Doreen, my long serving secretary, came in this morning for her routine filing and tidying up session. She must been with me for around 35 years and knows where everything is so I don’t know what we would do without her.
According to the famous Meteorological Office the weather forecast for this afternoon was meant to be sunny and quite warm so as a result I had decided to go out into the garden in my wheelchair to top up my sun tan and I dressed accordingly, shorts short-sleeved shirt etc.
In the event it was fine as long as the sun was out but chilly when it wasn’t. What on earth has happened to our summer?
As my friend Barton William=Powlett was coming after lunch to do some voluntary babysitting, to give Alice the opportunity of popping out for an hour or two. I thought we could sit in the garden together, whilst we were out there we designed a stand for my smoking stick so the cigar would be up at mouth level when standing on the table all the tray of my wheelchair we also designed a similar stand for my plastic two-handed bottle which is invariably too low for me to drink from without and very long straw. Barton has the most fantastically fitted out woodworking workshop and is very clever with his hands. He actually made dogleg oak staircase for his daughter’s house in London. I was always reasonably good on the design side and could draw up precisely what was required but when it came to the physical work, say, for a mortice and tenon joint, I was just as likely to end up two tenons or two mortice’s.
Now for today’s little joke. The Wine Taster
Â At a wine merchant’s, regular taster died and the director started looking for a new one to hire.Â
A drunkard with a ragged, dirty look came to apply for the position.Â The director of the warehouseÂ wondered how to send him away.
They gave him a glass to drink.
Â He tried it and said, “It’s a muscat, three years old, grown on a north slope, matured in large old barrels. Low grade but acceptable.”
“That’s correct”, said the boss.
“It’s a cabernet, eight years old, a south-western slope, newÂ oak barrels, matured at 8 degrees. Requires three more years for finest results..”
A third glass…
”It’s a non-vintageÂ pinot champagne, high grade and exclusive” calmly said the drunk.
The director was astonished.Â He winked at his secretary to suggest something. She left the room and came back in with a glass of urine. Â
The alcoholic tried it.
“It’s a blonde, 26 years old, three months pregnant and if you don’t give me the job, I’ll name the father.”