Category: People Watching

Good Neighbour Bad Neighbour

Being a Good Neighbour
A very good evening from the Lifestyle Support Guru. Tonight I wish to offer some useful advice on how to be a BAD neighbour or a GOOD neighbour. I have recently ‘acquired’ a new neighbour and I have learned rapidly from this experience just exactly what constitutes a BAD neighbour and felt that you may benefit from my advice so that you can be a GOOD neighbour.

Bad neighbour

Bad neighbour

To be a BAD neighbour, you must:
1. be blonde, slim and athletic-looking and wear fitted clothing that shows off your figure to advantage. This will ensure that your GOOD neighbour feels totally inadequate.
2. have cleared your garden of all weeds and long grass, installed a nice wooden garden bench, put up a new clothes line and scrubbed the wall at the bottom of the garden of its coat of peeling paint, all within the space of a few days. Again, this will create great feelings of inadequacy in your GOOD neighbour.
3. have a housewarming party which is not too noisy and finishes at 10.30 pm, so that the GOOD neighbour feels guilty for wondering at what time she will be able to complain to the police.
4. fill your bin (which is about four feet high) to overflowing with black bin liners, then, in one bound, leap athletically and lithely on top of the aforementioned bin liners and jump up and down on them in a graceful manner to make sure they fit in the bin. This should be done when the GOOD neighbour has just returned from a hard morning’s shopping and is loaded down with purchases; by now the GOOD neighbour will be contemplating moving to find a more congenial neighbour.
5. enjoy the early evening warmth by sitting on the garden bench with an attractive man and sip delicately from a bottle of water rather than the glass of wine which the GOOD neighbour is contemplating whilst looking up house prices in a more downmarket area.
To be a GOOD neighbour, you must:

Wild Life Friendly Garden

Wild Life Friendly Garden

1. be overweight, wear loose clothing as a disguise and have greying hair. In this way, you create no feelings of insecurity in any other neighbours.
2. maintain what is known as a ‘wildlife garden’, ensuring that there are plenty of flowering weeds which are, apparently, attractive to bees. Thus, you are helping the environment.
3. have no parties because you do not wish to disturb your neighbours (and it would mean cleaning and tidying up and the cats don’t like parties, anyway).
4. only leap up and down (athletically or otherwise) when you tread on one of the cats or the drawing pin you forgot to pick up several days ago.
5. enjoy the early evening warmth by going out to the pub where, as far as you know, they don’t sell water. Thus, you are helping the local economy.
You will have gathered from this that being a GOOD neighbour is far less tiring and requires much less effort than being a BAD neighbour. In addition, you are saving energy environmentally because less electricity will be used if you are in the pub rather than sitting at home; added to this, you will also have had some physical exercise because you walked to the pub, although probably not quite as much exercise as jumping up and down in a bin, but with a far more enjoyable outcome.
And now let’s finish with a short chorus of: “Neighbours, everybody needs good neighbours…”

Oop North at Halifax

The Lifestyle Support Guru is on a quest to introduce you to places you should visit before you die and Halifax is on the list. ‘Why Halifax?’ you ask. ‘Why not?’ I reply. There is, in fact, a very mundane explanation – I don’t like leaving the cats for more than 24 hours without some human interaction (it’s called ‘cleaning out the litter tray’), so somewhere within a 2-hour drive is ideal. And I like going ‘oop north’ – it’s another country! In fact, it’s another world!

Sheffield

Sheffield

The first thing that took me by surprise (just after Sheffield, which is where I consider ‘the North’ starts) was passing an Audi driver on the motorway who was in the nearside lane, even though there was plenty of space in the other three lanes. I have never seen this before although, sadly, I didn’t see any Volvo, Merc or BMW drivers following this brilliant example.
The satnav was set to take me to Halifax via the excellently-named Netherthong – how can you not go to a place with such a wonderful name? – so imagine my delight when I found there was an Upperthong as well! When I got out of the car at the top of a very steep hill in Upperthong to greet TOFU (Trefor of ‘Ull), I could fully understand why you would need both upper AND nether thongs (and preferably fur-lined) – the wind was a tad chilly in all quarters.
Having visited Barnsley on a Bank Holiday weekend, TOFU and I were not completely taken by

