by
Joel Pearl
This year I had two guests and my date to squire around the dance. So I wasn't as observant as last year. That's why it's "Once Upon A Time (It's fairy story time again)". I was early at my friend's place and my guest and date weren't ready so I had to wait on them getting ready in time, so that we don't hit the rush hour traffic. (I wanted to get there early so that I could park close to the entrance, to make it easy for my friend who can't walk very far, in the rain that was forecast). We did hit the traffic, and I sweated to rack my brain cell to avoid the rush hour traffic jams. I was distracted big time; my date is a beautiful young girl. This didn't help me choose a good route to the dance. She wore a black slinky sexy dress with scalloped front and back necklines, with silver thread woven through the neckline. Sod the fashion she looked stunning and I was delighted to be her escort.
I swear, no bullshit, all the entire wives looked beautiful and sexy. But why are they all in morning? Who died? OK girl's you all were rebels once, why have you all lost your self-confidence in your taste of clothes, you should all have been strutting your stuff in multi coloured dresses that would have been a feast to your man's eye, and the other fellow's, that's the name of the game, isn't it? We men have to were these poxy penguin suit's but there isn't any convention that say's you women have to wear sackcloth and ashes. Though you all looked good enough to eat, (OK, I'm kinky for black, but I'm not saying for what else!) or at least nibble at. And I will next year because I bet the guy's will all gather around and talk instead of dancing (feeling's of De-ja vu again). They all talk every Monday (soon to be Wednesday at the Bickley Cricket Club). Why can't they leave the chat alone for one day a year? Is it because it's the one-day in the year that they are allowed to talk by their wife's who can't scream or nag at the poor suckers! They will face a shark or a gang of yob's and not back down, but they are all frightened to dance with their wife's. In case of losing the macho image? Or having to listen to vitriolic hot gossip? Or wanting to keep a low profile. Anyway my young date couldn't keep up with me, so off I went to look up the table top dancer's dress, but I couldn't shift the other bozo's out of the way, to get a good look, anyway she didn't have stocking's and suspender belt and bear flesh just knickers and tights and she lost her balance and came tumbling down "An amateur having a good time? I now I did." So I went over to the other side of the ballroom to dance with the Sue's as promised. As I passed Bella Stella's table and smiled to her saying hello she gave me the Gorgon's look that turned me to stone momentarily!! What did I do, or say? Except hello!! And she gave me that look. I'm totally discombobulated, I wander of in a daze smiling vacantly at some people and ignoring other's, I say something totally innocuous to Te He Sue who promptly knee's me in the ball's crushing one out of existence! I didn't know that Bella Stella's older sister was the Gorgon and that Bella Stella was also known as Gorgonzola " because she's a minor, younger cheese!" And I don't know how Ian can still talk in a low male voice instead of a high pitched wine like mine, all those year's of marriage to Sue and she hasn't crushed his ball's in, like me. It's all Ian's fault, he was eating Mueller light, and I got all the pain!! That's it! She's suffering pain from doing the dangerous sport of horse ridding, falling of, so far on her butt and her shoulder not yet on her head, to knock sense into it, I'm talking about Gorgonzola, not Tee Hee Sue. However all women are the linchpin's of their family's and should take care. I staggered over to Donald McDuck who said he couldn't dance, when I asked him why he wasn't? With his wife looking so lovely. So I pushed him sideways away from me then pulled him back, and said, there you are, and you danced so no more excuses. Really it's because he want's to keep a low profile! Six foot for and three foot broad, and he don't want to be noticed!! His wife did, she looked stunning, other tasty morsel's were Angie, slinky Deb's (your fellow looked too tasty and not in the mood to allow anyone to cut in, next year OK.) and Tracy (Martin couldn't keep his hands of her, baby your beautiful and you don't have any cellulite problems at all on your legs, but you kept on pulling the hem of your skirt back down just as Martin was getting interested "Martin's got taste", you did look good. As