Banjo strings, do I have the guts?

All the appalling images from Japan showing the tsunami flooding reminds me of an earlier flood story. A little girl was sitting on top of her house watching the flood water wash debris away. But one hat circled, went upstream, circled and went back. She asked her mother about it. Her mother told her that it was her dad who had been told “come hell or high water you will mow the lawn today”.

Subliminally I think I am worrying about the lawn needed cutting although I have high hopes of securing a used sit on mower from the wingco in the coming week.

Last night, having fed the dogs (the kind old family retainer, and the obese unpleasant cocker) , my daughter found the dogs at the back door, one of them pretending that he had not been fed. She did not believe that I had fed them, so fed them again. When I remonstrated with her that the fat fu*k was supposed to be on a diet, she said he looked hungry. So what happened at 3.30 this morning? the seriously overfull and seriously underwhelming cocker wanted to go out and defecate near my hammock. As I am the lightest sleeper in the house, and in any event, that nice lady decorator was dead to the world, having been on something of a Sancerre mission (I mean that most Sancerrely folks) and would not stir, it was down to muggins here to get up and let the barking (in both senses of the word) canine out into the garden.

This is especially galling for me, as I lose out on at least four counts, disturbed sleep, cost of extra dog food, smelly hammock area as I know exactly where he will have directed his second supper and most irritating of all, the pleased look Banjo employs when he knows he has got right up my nose. Ask not for whom the dog barks, he barks for me.

So it was with a thick head and a sleepy disposition that I headed out on my walk along the Brague, where I took this picture;

Weekend rains fuel a tributary of the Brague River near Valbonne

I was early for my meeting at Cafe Latin to sign a new affiliate for Currencies Direct, only to find that it been postponed at the last-minute. Downcast, I was about to leave when Bill and Soraya came in and in a trice I was invited to join them for lunch, and before the starters had arrived, I had signed them up instead, so when they insisted on paying as well, my cup runneth over.

Talking about runneth over, I know an animal in my household to which I would like to apply that expression literally.

Last night was my first night of freedom, the entire family having decamped in the wake of that nice lady decorator to be hectored and cajoled into the various college appointments that have been made for them. My son is also having some driving lessons, so hopefully within a short period of time I could delegate him to do some runnithing over. Banjo as road kill, what a gratifying concept.

I saw a joke today about Irish banks that had a reference to a Banjo, something to do with banjo strings being made out of arse skin….and it got me thinking, what do they make Banjo strings out of? Maybe he could be donated to musical science? If that was possible, and more than two institutions wanted him, and were prepared to fight for him, could that be described as Duelling Banjos?

And so ends the most contrived joke I have ever managed to fit into this column, which will be a year old a week today.

Chris France