» Real-life slapstick

Two from my Dad's Copper Days
My Dad was in the police from mid 70s to the mid 80s. Here are two of the stories I have heard from him that tickled me at the time. I've no idea if they are true or not, but he told them as if true.

The Gyppo in the Caravan
So my Dad and two other cops are called to pick up a guy at a Gypsy site on suspicion of something dodgy. They all enter a large caravan and find a very drunk, very angry man shouting at nothing in particular.

So my Dad starts trying to calm the guy down, with Copper 1 behind him on his left and Copper 2 on the right. He's trying various things to calm the guy down, offers of drinks, and 'just wanting a little chat', etc but the guy is not having any of it and pulls a massive knife.

The next few actions took place in a few seconds.

My Dad jumps back into a defensive stance, trained into him from his early career. To his left Copper 1 picks a frying pan off the stove, but rather than brandishing it in defense, he covers his own crotch with it.

My Dad is standing there thinking "What the fuck?" when the Gypsy guy starts to make a lunge at the both of them.

"Oh here we go" thinks my Dad, when out of nowhere Copper 2 appears, brandishing an upright Vacuum Cleaner(!?) and spangs the Gypsy in the forehead with it, end on, as if in a comedy jousting tournament.

The gypsy goes down like a sack of shit, out cold. So they de-arm him, cuff him and wait for him to wake up, at which point they put him in the car.

Unfortunately, they had trouble questioning the guy later, as they couldn't stop cracking up. The Gypsy guy had 'Hoover' branded in reverse across his forehead.

The Cat Burglar
A friend of my Dads (lets call him John) is sent out to investigate some suspicious activity in the Oxford area where he finds a house with a ladder against it, leading up to an ajar bedroom window.

Clearly a bit suspicious, but he can't see a van or any activity. He decides he had better investigate further.

So he proceeds to climb the ladder, remarking to himself how old and rickety it is.

As he reaches the top he briefly glimpses through the window a bedroom, with a cat sitting on the bed giving him a quizzical look.

I say 'briefly glimpses' because a second later there is a loud 'CRACK' as the rung he is standing on snaps cleanly through the middle. John plummets rapidly, each rung snapping cleanly as he hits them, like something out of a Looney Tunes cartoon. The sides of his hands gather a million splinters as they run down the sides of the ladder.

He hits the floor on his back and rolls away groaning, clutching his hands which are now 20% wood.

As he is laying there a car pulls up and a guy comes running over.

"What are you doing lying in my Garden mate? Are you alright?"

John slowly gets to his feet.

"I was checking your house, because there was a ladder going up to a window and someone reported it as suspicious!" John groaned.

"Oh no mate, that's just so my cat can get in, I haven't got a cat flap you see!" says the guy cheerfully.

"Are you not worried about getting burgled?" John whimpered.

"Nah" says the guy, "That's why I sawed half-way through each rung".
(Mon 25th Jan 2010, 17:14, More)

» Stuff I've found

It was a dark and cold night...
At some point in early to mid-2007 someone to proud to admit they couldn't handle him, or too drunk to know what they were doing, left a 6 month old Pup tied to a lamp-post in a dark pub car park on a wet and cold night somewhere in Ireland.

Not long after closing time, some anonymous gentleman, to who I am eternally grateful, came out of the pub, found the pup, and had the good graciousness to take him to the safety of a local dog pound.

Now at least warm and dry, the little pup was not quite out of the fire yet. Despite lost dog posters no owner was forthcoming and he now faced Ireland's strict euthanasia rules for abandoned and stray dogs.

Thankfully the pound had an arrangement with a local vet who wasn't happy with this policy. This anonymous vet, who I am also eternally grateful to, had a system where he would give the dogs a check up and then send them over the Irish sea to rescues in the UK.

And so the little pup continued his journey this time inside a crate on a rocky boat heading for the UK.

In October 2007, my girlfriend and I, after putting it off finally decided to get ourselves the dog we had both been longing for.

We visited a local rescue (http://www.dbarc.org.uk) after seeing a particular dog on their website. Unfortunately/fortunately the dog we had arranged to see had already been booked with a new home, and so we looked at some of the others. A little brown fella was standing up-right at his kennel door, wagging his tail for all he was worth... and as they say, the rest is history.

Via a pub car park, trigger happy dog pound, and the Irish sea, Little Al has certainly landed on his feet. He spends his days getting all the attention he deserves, charming everyone in sight, and most importantly pursuing every cat he can in the vicinity.



Yes, I do apologise, you are looking at a picture of my dog, but I thought a bit of glurge might brighten up this grey and frankly crap Monday afternoon...
(Mon 10th Nov 2008, 16:00, More)

» Real-life slapstick

Stairs
When you were little did you ever like to see how far you could jump down the stairs? Two steps, three steps! The daring fourth step?

