Ha ha ha.”
Woman 1: “I saw someone else jogging once, it was in the eighties.”
Woman 2: “Oh yes. When Hale and Pace were on.”
Woman 1: “They do ron, ron.”
Sewmouse: ‘The GDILF would be one with a very, very bad heart, a very, very large fortune… ‘
With luck like that, no wonder his heirs fell out.
My apologies Jonny, but your writing style DOES remind me of James Herriot.
I’m an Aussie (and a North Queenslander, we’re supposed to be at least 10 years behind the rest of Oz) who’s Ainsley Harriott?
Ainsley Harriott?!?
You have never heard of Ainsley Harriott?!?!?!
He was a sort of comedic vet who was in some stories and in a lighthearted series on the telly back in the eigh…
Oh
Hang on.
That was James Herriot.
Hullo Luis (and welcome). There is quite a lot of rugby, but only watching it I’m afraid. It is not really rugby territory round here. Too in the middle of the country.
Ainsley’s hands are visible at all times whereas ? James – the other one – has only one visible – the other being constantly plunged up a cow’s bum.
Excuse any slight coarseness but this is a farmyard sort of blog. Often.
Oh, hey, I just discovered this place and all this wonderful writing!
The Internets are a funny old place, here you are, just sitting in your own little corner of the world (in my case, think Millineum Park, Sears Tower and Al Capone. Okay, not Al Capone, so much, that’s ages ago, you click around and you find a very good and funny writer. Just like that!
Wow.
Something went wrong with one of my sentences. They don’t make sense. Oh well.
Anyway, again, wow!
For clarification, Ainsley Harriot made a career out of shovignSuzy Salt and Percy Pepper up Tricky Woo’s sphincter.
Hullo MD and welcome!!!