The Italian Job

Here's a funny book to buy for a  crimbo pressie.............especially Page 128 : Well I laughed! :):):):):):):):)

and here's another story...................................................................................................

The Italian Job

We, that is My Man (for we had not married at that point so he was still a commoner) and I, The Queen were walking home after a night on the town. The Lord Eldon, White Bear, the White Lion, not the Red Cow had all been on the itinerary so whilst a few pints may have passed our sweet lips it should be pointed out we were not raving inebriates, just nicely squiffy.  Walking down Northwich Road a car carrying two men pulled up on the opposite side.  The driver of the car shouted across to us. 

"Would you like a lift".

"Pardon?"

"Can we give you a lift"

"No thanks.  We're ok".

Giggle, giggle.

The driver began to pull away but had second thoughts, stopped and asked again if we'd like a lift home.

Whether it was the driver’s good looks (not the case as it ‘appens) or that the car was a My Man’s 'passion of the time' it being a brand new Vauxall Calibra, we will never know but for whatever reason (being squiffy could have been the most likely), we accepted the lift graciously. We climbed into the back seat ready for an adventure. Yaye, we’re off! But, perhaps to our disappointment and certainly to our surprise, the driver took us straight home so I invited them in for a coffee because that’s what you do when someone has given you lift homebut not really expecting the offer to be accepted. Hmmm, that’ll teach me!  Both men were Italians, the driver a hairdresser from Altrincham -  aah, that would explain the hair; a very wobbly bouffant and a cartoon moustache so we won’t be recommending his shop, will we?-  his friend a baker from Urmston and a jolly baker judginging by his tum, ahemm. Although, I don’t think working for Hames Cakes would normally be classed as baking it being a Greggs equivalent in its day - nice dougnuts but not much else.

Well, we had coffee and a chat, though about what we didn’t have a clue (could have been the squiffiness) and they eventually left. Anyway, happy to have enjoyed another fun-filled night in our rich and varied life we trotted up to bed. The next day, Mr Baker's designer sweater (how could he afford that? Mafia?) was found on the coat peg. We decided we would drop it off at Mr Hairdresser's later in the week, meanwhile we headed off for one of our day long car rides. To Betwys-y-coed, as it happens and very nice it was too. We returned home tired but happy and I started getting on with cooking the half prepared chicken breasts in white wine (lick your lips ;)) – oh to have that energy now - while My Man watered our beautiful garden. Just as I was about to dish up there was a knock on the front door which on opening I found, ta dah, Mr Baker of Hames standing there. He'd called for his designer sweater and was very pleased with himself for having remembered how to find Turner Towers, though quite frankly, he could have asked anyone from round here for directions and he’d have found us. I was tempted to invite him to stay for dinner but as I only had two breasts which though ample (according to My Man), were not enough to share in My Man’s opinion! Fnarr, fnarr.

So with a goodbye, a wave of the hand and what to me looked very much like a tear in his eye, off he went never to be seen again

To this day, My Man and I don’t get anything about that night. Typical. I did think maybe Mr Baker of Hames, deciding My Man was actually my son, (after all, Dr Stephenson - I never liked him - had once thought that) had taken a fancy to him, leaving his designer sweater on purpose. My Man thought Mr Baker of Hames had taken a fancy to me, The Queen and thought he’d looked surprised to find My Man in but neither of us could think of any reason Mr Hairdresser, the owner of the car had decided to give us a lift in the first place let alone come in for a coffee. Must have been drawn to our natural beauty and the way we walked. Or he could, of course, just been kind.