Tuesday

Rosey is writing an erotic novel

A few of us met at the Bicycle Arms the other night at my friend Rosey’s behest. She said she wanted to discuss an idea with us. That was it; no advance warning of what was to come.

There we, were, five of us seated around a table in eager anticipation. In sashayed Rosey. But this was a different Rosey from the one we know and love. This version of Rosey was adorned in a bright red satin dress and wearing heavy makeup (she doesn't normally wear any) featuring the brightest red lips I think I’ve ever seen. In one hand she held an A4 writing pad and in the other beautiful red rose. She sat herself down and plonked the rose in my pint of beer! What the heck was going on?

She then turned  towards the bar and clicked her fingers. At least she tried to, but didn't manage to produce any sound and gave up after a few attempts and yelled “Oy” instead!

Barman Brian came trotting across to us carrying a bottle of champagne (which turned out to be cheap Cava) and six of those old fashioned champagne glasses; you know the ones, they were said to have been modeled on the breast of Marie Antoinette. Rosey said they best suited the subject we were about to discuss. We couldn't imagine what was coming next.

 Well, it turns out that she’s just finished reading 50 Shades of Grey and it’s made her think about starting to write again. She reckons she can produce a rival tome called 50 Sirens in Scarlet. No doubt E.L.James is quaking in her boots! She brought with her a chapter and asked us say what we thought of it. Oh dear!

 She swallowed a whole glass of bubbly in one gulp, then after coughing, spluttering and wiping her crimson clad bosoms with a napkin, her reading began.  It went something like this.

“The moon cast a beam of gold through the branches of the ancient  oak  and......”

“No clouds that night then” Rob said.

“Shut up Rob and listen. As I was saying -  all around us our garments were strewn like so many autumn leaves”  
    
“Blimey Rosey, had he even taken his socks off?” chortled Simon.

Rosey stared and having been silently admonished Simon slipped down in his chair. After a theatrical silence she was off again.

“I was overcome with desire and as he looked into my eyes I saw him shiver with .....”

“With what Rosey, the cold? Perhaps he should have kept his socks on!” said Rob. If looks could kill he’d have been a corpse.

“With longing Rob, with longing, now SHUT UP!” Silence and serious faces all round.

Then still looking towards him she started again.

“I didn’t expect it to wilt" she said.

I noticed Heather blushing and looking at the floor as if wishing it would open up.

“Rosey, you can’t say that in polite company! It’s too rude” I said.

"Why not?” said Rosey. “It has, look, my red rose has wilted. Your rotten beer has killed it”.


After a quick discussion it was decided she should email those of that were still interested with the rest of the chapter. We gave up on the Cava.  Rosey bought me a new beer and herself a glass of Chardonnay, and for the rest of the evening it was business as usual.

Rosey tries to bake a cake

I popped around to my friend Rosey’s flat the other evening. From inside I could hear the sound of a man, a very loud man. I was a little concerned so I tried the door and as it was unlocked I cautiously crept in.

I found her in the kitchen with a laptop on the shelf displaying  at full volume an enthusiastic celebrity chef explaining how to make a cake.

I shouted ‘Rosey!' 

She jumped out of her skin, spun round and sent a bowl of something beige and sludgy flying onto to the floor. It was messy already, but now it looked like a disaster zone! 

'I was making a cake before you barged in' she screamed.

She slammed the lid down on the computer, faced me with slimy hands on hips and gave me an really angry stare. Before any words were spoken her expression changed from fury to bemusement, then despondency to sorrow. Rosey was clearly very upset.

It seemed she wanted to make a cake for Mothering Sunday but had decided to alter ingredient quantities thus increasing the size of the finished article. Unfortunately it looked like  her calculations were a bit out, and it had gone completely wrong causing her to become increasingly frustrated.

Hoping to lighten the atmosphere I jokingly  reminded her about her last attempt at baking when she built a multi-layered millefeuille and it ended up looking like a leaning tower of pizzas! They were not the words of support she needed. So I put my arm around her sticky shoulders, told her to leave the mess for the time being and to sit down on the sofa with me and a calming cuppa’.

She told me that all her friends could cook and she was really envious of the way seem to knock ‘foody stuff’ up without breaking even a single bead of sweat. I pointed out that she had other talents that they were envious of. I then waited anxiously expecting her to ask exactly what they were. Fortunately she didn't or I would have dug my pit even deeper!


