Come again?

Fishmonger [turning to me from an animated conversation]: Do you happen to know when Easter is next year?
Me: Yes, it'll be the first Sunday on or after the first full moon after the vernal equinox.
Fishmonger: Thanks!

...I've since looked it up, just to make sure, and it's not quite that simple. I blame the Council of Nicaea, and the Synod of Whitby.

On reflection, perhaps I should just have said 27th March.

Ball/game

Conversation at Jen's work last week:

“That [female colleague] is on the game.”
“I think you mean ‘on the ball’.”

The woman from UNCLE

UNCLEWhen I was at Boots the Chemist this morning, I couldn't help noticing that the woman behind the counter was wearing a black T-shirt with the word UNCLE emblazoned across her chest.

She didn't look like any sort of uncle I'd ever seen. I wondered if her T-shirt's inscription was intended as some strange take on the American phrase to say uncle. Somehow I doubted it. I toyed with the idea of making a lame joke about her being the Woman from Uncle, but, in the end, having lived in Yorkshire for many years, I decided that the direct approach was best:

“Do you know you've got the word UNCLE written on your T-shirt?” I asked.

The woman looked momentarily confused, stepped back, then tugged at the bottom of her T-shirt, stretching it out to reveal the word JINGLE, with a little star over the I.

This woman is allowed to dispense drugs.

Do you see what I did there?

Irish Mick and I went for a slightly up-market pub dinner above Windermere on Tuesday. Afterwards, I went back to the bar:

Barmaid: Did you two enjoy your venison burgers?
Me: Yes, thanks, they were very nice—but they were dead deer.
Barmaid: …?
Me: Sorry, that was just a joke.
Barmaid: …?
Me: … A pun.
Barmaid: …?
Me: … Well, a double-pun, really… Venison: dead deer.
Barmaid: …?
Me: Two pints of bitter, please.

The Italian elbow game

This is a game I usually play in Italian restaurants, to check if the staff are authentic Italians. It's dead easy to play: all you need to do is to challenge them to say the word elbow in Italian.

The following conversations happened on Saturday evening:

Me [pointing dramatically at my elbow]: What's the Italian for elbow?
Head waitress: Gomito.
Me: That's right!
Head waitress: I know.

(A short while later.)

Me [pointing dramatically at my elbow]: What's the Italian for elbow?
Other waitress: I don't know, I'm Polish.
Me: I meant, what's the Polish for elbow?
Polish waitress: Łokieć.
Me: That's right!

Just doing my bit for international relations after all that nasty Farage nonsense.

Pinnacle

Over breakfast this morning, Jen and I were discussing what we would nominate as mankind's greatest invention.

After careful thought, Jen nominated writing as our towering achievement.

I nominated marmalade.

On the phone

Carolyn's youngest: Mum says she's covered in honey, can she call you back?

There's a major scoop there, mark my words.