lifestylesupportguru

Category: Pub

Funerals Are Good For You

gravestone

A very good evening from the Lifestyle Support Guru. This evening I intend to help you understand that, contrary to popular belief, funerals are not something to dread but, rather, events to be enjoyed and cherished.
Yesterday, I attended the funeral of a friend who had been ill for some time and, probably like the rest of you when you attend funerals, was not particularly looking forward to it. However, I have to say that I came away afterwards with a smile on my face. ‘How could this be?’ you cry. ‘Funerals are sad affairs for saying goodbye to people. They require a copious supply of tissues and very little mascara.’ (Remember, boys, I’m also talking to you – never let it be said that the LSG favours one sex over the other in terms of tissues and mascara.)
Now, I have learned that the secret of a good funeral is who you talk to AFTERWARDS. The

Large glass red wine

mourners had been invited to partake of ‘light refreshments’ after the funeral at a local watering hole – so far, so good, I’m sure you’ll agree. I chose to sit with some friends who had placed themselves at the far end of the pub, away from the ‘professional’ mourners – i.e. the ones who sit staring into their drinks glasses with a sombre look on their faces for far longer than is necessary. I shall set the scene:
There was a small supply of the day’s newspapers at this ‘fun’ end of the pub and a headline caught my eye: ‘Jane gets herself into another fine mesh!’ If I tell you that this was NOT an accidental misspelling of ‘mesh’, but that underneath it was a picture of a blonde female in a VERY skimpy mesh one-piece in a particularly lurid shade of fuchsia, you will probably be able to work out which newspaper this was. I knew straight away that this could not be the Jane I know and admire so much because – a) she was blonde and b) Jane would never wear that particular shade of fuchsia.

Discussion moved seamlessly from mesh to TV programmes and I was especially intrigued by one friend who said he really enjoyed police programmes, particularly the ones featuring the ‘Head Loo’. I don’t watch many of this type of programme, but felt sure that I would have heard of one featuring a ‘Chief Toilet’. It wasn’t until he mentioned the Welsh police force that I realised he was referring to ‘Heddlu’ (more or less pronounced ‘hethlee’), which is Welsh for ‘Police’! How I laughed! 🙂
And finally, my greatest source of entertainment was a story told by another friend about a friend of hers who had just come back from holiday and felt that her nipples showed up too much under a white top she wanted to wear out, so she painted them with…Tippex (white correction fluid). All was well until she got home and was getting undressed for bed – her husband looked at her in horror and said, ‘Oh, my god, what’s the matter with you?’ – the Tippex was peeling off her nipples as she took off her bra and it looked as if she’d got some dreadful skin disease!
Impossible to top that story, so I felt it was time to go home – with a lighter heart and a smile on my face. 🙂

So that is today’s lesson – it’s not who you know, but who you sit with at funerals that can give you the best moments.
Sleep well, dear devoted followers!

Didn’t we have a lovely time the day we went to Bakewell!

drone

Lifestyle Support Guru here, ready to share more wisdom with you and help you make the most of those rainy days or, as they are more lovingly known in the UK – SUMMER! You will need the following to ensure you have the greatest chance of an enjoyable day out:
1. A sibling who has bought a drone for photographic purposes but then finds he is not allowed to transport it to his next place of residence (ring any bells, DOT – Dai of Turkey?).
2. Another sibling (TOFU – Trefor of ‘Ull) who is prepared to take the drone off the first sibling’s hands.
3. The second sibling will own a large, gas-guzzling 4×4 suitable for negotiating all those potholes and dunes around Hull, but he will also have been on an off-road experience or two in the Peak District, so it has been put to some PROPER use.

4 x 4

4. A weather forecast that says rain won’t be falling until the afternoon.
Having fulfilled all the necessary criteria, you should set off reasonably early to make the most of the fine weather – 10 am is perfectly acceptable, especially if you had a late night the night before.
You can be sure that, once you reach the ‘green lanes’, about half an hour later, the rain will start. ‘Green lanes’ are tracks that already exist and are public highways, although you wouldn’t want to take a little Kia Picanto along them!
You must ignore any ‘Unsuitable for motor vehicles’ signs at the start of these lanes because that is part of the fun! And it is made even more fun by seeing the looks on the faces of the walkers and cyclists who didn’t expect to see a dirty great Land Rover creeping up behind them