hot cocoa

hot cocoa

surprise in Halifax because it’s very similar – there’s just more of it. TOFU remarked that we seemed to have arrived ‘late to the party’ at 8 in the evening. One young lady on the dance floor in the first pub we entered had obviously consumed more than the recommended number of alcohol units and another young lady was more interested in watching her own boobs jiggle about as she sat bouncing to the music. Personally, I find a cup of hot cocoa more enthralling.
The next pub had karaoke in full swing when we walked in – ‘Kingston Town’ sung by Halifax’s answer to Orville is something that will stay with me for a long time, along with the young man dancing next to our table displaying a ‘Top Man’ waistband on his underpants. If you must

men's underwear

boxer shorts

display where you buy your underpants, at least go with fake Calvin Kleins, daaahlings.
We then headed to the nearest Wetherspoon’s, even though we knew we would have to spend a long time waiting to get served by staff who have never learned to smile. (I have only ever been in one Wetherspoon’s pub where I was greeted civilly, served quickly and with a smile – and that was because she was an ex-pupil!) However, the pull of a pub without techno-trance dance music or karaoke sung by Orville was, I have to say, irresistible.

There is some class in Halifax – TOFU heard one young woman ask for a bottle of rosé… with a

Joie de Vivre

Joie de Vivre

pint glass. His immortal comment, however, once we were seated, was ‘There’s a lot more flesh on display than perhaps there should be,’ as yet another person in shorts/hot pants passed us. I replied that that was perhaps why the textile industry failed in this area because people don’t wear enough of it. No fashion judgements were being made, you understand.
The night ended with that famous quote: “When a man is tired of Halifax, he is tired of life; for there is in Halifax all that life can afford.” ‘Who said that?’ asked TOFU. ‘Boris Johnson,’ I replied.

And the next stop on the LSG’s world tour? Who knows? Suggestions are welcome – as long as it’s within a 90-mile radius of Derby so that I can carry out my litter-cleaning duties!

Did they really say that??

 

Africa Street sellers

Africa Street sellers

Good evening from the Lifestyle Support Guru, once again here to guide you across life’s babbling brooks, raging rivers and terrifying torrents. Surely, you must think, there cannot be much more that the LSG can teach us? She has already helped us with so much, such as what to say to a lady with her dress tucked in her knickers, how to deal with marauding monkeys, and enjoying a night out in Barnsley (or all three together, if this takes your fancy).
Oh, my faithful followers, there is still so much to learn, including when you may use exclamation marks, as laid down by our all-knowing, all-seeing, all-powerful but beloved government (I may have made that last bit up).
Today, however, I wish to share with you some of the deeper thoughts I have gathered from listening to those around me and, thus, help you to avoid making a complete fool of yourself by repeating such silly things. I shall also include some photographic evidence so that you may make up your own minds.

The first ‘jewels’ are all courtesy of my acquaintance, TT (the Tiny Tyke), who has featured in previous posts because of his wide-ranging level of knowledge (believing that the English for Beaujolais is Bordeaux, for example). He was studying some of my glorious photos of African scenes (in other words, I was showing him my holiday photos, yawn, yawn) and, upon seeing a

Market traders England

Market traders England

typical African street scene of crowds of people selling fruit and vegetables and anything else that might bring in a few Tanzanian shillings, he remarked, ‘I love little market towns’, as if he were looking at a picture of Pickering in North Yorkshire!
Upon seeing another street scene with concrete crossings across rainwater ditches, his comment was, ‘That reminds me of the canals you see when you come into Birmingham on the train.’

12916790_10153353868247714_7073409013680909671_oAnd finally, while looking at a photo of a main road crowded with vehicles of all shapes and sizes, he commented that he couldn’t understand ‘why they only ever seem to have one main road running through African countries’. I patiently explained that this might have something to do with the arid wilderness and wild animals found in many such countries, so there’s no real point in having another road, since you are likely either to end up dying of dehydration or serving as a packed lunch for a lion (or both?).

