“I say Carruthers my life is in ruins. I’m at my wits end for the wife told me last evening over supper that, ‘I love my Herb Aceous-Border.’  I truly had no idea she was carrying on. The news has left me bereft to the extent that I felt compelled to storm off and take a room at the RAC Club last night.”

“Herb you say? Sounds like a bleddy Yank to me. Were he one of us he’d be known as Herbert methinks. Goings on with a Jonny Foreigner – never heard the like of it. Shocked I am; truly shocked and disgusted. You wouldn’t think butter would melt in your Deidre’s mouth the brazen hussy. I well remember those Yank soldier chappies over here during the war. They could melt a gal’s knicker elastic with a pack off untipped Camels and a pair of nylon stockings from 100 paces you know. Devils they were; true devils.”

“I know, I know – married these past 15 years and she ditches me for him I’m all at sixes and sevens I can tell you.”

“Do you know how the pair of them met?”

“No idea old chap. I mean she does have a grannie residing in New England. Indeed she visited the wizened old cow last year as it happens. It must have been there that she first met the rotter. You know what?  I am minded to pop down to one of those ale houses in the Mile End Road and seek out a couple of ruffians to… do they put it……um……oh yes, ‘have a word in his shell-like.’ I’m sure for a few coins of the realm the ruffians would be only too pleased to assist me in that regard.  That’ll send the Yank packing I reckon.”

“Mind if I accompany you? Haven’t had pie and mash washed down with a pint of porter since the old King died.”

“Please feel free – maybe make an afternoon of it but do remember to avoid the maidens there who swig gin straight from the bottle. They tease more than please you know.”



    1. Cheers. By the way given that I’ve discovered that some the email messages in respect of my comments on other blogs have ended up in ‘junk mail’ are you getting the comments I put on your blogs? Me and PC’s notoriously at odds once more! Also notifications of shares and such like. Yours, Confused of Tunbridge Wells

      1. Don’t worry about your comments reaching me. Everything you submit ends up at my end, but because of the insane amounts of spam my new site has been getting I’m forced to approve each comment manually. That’s why they don’t appear right away. I’m trying to get it fixed, but it’s proving to be rather difficult to find a spam filter that can distinguish the fake comments from the real ones.
        Btw, I may be a bit more ‘silent’ the next few weeks. My dad and his wife are flying in from Canada today and will be here for three weeks…Awesome, but it leaves less time to blog and such. Just figured I’d mention it;)

      2. Best you get out there and show them around! Probably a good idea to escape over-blog anyway! May have to myself as have put my back out following an odd incident with a formidable woman in a supermarket (which I may write about shortly). Typing is painful presently.

  1. Yeah those f*cking Yank soldiers. Anything warm and wet. They are professionally trained, you know. Sorry about the competition from the herbs.

    1. True. Me old mum once told that WD40 was the best an Englishman could come up with – so to speak – whereas the Yank always had his KY Jelly close to hand – so to speak. Strange world; so very strange.

    1. A bit of ‘slap and tickle’ is yet another old London saying. I did once ask Shirley if she fancied some yet once more she beat me around the head with a rolled up newspaper!

      1. Haaa haa haa! I imagine it means the same there as it does here? I’ve had a lot of British friends, so I can follow almost everything without problem. I think my main questions arise when there is the name brand of something we don’t get. (The first time Smithers told me he wanted me to accompany him to get some fags I was quite aghast, but that was several years ago, and I’ve learned quite a bit.)

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