Disturbing Scenes...

In the hairdressers.

I went to get my hair cut on Saturday - just at the little local salon down the road.

The first thing that made me raise my eyebrows and shudder slightly was the sight of an elderly lady (as in 'little old lady' of about 80) engrossed in the latest copy of 'More!' magazine.

For those of you who have never read 'More!' (or have, and have long since forgotten the content) - it is a women's magazine primarily read by teenage girls. It stands out amongst other similar titles because of the breadth, depth and, erm, explicitness of its content on sex.

It always had the most lewd Problem Page and double page articles with titles like 'Going Down? Getting it Right!' and '100 things you never knew about sex toys'.

It was probably most famous for it's 'Position of the Fortnight' column which gave you a graphic drawing of a couple getting it on in a ludicrously energetic looking fashion. The positions had names like 'The Wheelbarrow' or 'Spinning the Dice'.

The magazine was (at one point) never out of the Daily Mail or off Kilroy style discussion programmes, as it was held aloft and single handedly blamed for everything from teenage pregnancies, to global warming and the breakdown of society.

I used to get my copy in Asda and make sure it was hidden in the bottom of my mum's trolley with the cover facing down. She probably thought it was Horse and Hound.....

Anyway - there was just something wrong-diddly-wrong about seeing an elderly lady engrossed in an article on oral sex. For a start I don't think they cover specific points for denture wearers.

Maybe that shows prejudice in me? I mean apparently Old Folks Homes are dens of sexual deviance these days, due to the 'Curse of Viagra' Ethel and Norman are throwing off their incontinence pants, chucking their walking frames to one side and going at it in the rose bushes like Billyo. Well accordingly to the Daily Mail anyway.....

Anyway - I had just recovered from the mental image of 'Granny Does Dallas' when a little boy came in to get his hair cut. A very well behaved young chap he was too - sat as good as gold as they did his hair (I so hope he couldn't see Position of the Fortnight).

It turned out he was 4 - the same age as my eldest.

'What's your favourite tele programme?' the hairdresser asked him.

'Cookie Street!' he replied!

'Cookie Street? Oh that must be new'.

'Nah he means Only Fools and Horses' piped up his mum.

'Oh you like Only Fools and Horses do ya?'

At this point the mum butts in 'Yeah, go on Dave (not his real name) tell her what your favourite episode is!'.

Dave speaks......




...'The one with the blow up dolls'.

His mother is so proud she's positively beaming.

The hairdresser looks a bit shocked 'the blow up dolls?' (just in case you have escaped Only Fools and Horses and the one with the blow up dolls, it features Del Boy buying loads of cheap dolls for the market, only for them to be blow up dolls for men to pretend to have sex with - much hilarity ensues as they try to get rid of them and they inflate themselves in the back of his van).

'Yeah he LOVES 'em, wanted one for Christmas didn't ya Dave? Didn't get one though. Santa couldn't get his hands on one. HA HA HA HA. Maybe for your birthday mate, maybe for your birthday....'.

Erm, diamond.

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Dave (Return to the Source)

Further to my previous post on the prevalence of Daves, I've just been over 'Dave's' shop for a Monday night fix of a 4 pack of Strongbow. What is it about Monday nights? Give me credit though - I'm only going to drink 2 cans and I'm turning them in to shandys (WOOO HOOO - such a paragon of healthy living aren't I!?).

Anyway Dave was, as usual, smoking in his back room and singing badly to 80's rock songs. He came out and, on seeing me, immediately rang the price of a 4 pack of Strongbow through before my hand even fell upon the fridge door..... I would have blushed but shame is beyond me after the last few years (you have to remember that this man has seen me naked on a stretcher wearing nothing but blood and an NHS blanket, and has also had an interesting 'debate' with me about whether or not my lottery ticket was a winning one, but the less said about that episode the better. The naked bloodbath was more dignified).

So I put my 4-pack on the counter with my very virtous DIET lemonade.

£5.35 said Dave.

Oh I said (glancing down at the £5 I was holding with no access to any further funds).

Dave raised an eyebrow.

There was a time he would have told me to bring in the 35p tomorrow but he's been wary since the lottery ticket fight, sorry 'debate'.

He speaks.

'There's nothing wrong with the Happy Shopper' - and points to the back of the shop.

So I take the 'walk of shame' and exhange my White's lemonade for the Happy Shopper one.

Dave has spoken and his word is law.

And the shandy is fine.

Especially when it's 90% Strongbow.....

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Baby Dave

In the town where I live a LOT of the males are called Dave. Probably around 85.5% (well maybe).

My neighbour's son is called Dave.

The man who cuts my other neighbour's lawn is called Dave.

The pub landlord is called Dave.

The man who runs the corner shop is called Dave.

The man in the street always seems to be shouting at Dave.

So it shouldn't have surprised me when my eldest son ran into my bedroom shouting 'Mummy, mummy! The baby is talking!! He can save DAVE!'.

And sure enough - it would appear that my baby's 4th word (after 'mamma', 'dadda' and 'car') is indeed DAVE. He crawls around saying 'Dave! Dave! Dave!' which makes his brother roar with laughter, so he says it some more.

Should I brace myself for the next one being 'Chas'? (Altogether now 'Down to Margate......').

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