An hour later the kitchen was back to its original pristine self, the failed cake binned and laptop wiped clean and put back where it belonged. We went down the road to the tea shop, ate some fabulous homemade victoria sponge, ordered a Mothering Sunday cake and had a good old laugh about what happened!

Rosey inadvertently plays Chinese whispers


My friend Rosey was out shopping the other day. Her mate Helen spotted her and weaved her way between the wandering shoppers. ‘Hey, Rosey Pee’ yelled Helen. 

‘Listen Rosey’ said Helen. ‘You won’t believe what Steve just told me’. ‘What’s that?’ asked Rosey. ‘Keep it to yourself Rosey Pee, because it’s a secret, but I just have to tell someone’. ‘Okie dokie’ said Rosey ‘Spill the beans then’.


‘Well’ said Helen ‘Steve said that Allan was talking to James, and James said something about Jane. You will so not believe this Rosey Pee – Jane is preggers, up the duff, mit kinder! And sweet innocent James is the father to be!’ 


For a moment Rosey looked a little confused as she ran the names through her head, then she held her hand to her mouth, her eyes bulging like organ stops. ‘Mum’s the word’ said Rosey chuckling to herself. ‘Mum’s the word - pregnant! Get it?’


As soon as Rosey got home she was on the phone to Amanda. ‘Mandy’ she whispered. ‘I can’t hear you Rosey, speak up’ said Amanda. ‘I can’t shout’ said Rosey ‘because it’s a secret, and ceilings have ears’. ‘Walls have ears Rosey’ laughed Amanda. ‘What, walls too?’ said Rosey’. ‘Never mind about that’, said Amanda, ‘what’s the big secret?’


‘Well’ said Rosey ‘I saw Helen today and she told me that James told her that his friend Allan has got Jane in the pudding club!’ Trust my friend Rosey to get it the wrong way round!


She couldn’t have told a worse person. Amanda is widely known as the mouth of the south! She couldn’t get Rosey off the phone quickly enough so that she could call her mate Nicki and tell her the secret she’d just heard. Nicki decided that it was too good a scandal to keep to herself.

She grabbed her coat, popped her feet half way into her shoes and rushed out of her front door, hopping and limping her way to the pub. Brenda the bartender was pouring drinks. ‘Listen’ said Nicki. ‘You won’t believe this!’


Brenda leaned across the bar so Nicki could whisper in her ear. She had a bit of difficulty hearing because the pub was very noisy, but she obviously got the gist of Nicki’s revelation if not the detail, because a look of utter amazement spread across her face. Within seconds she was on the phone and in minutes it was clear that the so-called secret was the talk of the bar.


The pub door opened and in walked Rosey. ‘Hi gang’ she called out as she strode towards her friends. ‘Who’s going to buy me a chardonnay then?’ ‘Should you be drinking that?’ asked Dickie. ‘Sorry?’ said Rosey as she started to hoist herself onto a bar stool. ‘Don’t sit up there’ said Mike. Suppose you topple off. Sit down here on a chair’. 

Rosey wondered what on earth was going on. ‘You never told me you were going out with Allan’ said Dickie. ‘I’m not’ said Rosey, ‘What are you talking about?’ ‘Don’t worry’ he said 'Your secret’s safe with us. How's the morning sickness by the way?'

Before a very confused Rosey could respond  Helen burst into the pub.  ‘Rosey Pee, you dark horse! You let me tell you all about James and Jane and all the time you had a secret of your own!’

Suddenly all the strange behaviour made sense to Rosey. 

Between them they sorted out the muddle and got back to what they do best, enjoying a drink together. And they raised their glasses to Jane  James and the sprog. 

Nicki suggested they all play a game. ‘I know’ said Rosey, let’s play Chinese Whispers!

Rosey the joker!

They say that laughter is the best medicine, but according to my friend Rosey, it's Chardonnay  her laugh.
   
As you know if you follow her adventures, Rosey and jokes don’t sit well together. She hears them and pretends to understand them. And she tells ones she doesn’t get herself but enjoys the reaction she gets. Sometimes we think she’s joking when she’s not which can be a bit awkward. Like the time she told me that nine out of ten injections are given in vain. I laughed thinking she was using the word vein, you know, wordplay style. So when she later told me that she tiptoes past her medicine cabinet to avoid waking up her sleeping pills I really didn't know how to react.
  
