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> Home Made Tales, The journey
peter.howden
post 25th Jun 2017, 08:12am
Post #391

Super Lord Provost
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Posts: 425
Joined: 21st Oct 2005
From: /Glasgow
Member No.: 2,485
Foretastes of a 60s adolescent


The kissing Bruce;

No matter how old you are, or your status in life, whither bright or just average in any given intelligence test, in your eyes… you have made a fool of yourself somewhere along the line, yet… true friendship proves to be is a smashing gift, dulling down any pure riddy.

I have fortunate having a few close companions with plain talking ways, however they may not have always appreciate such frankness with sensitive matters while a naive drafted teenager. Not always truthful with myself, how can I expect to be so wise and understanding with others personal adolescence. For someone supposed to be slightly smart… I could be, and still hold a tendency to be, rather stupid.

The classification of an honest friend is one who stick with you regardless of what you say, or do while learning the art of living. You gab and insult a mate with almost impunity, where caution would prevent acting the same with someone you did not like or instantly do not trust. Every time I had a need, a China was always there…. You can’t beat a good comrade… even with a stick?

Due to my inexperience in the past, subtleness was not my strong point, and surprisingly very close mates stuck it out…but I was so very grateful they did…and do. The strange thing is you appear to be in competition on anything while remaining staunchly loyal. In the 60s, such phrases as “I don’t like the look of yours?” was a common whisper entering a dancefloor, or anywhere there was talent (now both description are very much politically frowned on). Please try to remember we were naïveté in the true art of wooing any young presentable partner, and the safety margin was still to be discovered.

As an example of my thoughtless conduct was when “The Bruce” came to me with a delicate problem, I could have exercised a little choicer compassion. Grim faced asking about his smooching technique, and how he was the odd man out at parties no matter how much drink he gives to the ladies. “The Bruce” was always left out of Postman’s knock, or games of that close personalized contact. If you ever saw a photograph of him, he had the appearance of early mobsters from Chicago would give. Square built with a sombre glance rarely broken with a smile. However, his mixed beverage was always a knock out, regardless what he was left to work with, he could drown sorrows in uncharted spirits.

Back to ‘The Bruce’s’ intimate problem, I told him how girls called him a wet wincher, as he had the habit of slobbering all over his partner or victim. Possible it was in the rare excitement of it all but this was perfectly true, as girls regularly said so after a party or the next day in the one coke stop off cafe, forming the infamous result. Coupled with being not very attractive, though I was informed they could suffer this drawback, but not the wet blanket impression while he attempted to plant a big one. Moisture is all right in the correct place,” I told him…practice with your pillow of an evening. If it is moist in any way try another angle…and keep your mouth closed.

I found “The Bruce” a perfect mate as he would stand by you if it did not involve fighting. He was no coward, but would run a mile to avoid physical confrontation. On insight, I may have been less than discreet telling ‘The Bruce’ all this information, then seeing how embarrassed he was at my careless chastising words…even though they were true.

This thoughtlessness or deliberate humiliating behaviour was not all one sided, by any manner of means as the main man let slip my ultimate secret. Recently I had been issued with a complete set of ‘wallies’ attempting to kept secret from almost everybody. While having personal friendliness with a young lady in the back of a motor car owned by Rammy (another very close chum), being so quiet in the car, at one point the noise of my newly found plastic ivories noisily clattered shut.

The uncomfortable female asked in a high-pitched voice if I had false teeth. Before I had a chance to make up a story, “The Bruce” called, “certainly and have you noticed his limp?” “Did you know everything in or on his body has a slant or an angle and his testacies are non-existent, since he took them out and played them like spoons” …. Nervously she made an excuse and exited the motorized vehicle …. I never saw that poor flushed girl again

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peter.howden
post Today, 07:50am
Post #392

Super Lord Provost
*****
Posts: 425
Joined: 21st Oct 2005
From: /Glasgow
Member No.: 2,485





The old-fashioned funeral


“Haud yer wheesht…,I need an old fashion funeral… Yer bum’s oot the windae… awa’ an bile yer heid” croaked Jock (not his real name for legal reasons ) looking towards the lanky guy from the bib mob, known only as ‘The fixer’ (an alias ) standing astride as he explained in the Queen’s English; “look… you came to me for my specialised service, you’re in serious debt, way above his head, and I have been asked to assist you…for a price” the Fixer ended by flicking his cigarette ash onto Jock’s shoes..

Jock was pale faced while uttering, “Aye right, beggars cannae be choosers, but I’m up to high doh Jimmy”

“My name is not Jimmy!” The Fixer with an icy chill in his voice, which gave Jock the massage. “We will organize a mystery accident after you gain life insurance with double indemnity, then the oldest funeral operators in the town will perform their tradition pious duties to the letter…everything will go like clockwork…I assure you!”

Jock looked sceptical spluttering out his feelings, “Ma heid’s mince… a nod’s as guid as a wink tae a blind horse”,

The Fixer took his time replying…then enlightened quietly; “There is no danger, we have worked this scam many times, breathing apparatus installed, and hidden in a specially crafted coffin, made by the best manufacturer firm of allusion equipment ever to exist on this planet!” The Chancer added, They have built equipment, served all the greats for a century and a half, such as David Blaine, Harry Houdini, The Great Blackstone, and of course the Frenchman Jean Eugène Robert-Houdin.


Jock did not want to look like an Eejit, he knew a Harry but he had never heard of Houdini…or the rest of that mob, but it did sound impressive, so with reluctances said, “Beggars cannae be choosers, but in truth, its Geein me the boak!”. “Not to worry Jock” said the confident Fixer, ready to clarify his plan; “

“we need to have an old fashioned funeral company, and I know the oldest funeral directors still in the business, They will dig two graves, side by side, one open, one hidden ,,, once the service is finished…they always use the oldest Fossor (grave digger) who suffers from lumbago and arthritis, starts to take small shovels of soil…once you hear the slight drops of earth, that’s the signal to start loosening the inside screws to open the coffin at the left side, then roll into the second hidden unfilled birth, wait until mourners have gone, then rise up and journey to a secret hideout, ready in a couple of days… I will have masquerade as your brother…collected the money pay-out … we will share it 50/50, everything will go like clockwork”

A couple of weeks later, while conversing with an associate, asked Chancer “it’s a pity the modern wee bulldozer was used that very morning for the first time, scuttling your best laid plans…Jock didn’t have a chance, as soon as the preacher was over ..it took seconds to fill both holes as a massive amount of earth just pounded both graves!”.

The fixer in solemn mode of a crafty fox explaining, “It did worked like clockwork…for me… who do you think phoned up the ancient funeral firm, suggesting the client insisted modernizing their old procedure, and if they would have a trial run straight after the graveside service, I would supply the dumper…free of charge …and of course… tick tock… I have all the double indemnity insurance …Tickety Boo!”
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