do all the Sue's, the Rountree broad fitted nicely in my arms and enjoyed the dance almost as much as I did. As my young date still couldn't keep up with me! I held beautiful Sue in my arms instead. Mike when are you going to get wise? All the misery your getting now is because you didn't pay her the loving attention she wanted and deserved, as did every wife there. Ann I hope your giving Georgei Porgy pudding Budda face the treatment too, after all the effort you took to look stunning, he didn't dance with you once, did he? But you really showed up the youngster's when you let rip on the dance floor, god but your one hell of a mover girl. And the rugby player's, did you all have a "gay!!" time, I didn't see you dancing with any of the sexy young girl's, Tee Hee Sue's kid's, (No! young beautiful lady's to be accurate,) spent most of the time dancing with each other, what a waste. We were tucked away in a corner by the kitchen entrance, on Neville's table with his guests to whom he didn't introduce us, (smack on the wrist Neville). The food was boring but safe; the best parts were the soup and the desert, but even those were nothing to write home about. The conversation at my table was scarce and not worth a mention. My clan on my side of the table and Neville's clan on the other side, it was like warring faction's, at a very hostile "peace" for the sake of civility. So back to the fairy story. The speeches and the toasts royal and club were without fault (I could hear them). Though Alan Loader talked club politics to the bemused two thirds of those present who where not club members, the temptation was given in too, but I think it was for the A.G.M not the dance. Though the 'thank you' to the organisers were a bit muffled, sorry girls but I really didn't take notes because I didn't know that I was going to be asked to write this, so no names in case I miss one out. But your efforts, are much appreciated by us all. The flowers a small token. The raffle was held, the prizes going all over the place but to my table, with all my tickets, not a sausage! I'm starting to think that NARKsisus and Snotty-handful are getting their own back because I'm forever taking the mick out of them, and their in charge of the raffle but it's completely fare spinning the tickets in the drum, sour grapes on my part, sorry fellows. The imbecile who disrupted the raffle with his mike tuned into the speakers went beyond funny to obnoxious that describe his personality if he had one. Thanks to all those who donated prizes a T V and a Music Centre and the other prizes were worth having too. The dance was also stopped to raffle the football signed by the West Ham (leg of lamb) football team. It didn't get as much as last year but thanks to those who did bid. This time for the good of the branch. And back to the dance, one small grumble to the disc jockey, smoochy slow music towards the end of the dance please, so the dancer's can smooch. And make love on the floor! Cor that would be something to see (and photograph) and arthritis can't be used as an excuse not to dance, because the dances are too fast. The girl got a cold!! And I haven't seen my date since. Who told her the "fictional" story about the time the doorman at a 'do' wouldn't let me in and said that the monster muncher's do, is around the corner, that man was a tuff old fart, so much so that the meal gave me indigestion for two whole day's, and his pubic hairs were stuck in the gaps of my fangs for weeks (fang pick's were useless, fang's ain't what they used to be!!). Actually it was Snotty-handful and NARKEDsisuses fault when they came up to me and tried to cut in and I had to tell them to ---- off before they went. She suddenly wasn't there with me any more. I now know what it's like to be given the cold shoulder again, I'd forgotten, even after all the time's it's happened before. It's amazing how a girl can be there with you, body pressed to yours, but you're all alone never the less. Maybe that's when she noticed the POLLER BEAR after all you couldn't miss big PAUL NICKELS. As I don't now how to spell Polar I'll have to call him Polly Bear the description fit's, six and a half feet tall, three feet broad, white short heir on his head, big hands and feet, strong enough to pick up a sea lion or a man and tear him limb from limb, if hungry or mad enough! "Oops, you do have a sense of humour, don't you Paul?" Any way he can't do anything, he's recouping from the heart operation, a full recovery in progress. His entire friend's are delighted though not saying anything to save him