Green road

on a lane marked as ‘Unsuitable for motor vehicles’. What larks, as you pass them with a sweet smile and a wave while they look disdainful and/or disgruntled in their wet anoraks or lycra. It is a very pleasant way of making yourself feel superior, although you wonder if you may have to ask for their help a little later as TOFU negotiates some rather rutted tracks and you ask in a quiet voice, ‘Is there a point at which we might tip over?’ TOFU laughs light-heartedly and replies, ‘Oh, we’d have to tilt over a lot more than this.’ Curiously enough, a couple of miles further on, it is your turn to laugh light-heartedly as TOFU’s voice is a little quiet when he says, ‘Hmm, I think this is as far as I’d feel happy tilting.’
After all this tilting, you may feel the need for some refreshment, so you find a little country pub tucked away in the middle of nowhere and order a half of something called ‘Old Snouty’s Rat Juice’ or similar and settle down, the only customers, waiting for all the locals to turn up and start discussing the price of lamb or cattle feed; instead, a hipster couple turns up, looks all around the pub (which is rather small), and the following conversation ensues:

Hipster Man: Do you have a table booked for seven for lunch?
Barmaid: Yes.
HM: Are they here yet? (Remember, he has just looked all around the pub.)
B (and I swear she tried not to sigh, having seen him look around the pub): No.
HM: Do you do Sunday roast?
B: Yes.
HM: Do you do it today? (It’s Saturday)
B: No, but we do a roast of the day. Today is lamb.
Luckily, the rest of the party turned up at that point, because I was beginning to think I’d walked onto the set of some undiscovered Samuel Beckett play. However, things didn’t improve greatly because one of the party read out (loudly) every item on the menu to his wife, who then insisted on repeating the items and asking what came with them. TOFU and I finished our Rat Juice and left to return to the comparative sanity of life in the city.
One final point – I can guarantee the rain will stop the moment you get back to ‘civilisation’.
That is my annual visit to the country done for this year – there is only so much fresh air one can inhale!

The Pub May Not Always Be What It Seems…

Drinks!

I AM the Lifestyle Support Guru, so why do I do it? Why do I put myself through such misery? Why do I go to the pub?

I have been advised by my doctor to take ‘gentle strolls’ for a (sometimes) painful leg, which had been a particular nuisance today, preventing me from doing any housework, which devastated me, as you can imagine. When the pain eventually disappeared – but far too late in the day to even think of doing any cleaning or fetching the washing in – I felt that a gentle stroll (with a slight limp) to the Ale House would fit perfectly with doctor’s orders.
I settled myself down with a purely medicinal glass of wine, only to find that the two ‘older’ gentlemen in the corner were rather hard of hearing AND had their hearing aids turned up too far, which meant the gentlemen were shouting at each other while their hearing aids were whistling at each other, completely drowning out the gentle background heavy metal music.

To add to this, in walked a female customer who is very nice, but known for her ability to talk the hind leg off several donkeys, regardless of whether she knows the donkeys or not.

donkey laughing

Normally, she stands in another part of the pub but, for some reason, she came and sat down next to me. (Perhaps she recognises a true Guru?) My heart sank, partly because only yesterday an obvious axe murderer (see earlier blogs on identifying axe murderers) had opened up a conversation with me and now I was about to have to take part in a conversation about donkeys’ hind legs. She asked me if I was ‘still studying’ (I’m not sure what she thinks I’ve been studying on my laptop for the last couple of years), so I said I was just reading emails and made a point of looking back at my laptop (where I’m on level 1332 of Pet Rescue Saga).
Donkey Lady then took out a book – the first time I’ve ever seen her do that – and started reading it. Nothing unusual there – until she started laughing and clearly wanted me to ask her why she was laughing.
Beloved LSG followers, NEVER, NEVER, NEVER ask someone what they are laughing at, because they will tell you and I can GUARANTEE you will not find it funny AT ALL! I avoided the temptation and decided a further gentle stroll to the next public house would be of benefit, especially since it is nearer home.

Once again, I settle myself down and, once again, find myself disturbed by laughter, this time from a younger gentleman who is laughing at something on his laptop – I don’t think I want to ask what, given my own warning above.

And, finally, in comes THE CHOIR for refreshment after tonight’s rehearsal – a choir which I admire mainly for their matching red polo shirts. You know that, at some point, they will spontaneously burst into song, but you hope to have finished your second restorative glass of wine and have limped back home by then…
And, as the strains of ‘Swing Low, Sweet Chariot’ ring out (a Tuesday night ‘special’), I wend my weary way home…

Sleep well

Living The High Life!

