You must be joking

It annoys me that I can never remember jokes.

Even the good ones.

I heard one yesterday morning on a podcast: a nice quick two-liner. “Ahh, that’s a good one”, I thought, “I’ll tell that to the kids when I get home.”

Fat chance!

Could I remember it?

Could I ‘eck as like.

I was doing my food shopping in Sainsbury’s on Saturday, when I bumped into an old fellow as we both went for the free-range carrots at the same time. We explained niceties for moment, apologising to each other in the way us British do, and then he said to me – apropos of nothing – “Did you hear the one about…” and he proceeded to tell me a joke.

I smiled and gave a little laugh as I tried to back away toward the weighing scales. I remember thinking that it was actually quite a good joke… even though he telegraphed the punchline.

But, I’m damned if I can remember it now.

Then, as I was rummaging through the broccoli, there was a tap on my arm and I turned to see him standing there, smiling at me, although his trolley was still over by the carrots. “Two nuns walk into a bar…” He was evidently enjoying the opportunity to try his material out on someone other than his grand-kids and he told me three jokes in all… none of which I can remember now.

I laughed politely and continued with my shopping, aware that he was only a few steps behind me as I walked on.

I think I lost him in the next aisle, somewhere between the onions and the stringless beans.

He might still be there now, accosting any shopper that will listen.

“My wife’s so fat…”

9 thoughts on “You must be joking

  1. I wonder if I dare finish that last one off for you. Best not even with a 100 miles between us Mrs M could still give me a good right hook.
    Just a thought, is he a relative of the late Les Dawson.

  2. How odd that you should write about jokes. Our family WhatsApp has been busy this morning……started with eldest son telling us that he did some ” stand up” in a local ( St. Albans) pub last night and he won a ” golden microphone “.

  3. I think you can’t remember because your vegetable stalker traumatised you. The only other explanation is that you’re an old git and you’ll have to start writing shit down. I would advise strongly against anything to do with “wife” and “fat”.

    • My memory is getting terrible, Jules.
      Sometimes, I’ll walk into the lavatory and wonder what I’ve gone in there for.

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