S
hort conversation from yesterday:
hort conversation from yesterday:Mrs M: (looking at her phone) “Blimey, Tom Jones is 80 years old today”
Me: “So? It’s not unusual…”
Mrs M: …………………………………………….. Nothing. Silence.
I wonder why I bother, sometimes.
Just like my uver alf.
What, she’s an eighty year-old Welshman?
I have a Tom Jones anecdote from a friend who was stage manager at a venue which he toured at. I can’t repeat it. Much bad wordage. But he’s apparently very charming, when he stops cussing
Apparently.
Is it Jones The Voice or Jones The Potty-mouth?
I think he’s Jones the Voice. We’re all Jones the Potty Mouth
You could always redact the bad words but would not be much use looking at a totally black page.😎
+++ ADDITIONAL +++
From earlier today:
Mrs M: (looking out at the back garden, in which she has been most industrious these recent weeks) “I can’t reach it, so could you have a go at trimming the climatus?”
Me: “Well, I’ll give it a go, but being a man, I doubt if I’ll be able to find it.”
Mrs M: ………………………………………………………………..Nothing.
When I knew Tom Jones, he was Tommy Woodward. Not many of us were impressed with him.
Sorry – missed a bit – may I safely assume that the plant was Clematis???
Indeed you may, TA, but gardening interests me so little, I couldn’t even be bothered to look up the correct spelling.
Stop. It bloody hurts when I laugh at this time in the morning.
That just made me spit my tea out laughing.
I knew it: you’re the one I should have married!