The other day she came out with a tale about a bloke who went up a pharmacist and produced a whisky bottle from his pocket. He poured some into a teaspoon, handed it the pharmacist and said “Does this taste sweet to you?”. He said it didn’t and the bloke said. “Really? The doctor said I had too much sugar in my urine”

Now if my ‘ole mate and fellow blogger Dickiebo is reading this he’ll just have yelled “I posted that on Facebook the other day” which is absolutely correct and that’s where Rosey and I both saw it. The reason I’ve told it here is because I jokingly said to Rosey “That’s plagiarism” and she said “So do you think the pharmacist gave him some medicine for that?” You see my problem. Serious or joking?


Her best one just recently wasI'm having amnesia and deja vu at the same time.  I think I've forgotten this before” 

Sunday

Rosey has a thorny problem

A few of us were in the local Chinese the other night. My friend Rosey was pulling a funny face and rubbing her arm. Nobody took much notice; she’s known for pulling funny faces. Then she started making a strange moaning sound. Jenny looked at her, pulled a quizzical expression then looked away again. Clearly not getting the reaction she wanted and craving sympathy, Rosey suddenly shouted “Ouch”.
        John was the first to give in. “What’s up Rosey, you in pain 'ole luv?”
      “Oh nothing” she said with a dramatic sweep of her head.”Don’t worry about me”.
     “Tell us Rosey” said Jenny with an exasperated look on her face.
    "Well" said Rosey “If you must know I tripped over down at my allotment. I was waving to Jim a few plots down and not looking where I was going. I felt a bit of a prick and.........”
      “Enough of the crude language Rosey, that’s not like you!” said a stunned John who then started laughing.
       “If you’ll just let me finish John” she continued “I felt a prick in my arm because I’d fallen into my prize winning Rockwall Sesquicentennial Pioneer Shrub Rose, and one of its thorns stabbed me right here... just like this John”  She suddenly poked him hard in the ribs with her finger instantly wiping the grin from his face.
      “Don’t be such a thorn in my side” he said. He turned to me. “‘A thorn in my side, get it, get it” I  slowly nodded. Back came the grin. “Anyway with a name like Rosey you should be used to thorns!”
      “What’s in a name? That which we call a Rosey by any other name would smell as sweet. That’s from Rosey-o and Juliet!” she chuckled.
      “The way of the sluggard is blocked with thorns, but the path of the upright is a highway” uttered Holy Jo. We call him that because he’s always got a quote from the Bible to hand. “Proverbs 15 verse 19, the New International Version” he continued. He then wandered back into his own thoughts.
      “Roses are red, violets are blue, most poems rhyme, but this one doesn't” piped up Simon who had been quietly observing up to that point.
      “He who wants the Rosey must respect the thorn. That’s a Persian proverb” said Rosey. “For I am a Rosey among thorns” she said pointing to us one at a time. She remembered her wounded arm started rubbing it again. “I need a glass of Chardonnay to ease the pain. Your round John”

Rosey steals the show...again!

      You may remember a couple of years ago I told you about My Friend Rosey taking part in her school’s nativity play. Although adults do not normally appear in the Eastbourne C of E Primary School production, the mini-thespians of Year 2 threatened strike action if their teaching assistant Miss Rosey Pinkerton did not join them on stage. And so it was she got the role of Principal Tree, mainly because of her height as she made the other palms look like ‘pups’(that she assures me is the correct term for baby palm trees) Well, despite her chaotic performance from which she still bears the  scars (literally) history repeated itself this year when her fan club insisted she take part again, this time as one of the Three Wise People; political correctness now prevents them being referred to as Wise Men!

      The big day arrived, last Monday actually. All was going pretty well. It was quite a strident production. The holy night was anything but silent with traditional carols interspersed with reverential rapping and enthusiastic clapping. But the highlight was Rosey’s arrival on the scene, mainly because she came on for Act Two far too soon and totally alone having left the other two tea-towel-clad wise folk in the wings along with Mary, Joseph and farm animals various. The Star in the East who had stayed on stage during the interval started making hissing noises hoping to attract Rosey's attention but to no avail. The headmaster in his role as prompter let out an audible sigh as the audience started laughing. Rosey just peered blankly outwards for a few silent moments then broke into a smile. She took a bow, and then still staring at her audience, started shuffling off stage to a round of applause just as a big bell was heard to chime and the other cast members trooped on. The second sheep had somewhat restricted vision thanks to his costume and head butted Rosey in the tummy causing her to double up and bang  her head on the manger.  Then, right beside the sound effects microphone she emitted an involuntary mild expletive followed by a rasping belch thanks to having recently ingested a couple of extremely rich mince pies backstage. The headmaster went pale.