feeling embarrassment, your very well liked mate, so there you go. The pleasure we all got seeing you fit enough to dance almost every dance was great. As a single thirty two year old gentle giant, who hasn't been taken off the market by a lucky female, I despair at the stupidity and idiocy of woman. One of who should have been your wife by now tacking care of you, you need looking after. What worries me is that "hit's" that aren't the diver's fault seem to be on the increase I wonder how many less "hit's" occur on similar dives from rib's when compared to hard boat's? You de-kit in the sea and slide into the rib unencumbered and with minimal effort, so your heart rate isn't unduly high, on a hard boat you climb up a ladder fully kited up, hauling yourself not only up the ladder but exerting yourself trying to stay on the ladder, of a boat that's rocking in the trough's of the waves, slamming you from side to side, with your heart pounding like a jack-hammer with the effort. Colliding small gas bubbles together into big one's blocking veins and arteries, "anyone for a hit?" How many less hit's would there be on hard boat's if the boat had a hoist (like a davit) and a steel basket to put the diver's weight's and stab jacket and bottle in, bringing them up to the deck, so the diver can climber up the side unencumbered and without his heart slamming like a jack-hammer. Or just a lift. Also it seems to have been forgotten that as soon as you get out of the water, your body is no longer subject to water pressure so the gasses can and do expand tipping over the other side of the razors edge giving and causing a "hit". And this isn't added to the decompression plan is it? But who cares about the opinions of an over qualified novice diver, who talks a lot of bull shit, so back to the dance. Alfy introduced me to his wife again, Alfy baby that's the third time, but no sister or sister in law. Steve Hall-oween's wife is always lovely and didn't get a dance. Steve it's a (hold on why am I nagging, he has a rep for being a miserable sod. And is just living up to it. ) dinner and DANCE. Forfeits, next year I suggest dance marshall's taking the names of all those who aren't dancing and making them do or perform or sing or pay a forfeit. That should add to the club funds or to the entertainment of all at the dance. As I'm ostracised and don't have any friend's at the club (or any where else for that matter, 'cos I'm so wonderful nobody can come close enough to my minimum requirements, for me to acknowledge there existence.) I volunteer myself for the job of dance Marshall. I promise to be totally fair and unbiased. (Honest tee hee Sue) hee hee, hee hee!!! She who kneed me in the crutch, crushing my left ball out of existence! But I'm not Himmller, though I've now got one that's very small! But at lest I wasn't rubbing it with margarine. Talking about yellow marge, reminds me of NARKEDsisuses waistcoat, remember he has to be different, he said it was yellow silk but I don't believe him, 'cos I've never heard of any yellow silk waistcoats at all. I think he got an old waiters white silk waistcoat and because he was ready early and peckish he had a slice of buttered toast but the butter had melted and dripped onto his waistcoat staining it, being him, he probably said "oh B ball-derdash or something similar and got a block of butter and spread it all over the waistcoat making it look like gold. And claiming it was so. But I wasn't fooled by the rancid man, if I had allowed him to cut in and dance with my date he would have got butter all over her breasts! "Now when you butter bread and you get butter on your finger's, you lick it off don't you?" Being the gentleman that he is, he would then proceed to lick her breasts clean of the butter! Ohh! Ohh! Ohh! hold on a mow, I'm all hot and bothered, wait while I have a cold bath!! Core that's better my hands and everything else have stopped shaking, throbbing and pulsating! Gerry Dowd was sober or very much, a year older, "Why did Peter Pan have to grow up Gerry? " We miss him! That's why the dance ended with a whimper and not in laughter. No Gerry to lead a conger. Bella Stella, we all wish you better, in time you will be. We all had a good time I think, except my date that jumped out of the cab and ran off into the night without even a shouted good night. I can't help it if the girl couldn't keep up. Well could I. P. S. Don't use butter, use golden syrup or honey!!!! Felix Portabelly
(c) Joel Pearl . 30 . 1. 01.
All Rights Reserved.
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