Friday, 28 August 2009


Ben found this in the Times (27 August):

Gerry Adams can contain himself no longer. The Sinn Fein leader made this touching declaration at a hunger strike commemoration:

"The Republican struggle was not, and is not, about bums on executive seats - even a bum as delectable as Martin McGuinness's."

Have we been missing something? I had always thought that the Republican struggle was about bombs on non-executive streets.

One lives and learns.

Tuesday, 25 August 2009


Ben Trovato writes:

A virile middle-aged Italian gentleman named Silvio was relaxing at his favourite bar in Rome when he managed to attract a spectacular young blond woman.

Things progressed to the point where he led her back to his apartment and, after some small talk, they retired to his bedroom where he rattled her senseless. After a pleasant interlude, he asked with a smile, 'So, you finish?'

She paused for a second, frowned, and replied, 'No.'

Surprised, Silvio reached for her and the rattling resumed. This time she thrashed about wildly and there were screams of passion. The sex finally ended and, again, Silvio smiled and asked, 'You finish?'

Again, after a short pause, she returned his smile, cuddled closer to him and softly said, 'No.'

Stunned, but damned if he was going to leave this woman unsatisfied, Silvio reached for the woman yet again. Using the last of his strength, he barely managed it, but they ended together screaming, bucking, clawing and ripping the bed sheets.

Exhausted, Silvio fell onto his back, gasping. Barely able to turn his head, he looked into her eyes, smiled proudly and asked again, 'You finish?'

Barely able to speak, the beautiful blond whispered in his ear, 'No, I Norwegian!'

Saturday, 1 August 2009


Some years ago I had a cleaning lady who lived across the road. Sarah was an elderly widow – so she thought – who wore an obvious wig and had a lugubrious air which was explained when she told me her history.

Some fifteen years earlier her husband had vanished, leaving her with two small children who she had struggled to bring up on her own. All her efforts to trace him had failed, and she believed he must be dead.

Then one day Sarah came over to me shaking with fury. “Do you know what?” she said, “You’d never believe it. That husband of mine has telephoned me bold as brass, saying that he’s visiting London from Australia WITH HIS NEW WIFE and they’d like me to meet them for a drink!! I told him I’d see him in Hades first.”

I sympathised, but that wasn’t the end of Sarah’s woes. Her two children, now aged around 20, were naturally curious to meet their long-lost father, and did so (and his “new wife” too). I sympathised both with them and also with Sarah, who understandably looked upon their fraternising with ‘the enemy’ as treachery.

Relations in that family were quite strained for some time afterwards. It was one of those sad situations where there can’t be an easy or a happy ending.