But TT is not the only one who has given me pause for thought with his observations. I overheard a conversation in the pub the other night when two men were discussing Burns Night (yes, I know it’s April, but Derby occasionally takes some time to catch up with other, more forward-looking towns and cities). One of the gentlemen said that he didn’t know the words to ‘Auld Lang Syne’ and he’d never tried haggis because he’d never been to Scotland. In the next12524133_10153353899977714_5005369881554209382_n breath, he said that his favourite food is curry. With my most innocent face on, I asked him if he’d ever been to India. ‘No, of course not,’ he replied, with no hint of irony.
I shall finish with an example of something which still puzzles me: why would my youngest sibling, over a Sainsbury’s ‘Junior Breakfast’, ask me if I had ever thought of working on Sainsbury’s checkout when I retired? Dearest devotees, much as I admire Sainsbury’s checkout staff, I am afraid that I would have to consider Waitrose at the very least!

Do play along with ‘Spot the difference’ in the photos…

Parallel Universe

The Pearl of Wisdom

The Pearl of Wisdom

Good evening, dear followers! I realise that I haven’t offered any advice for a little while and I am concerned that you will be trying to live your lives without the benefit of my pearls of wisdom, so I thought I would pass some on before I get caught up in the fever of THE game on Saturday. I am, of course, talking about England v Wales in the Rugby World Cup, in case those of you who prefer the ‘round ball’ game (or ‘handbags at dawn’ or ‘synchronised diving’ as I prefer to call it) think there’s anything more important.
Anyway, enough of this talk of balls; tonight I wish to talk to you about LIVING IN A PARALLEL UNIVERSE. I have come across several examples of this in the last couple of weeks and I believe that I have now learned enough to help you cope with what could otherwise be a very stressful experience for those with less inner strength than a fully qualified Lifestyle Support Guru (Deputy LSGs should not try this at home).

Example no. 1 in this PARALLEL UNIVERSE:
Men CAN multitask! This was proved to me in a rather unfortunate manner a couple of weeks ago when I was out for the evening with a couple of friends, one male, one female. The male friend (who may or may not be from Yorkshire) went to the toilet and came back many minutes later with the front of his shirt soaking wet and explained that he had just had a nosebleed whilst in the toilet. So where is the MULTITASKING? you cry. Well, the nosebleed occurred while he was ‘in full flow’ elsewhere, so to speak, and thus he had to deal with both at the same time, using his handkerchief in one hand to stem the flow of blood whilst ‘hanging on’ with the other hand… I don’t think I need to elaborate, do I, dear devotees? And, on top of that, he had managed to clean his shirt before returning to the assembled company. RESPECT!

swim trunks man on bicycle

swim trunks

Example no.2 in this PARALLEL UNIVERSE:
As you know, I run the occasional quiz at my local pub; most of the time they run pretty smoothly, but the other week I found myself in a very unusual situation – handing a quiz sheet over to a man on his own who, on the face of it, looked perfectly respectable but who was, in fact, wearing a pair of multi-coloured speedos on his nether regions rather than the expected pair of trousers. I didn’t bat an eyelid, beloved acolytes, but he certainly attracted a few glances from other females (and one or two males) in the pub as he strolled to the toilet. This could only happen in a PARALLEL UNIVERSE!

Example no. 3 in this PARALLEL UNIVERSE:
During the same quiz mentioned above, an unknown couple stands next to you while you are sitting at the bar asking the questions over the microphone (this is usually a big clue as to who is running the quiz). They keep whispering answers to you and you assume they are just checking if they know the answers, even though they haven’t entered the quiz. It turns out that they think you are entering the quiz and they are trying to give you the answers! A little later, you are giving out the answers to the Music round (kindly supplied by a sibling currently residing in a

Flag of Wales

Welsh Flag

sub-Saharan country and who clearly has nothing better to do), which includes a couple of classical music questions. When you give the answers to these, the female half of the couple turns to you and says, ‘You must be the landlady if you know so much about classical music.’ Such reasoning could only occur in a PARALLEL UNIVERSE.

