Some more from my old Indy column, and still topical after 10 years! xxx MY penchant for overhearing other people’s conversations has certainly helped to perk me up this past week. I’ve often found that listening to other people’s conversations can prove to provide some of the greatest entertainment known to mankind. Now, before any of my loyal readers get the wrong impression and accuse me of being a ‘nosey old so-and-so’ for eavesdropping on other peoples’ conversations, let me put you all right at an early stage. I don’t deliberately eavesdrop. The life-enhancing wee snippets that I overhear are overheard accidentally. They usually occur when I am sitting on a crowded bus or in a shop queue or in a crowded café and I can’t help but overhear the conversations of others. At least, that’s my excuse! A week or so ago, I was in one of those interminable queues in my bank. You’ll all know the type of queue that I mean. I’m sure that by now you will all be aware that the banks have perfected the art of creating some of the largest queues known to mankind. Knowing full well that most normal people can only manage to pop along to their bank during their work lunch breaks, the banks ensure that most of their staff disappear at lunchtimes – presumably on lunch breaks, leaving perhaps only two windows out of five or six manned and thus creating queues of epic proportion. That seems to be what banks call customer service. I often think that many local businesses conspire with the banks in their queuing policy by sending members of their staff along to the bank at lunchtime to convert £1m worth of pennies into notes! That really helps to build up a good going queue! Anyway, enough of my moans about the business efficiency methods of our banks and let me continue to tell you about my latest sparkling, life-enhancing piece of eavesdropping. It happened when I was standing in one of those innumerable lunchtime bank queues at a Queens Cross branch – I won’t embarrass the bank by naming it, but its main entrance is in St Swithin Street! As I stood, fuming, in a stationary queue, I began to pick up snatches of conversation between two middle-aged women directly in front of me. They obviously new each other and one was imparting to Liz: “Aye, Liz, I’ve been up tae my eyes lately. Back and fore tae Foresterhill visiting my mither-in-law. Ye ken the scutter getting’ parked. Jist a nightmare.” Liz replies: “Aye I ken. Fit’s up wi’ yer mither-in-law?” “She had a hip replacement operation,” explains Mary, “but ye ken fit like. They can be tricky and she’s had a lot o’ bother wi’t. Something tae dae wi’ the ball and socket joint nae fitting intae the plastic joint-bittie the richt wye.” Liz is expansive as she sympathises: “Oh, I ken. Ye can get a lot o’ bother wi’ that plastic surgery and stuff. My chummy Ina had an affa lot o’ bother wi’ a plastic colon!” Although I have absolutely no medical qualifications apart from a first aid certificate obtained around 40 years ago, I was quite sure that Liz’s ‘chummy’ Ina had suffered from a spastic colon but the thought of her having a plastic colon fitted almost convulsed me. As I struggled, manfully trying - successfully fortunately - to refrain from laughing out loud, the queue in the bank didn’t seem too bad. It’s strange how matters medical can be a source of amusement when we should be feeling sympathetic towards the victim rather that finding it amusing. However, all too often it is amusing and those with an irreverent sense of humour can end up in stitches! I recall a friend of mine recounting the tale of a taxi journey he took driven by the typical taxi driver with an opinion on absolutely everything and a self-professed expert on absolutely everything. Apparently it was in winter-time and my friend was suffering from the ‘snuffles’. The taxi drive quickly picked up on this and offered: “Ye better watch that disnae ging intae yer chest. It can be fatal.” “Och it’s jist a wee bit o’ a cauld,” explained my friend. The taxi driver then set forth on his healthcare dissertation with the natural authority of an expert! “Weel, let me tell ye this. I had a mate that got a cauld like yours, in cauld, damp weather like this. Next thing he kent, it went intae his chest. Then, it went intae his lungs and spread tae his kidneys. “Afore he kent it, it was a’ through his bleed!” Stifling a chuckle at the notion of the chill going all through the unfortunate victim’s ‘bleed’, my friend asked what happened to him. “Fit happened tae him?” asked the taxi driver obviously incredulous at my friend’s lack of imagination in not immediately guessing the outcome. “He developed a temperature o’ 120 and wis deid in a week,” explained the taxi driver authoritatively before qualifying it with, “the doctor said it was the worst case o’ Chinese flu, double-pneumonia, blood poisoning and pleurisy he’d ever seen.” Even without the exaggeration, you really couldn’t make it up! Before I sign off this week, can I just make one final plea. As we are into the season of ghosts and ghoulies can we forget all about this imported American ‘trick or treat’ nonsense and get the kids back to proper guising. Since when did kids in Scotland make pumpkin lanterns and dress up in so-called ‘scary’ shop-bought outfits? I’ll tell you when - when businessmen realised there was money to be made from flogging these stupid, ‘scary’ tat and plastic outfits and imported pumpkins! Let’s get the kids back to proper Scottish guising and making lanterns out of neeps – turnips or Swedes if you like – that can be homegrown or purchased for a few pence!
Posted on: Sun, 05 Oct 2014 18:31:35 +0000
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