Well I did. I was an easily pleased boy.

Twenty years later i'm visiting my folks house and just descending the stairs after going for a piss, when my synapses fire and I recall my younger escapades.

"I'm much bigger now" I thought "i could easily manage the forth step. Hell why not the fifth? What's the worst that could happen?"

I launch myself from the scary fifth stair, which because I'm so much bigger doesn't seem scary at all!

SLAM!!!

My child like joy is brought to a swift end as the top of my head slams into hallway ceiling right on the corner where it meets the wall that extends up the stairwell, a hazard i had not encountered before as I had always missed it what with being a small child and all.

"Aaaaaaargh!" I cry as i continue my downward journey, now distinctly more horizontal.

I ended up sat on my arse in the hallway with a splitting headache from a head that was now embedded between my shoulders.

"What the fuck are you up to now?" Asks my dad who has come to investigate.

"Fluurgh" I reply.
(Sat 23rd Jan 2010, 12:23, More)

» Shit Stories: Part Number Two

The one that wouldn't
Other half's parent's house, a Sunday afternoon, feel the urge. Opt to use the downstairs toilet.

Now their downstairs toilet is rather like an American toilet, shallow bowl, high water level, and a flush so weak that throwing a cup of water in the bowl would have been more effective. The cistern also takes a good 5 minutes to refill. Being lazy and somewhat naive, I ran the gauntlet.

I produced one to be proud of. A smooth admirable type 4 requiring little wipe-age. It was one of those that is maybe a couple of mil larger than the bore of the balloon knot requiring a solid effort in birthing, and it sat proudly in the bowl.

My pride was cut short by the thought "god-damn, is this thing going to flush?!"

With crossed fingers I pulled the handle, and watched with relief as everything disappeared around the u-bend. I finished washing my hands and glanced back at the toilet.

The turd was back in the bowl again. "What ... the ... hell...?"

After waiting for the cistern to fill I flushed and I kept watch this time. Everything disappeared again but as the flush subsided the turd reappeared slowly and smoothly from around the u-bend, like some sort of disgusting eel, swaying in the current. I swear it had a grin on it's face.

Dammit, Dammit, Dammit. It was brush time. I thrust downward into the water, in the hope I could just break it up a bit. I pulled the brush out again to find I had merely dented it, it's grin now upturned into a grimace. Another flush, the same slow ominous reappearance. More bashing, more flushing, and still the thing re-emerged, merely dented. It was like I was playing a perverted, scatological game of whack-a-mole.

I needed to slice this thing some how, but in the small room all I had was the toilet brush. I couldn't go and fetch a spoon/knife/hanger as I would have to walk past confused girlfriend and parents. There was only one option left, the hand...

I pulled up my sleeve, swathed my hand in toilet paper (thankfully it was the posh double ply stuff), reached in to the depths and clawed the thing in half. I was surprised at how dense it was, like clay or plasticine. It took quite some effort to break it.

Towelled off my arm (the toilet paper had made a surprisingly good glove), another flush, this time no movement. It was stuck to the bottom of the bowl where I had clawed at it. I may have started crying at this point.

In my anger I grabbed the toilet brush again, and in a desperate frenzy thrust, stabbed, twisted and churned the bowl. The water went murky and with one last flush everything disappeared and stayed disappeared. I breathed a sigh of relief, washed up and left what had been my temporary dungeon.

Now I just had to explain to girlfriend and her folks why I'd been in the toilet for 45 minutes...

genuine apologies for length!
(Mon 31st Mar 2008, 15:21, More)

» Call Centres

Anti Spam
Where I work in an effort to stop spam postal mail to the business it was decided we needed a marketing manager to which we could direct spam mail, marketing post and other such gumph.

And so Hugh Janus joined the company. Of course Hugh isn't real, but he does provide a useful service by identifying mail that can go straight in the bin.

However, the most interesting part of this ruse is that Hugh has somehow managed to not only get on to mail lists, but also onto cold-calling databases. This stops the majority of cold callers in their tracks when they notice the stupid name, but occasionally we get the odd phone call.

"Hello can I speak to ...er ...Hugh Janus?"

You can hear the change of pitch in the voice when they say "Janus?" as they realise what they are saying.

"Huge Anus?" we reply.

"Er Yes?"

Our reply is usually "Of course I'll just get him for you!"

At which point the caller is put on hold and we all have a massive giggle while we work out who would like to pretend be Hugh today.

"Hello this is Hugh Janus speaking!"

We quite often lose them while they are on hold and they realise what is going on. However we have had at least 2 phone calls in the last 6 months where a full sales conversation has taken place, and the caller hasn't realised.

He is so successful we have given him his own desk plaque. What I would love to receive next is some promotional pens or similar with his name on.
(Fri 4th Sep 2009, 17:04, More)