And there you have it, dearly beloved followers – PARALLEL UNIVERSES do exist! Enjoy the rest of your evening and think of me over the weekend hiding behind the sofa on Saturday evening in a state of anticipation and terror – and NOT because I’ll be watching Dr Who! I make no predictions other than to say I shall either be very happy or very sad!

Pastime

Hello once more, dearest devotees! The Lifestyle Support Guru is here again to help you live your life more fully and gain a greater sense of achievement and fulfilment. I realise that it is not many days since I guided you through the pitfalls of MAKING PLANS, but I feel that I need to share another experience with you and encourage you to fill those empty moments in your life with a … PASTIME!

hand covered in paint

painted hand

Some of you may feel that you already have enough in your life with activities such as photography, knitting, cooking, crocheting, feeding the piranhas, watching paint dry, but TRUST ME – this PASTIME can offer hours of amusement (or even bemusement). Tell us about this wonderful form of recreation, I hear you cry. Let me keep you in suspense no longer … the BEAUTY SALON! Already I hear your cries of disillusionment (and not just from the males among you), but again I say TRUST ME! All of life is here! Be prepared to be AMAZED!
1. You enter the BEAUTY SALON expecting simply to have your feet scrubbed, polished and painted (actually, it’s your nails that will be painted, not your feet) and are led upstairs (downstairs is for hair) where you relax in a comfortable chair, ready to be pampered.
2. Coffee in hand, feet in the foot spa, you flick idly through celebrity magazines as your feet are gently massaged and soothed (actually, it tickles and you want to giggle, but that would be SO

feet in water

feet in water

uncool!). You decide that celebrities are incredibly boring, so you chat to the beautician – who also happens to be the salon owner – and ask her how long she’s been doing this (really intellectual question!), expecting her to say about three years, since she looks about 20. You learn that not only did she do three years’ training as a beautician, but she also spent another three years working in a salon in Nottingham, followed by 7 years as a youth worker before further training in hairdressing! She then tells you that you have nice feet (hahahaha!) and she wished she had feet like yours. In your mind you wish that she had your feet if you could exchange them for her skin, looks and figure (but maybe not the teal green hair), although you realise that chubby white feet might look a little strange on long, brown, flawless legs. Sigh.
3. You are left to your own devices when the beautician goes downstairs to answer a query about the cost of a FULL male waxing – yes, I mean FULL! – which she and her assistant discussed in front of you first (in a very tasteful way, I have to say, but ‘bum’ came into the conversation more than once). While you are sitting with your feet wrapped in towels as the

person in tanning machine

tan machine

lime, coriander, garlic and chilli foot cream – only joking! – does its job, you hear footsteps outside and in walks a chap of indeterminate age – let’s say 70 to be on the safe side – who smiles, says ‘Alright, me duck.’ and then steps into a large, silver tube-like machine standing in the corner of the room. A minute later, a humming noise emanates from the machine and you expect Dr Who or, at the very least, a dalek, to come charging out, but disappointment awaits … 10 minutes later, the same man emerges – looking no different from when he went in – smiles, says, ‘See you, me duck’ and departs the way he came. Apparently, he does this at least three times a week!
4. Finally, you are ready to leave with your newly-polished nails ( a sort of pale lilac) and your

graphic of duck with crossed eyes

constipated Duck

soft, sweet-smelling feet – unfortunately, the whole effect is spoiled as you walk downstairs because the sandals you are wearing have a smooth bottom (see ‘male waxing’ above) and you are worried that, as a result, your moisturised extremities may cause you to slip, so you descend VERY slowly, gripping the handrail tightly and walking something like a constipated duck. But your feet look nice and you realise you have found a new PASTIME!
Visiting the BEAUTY SALON is going to have to become a regular event – if a 70-year-old man can go there three times a week, you can manage it at least once a month, which counts as a regular PASTIME! (However, you do wonder if the 70-year-old is perhaps a retired MP on a large pension.)
Now you know what to do if you are at a loose end this weekend – get a PASTIME!