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Regular updates of sarcastic and irreverent nonsense.
Mishap
57-year old Gerald Markford told of his “Utmost shame and embarrassment,” when he realised that he had run out of paint whilst marking out a 3-mile stretch of road in Devon. The experienced road-worker, who was first employed by the local authority in 1958, said that he had been thinking about his niece’s Christening that was taking place at the weekend when “I looked down and realised that there weren’t any bleedin’ paint in the roller thing. I’d been walking for 300 yards, overalls and all, with not a drop of goodness coming out of my thinger no matter how hard I pulled and tugged on it.”
The road, which has since been repainted fully, was missing numerous important markings which “Could have caused a terrible accident if one of them wonky knocker-lorries had come busting down the road” like they sometimes does. They might have crashed into something big and spilt all them nice apples all over the place.” This would be particularly shocking as Gerald is “very fond of apples, ‘specially them fresh ones. My dear old Marjorie says that she likes to polish up a big red one until it looks like it’s going to burst its sweet goodness all over her face. Chance would be a fine thing, I says!”
Shaken
Gerald has promised to make sure that this never happens again by “Taking an extra tin pot with me, a practice that I had abandoned back when Saddam started the Gulf War. He was a terrible bugger he was. Scared me stiff whenever I thought of the things he could be doing to me if I was tied up in his chamber of dirty. Marjorie would have a fit if she knew about the things that go through my head sometimes.”
Speaking about his fear of being called up by the army and sent out to fight in the Iraqi desert, he said “If they captured me all I would ask was that they let me keep my overalls on. They are special to me, just you ask my Marjorie!”
“I got years of secrets hiding in the folds of them things.”
End of the road for him then!
The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
So original, Michael! I think you have a book in you or maybe a screen play? Seriously, very amusing.
And there she is! In the flesh, smiling so wonderfully and gay on my blog!
Spielberg did ask me to do something for him but I had to decline. I don’t trust bearded people.
This is why we need more B&Qs.
We need less smartphones and more elbow grease.
I don’t know why, but this tickled me the right way. Not that there’s any wrong way to tickle me ::WINK::
His job is single handedly responsible for making so many children in the backseat vomit during car trips. He needs some sort of a medal or prison time for that. I can’t decide which.
Imagine if a 15-car pile up involved vehicles full to the brim of kid’s vomit.
That would be BRILLIANT.
I always wonder if the people that paint the lines on the road are mentally insane. No one could concentrate on painting a straight line for miles unless they had some kind of disability. Amirite?
I believe it’s very medidative. Just lines, eternal lines, you and some drivers swearing over the fact the road is blocked. You can have very long conversations with yourself, make up poems, think about how the universe was originated, how – oh god. This must be your influence, Michael. I blame you.
Quite possibly.
I reckon that a road-painter’s career starts off at schools doing the running tracks and then gradually moves up onto long roads. When they are at the peak of their career they look back at the running track painters and call them noobs whenever they drive past.
End of the Road… That comment was too quick for me!! Them lovely apples…oh-arrr!
Hello Kerry! Your first comment on my humble, non-mother blog.
Those apple crunchers never stop going on about their, erm, apples.
Kerry’s name links to her Twitter feed. Her blog is here – http://mylovebumps.blogspot.com
only just seen this… I’m so blog dumb when it comes to replies – thanks for linking over!
I started my blog, Michael. Not sure if you have time to give it a read? I would be most honored if you would. : ) It’s not too long.