Rucksack

A very good evening from the Lifestyle Support Guru.
I had considered giving some advice on avoiding little old ladies in pubs who whisper, ‘Can I ask for your advice?’, as happened to me about 30 minutes ago – as it turned out, she wanted to know what she should do about a rucksack she had found at a bus stop on her way home from the pub the other night. The police no longer accept lost property, so she said; I suggested getting in touch with the bus company but she said she didn’t have a ‘slidey phone’ like mine, just an ordinary one at home. ‘Ah,’ I exclaimed, ‘a landline! You can use that instead.’ (Thinks: you’re not getting a free phone call on my phone – I’m on a pension too, you know, AND I know you get a taxi to and from the pub every night AND you manage quite a few vodkas over the evening before you head back to a pub nearer where you live. Not that I’m judging, you understand. Who am I to judge?) I gave her the necessary numbers, which I found on my slidey phone. Still, at least she didn’t want advice on bladder control, which was what I first thought – I shouldn’t have liked to discuss that over my Sauvignon Blanc, I have to be honest.

Anyway, enough of little old ladies (LOLs for short); I know that you, my devoted followers, are

Cheshire

far more interested in knowing what life can be like in the fast lane, as experienced by my male siblings and me in Cheshire at the weekend as we prepared to send DOT off on the next stage of his life (or having fun whilst working, as I call it). These are the rules, as far as I could work out:
1. A Range Rover is absolutely essential for driving up and down the main street and parking outside small boutique shops where the sales are on and a pair of tights is reduced from £40 to £20 – a bargain!
2. The Range Rover must be black or white; no other colour is acceptable (or even available, judging by the car showrooms we passed).
3. The Range Rover must not look as if it has been anywhere near something that might resemble an off-road route for which it was originally designed.
4. The only other acceptable vehicles are: BMW (black), Audi (deep red); Mercedes (silver); anything convertible, providing it’s a Bentley or a cute little Italian job in pale green.
5. All women (except the LSG, who is above such ‘rules’ because her ‘diet’ doesn’t allow for it) must be stick thin and wear tight black dresses (bought in the sale, a bargain at £390) and very high heels.
6. Restaurants are not called ‘restaurants’; they are either an ‘Eatery’, a ‘Grill’ or a ‘Food House’.
7. The ‘house wine’ will be sold out and the next available ‘house’ wine will be at least £6 more expensive than the already-expensive house wine.
8. Red wine and coke is a ‘classic Spanish cocktail’, according to one menu – just trying to remember how many Spaniards I’ve seen quaffing this delightful combination.

It’s just like being abroad, but you don’t have to learn the language! Happy holidays!

The Beginnings Of Life

As you know, part of my mission as the Lifestyle Support Guru is to help you negotiate your way through the rapids and whirlpools of life and I have been reminded of this during a rare (!) visit to a local hostelry this evening. Again as you know, I make these visits purely on your behalf, since they are of no beneficial use to me. I felt that the following conversation might help you understand life and its origins, as discussed by two gentlemen of ‘a certain age’, as the French put it (although usually to describe women):
Man no. 1: You realise that it is sheer chance that we are here tonight.
Man no. 2: Yes, it was a good job we got the right bus.
MN1: No, it’s just sheer chance that I am who I am and you are who you are. I could have been a girl and so could you.
It was this profound statement that drew my attention away from ‘The Ghosts of Maple Creek’, the hidden object game that had been fascinating me for the previous 30 seconds.
MN1: If my parents had decided to make love the next night or the night before, I might have been a completely different person, depending on which sperm got to which egg.
MN2: I see what you mean. In fact, I could have been your best friend as a girl if my parents had done the same.
MN1: Exactly. In fact, it’s a wonder we’re here at all, given the Black Death.
MN2: Oh? (He’s not quite following the logic at this point, which may have something to do with the beer.)
MN1: Yes, the Black Death killed off so many that it’s surprising that any of us survived. It’s only thanks to my parents that we’re here.
MN2: Your parents?
MN1: Oh, and yours too.
(‘Phew!’ I thought)
MN2: Actually, I remember the precise moment William was conceived.
I’m hoping that William is his son and not the Duke of Cambridge.
MN1: Wow! (He was genuinely impressed!)
It was at this point that I began to wish that both of them had drunk less beer and that I had decided to stay in for once. I then tuned in to an absolutely FASCINATING conversation on the other side of the room about painting a fence…
I may have to return to ‘The Ghosts of Maple Creek’…
David Attenborough, eat your heart out…

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