      Anyway, after a bit of shuffling re-positioning and organising the play took off again with a straight faced Rosey performing her part with a degree of gravitas never before seen. The play was of course a triumph and enjoyed as much for the bits that went astray as for those which stayed on track. Rosey got a standing ovation during which the Third Angel from the Left presented her with a bunch of flowers on behalf of her appreciative class. Even the headmaster shook her hand when he came on to make his boring annual speech.

      I suspect she’ll appear again next year. After all, it wouldn't be nearly as much fun without her would it?

     

Rosey tries to give up booze

The other day my friend Rosey contacted several of us regarding a summit (her word) she wished to arrange at which she hoped we would all agree to join her in a ‘dry January’. I asked where the meeting was to take place and she told me it would be at the Bicycle Arms, our local pub. I found this choice of venue somewhat ironic considering we were to discuss having a break from consuming alcohol, but as she correctly pointed out, they do sell soft drinks and alcohol free beer too.

We duly met up yesterday evening, six of us in all. Rosey said she wanted us all to stay completely sober for the rest of the month in order to  a) lose weight,  b) save a bit of money and   c) give the liver a rest. I, and several others I suspect, agreed to join in her campaign whist crossing our fingers behind our backs! And we got off to a pretty good start; for our first round we ordered fruit juices various and cokes. After a couple of bland rounds the conversation went from dull to boring to stop. I for one couldn’t wait to get home where my bottle of very special old malt was wondering where I’d got to!

Anyway, Rosey volunteered to get the third round in, and she wandered up to bar with that faraway look on her face which she always adopts when she’s plotting something.  I gave her a minute or so, then walked to the bar and offered to help with bringing the drinks back to the table; and of course, see what she was up to.  My suspicions were well founded. Just as I joined her I saw Barry the Barman pop a large measure of vodka into her coke!

And so it was her well intentioned scheme came to a halt. We all agreed it was a non starter. We spent the rest of the evening brainstorming other possible resolutions which went from stupid and funny to hilarious. We ended up agreeing to   a) lose weight by walking to the pub  b) save money by not paying for a cab to and from the pub and  c) give liver a rest by not eating pâté for a month.

Thursday

Rosey the poet

My friend Rosey is a creature of habit. She has little habits, big habits, funny habits and irritating habits! The only habit she doesn’t have is a nun’s habit! For instance, she has a habit of discreetly burping after eating spicy food. And that is always followed by another habit; she always says ‘Pardon me for being rude; it was not me it was my food’. Recently she was meeting her mate Jodie for an Indian meal. Apparently after a particularly hot curry she released a squeak from a different area! And according to Jodie, an impish smile crept across Rosey’s face and she said ‘Pardon me for passing wind; it was not me it was my vind…..aloo’! 
      She does like to treat us to silly rhymes. For instance, ‘Rabbits mate and pigeons flutter, cows like grass and bread likes butter’. And ‘North south east and west, but for me the south is best’. She often rhymes unintentionally. For instance, she recently saw me after I’d been to the dentist and said ‘Hi Keith, how’s your teeth?’ I couldn't help but laugh!
     Last Friday several of us met for our weekly get together at the Bicycle Arms and I asked Rosey, tongue in cheek if she’d ever considered publishing any of her poems and she took the wind out my sails when she said she already had! Apparently she entered a competition a few years ago and came in the top ten and the winners had their efforts printed in a book. I had no idea. We all started muttering among ourselves about our own literary efforts and we suddenly realised that Rosey was quietly reciting her poem.
      Silence!
      'Summer sunshine rides the breeze
       as sunrays weave their way through trees
      A dappled carpet paints the ground
      With shades of gold and green and brown
       and …..’
     Realising all ears were on her, she suddenly stopped, got up and walked outside. Helen followed her. A couple of minutes later they retuned. Rosey was looking down at the floor. I have no idea what happened. The poem clearly meant something to her that she’s keeping to herself. The look on her face told us that it was time to change the subject.’
      ‘I need to do a survey for work and I’m a bit stuck as to how to go about it’ chirped Helen. ‘It’s a sort of report and I thought that I ought…’
       With that Rosey started giggling. ‘Hey, you’re a poet and you didn’t know it!’ she said. The Rosey we know and love was back!

Holy moley Rosey!

You may recall that my friend Rosey and I share the same birthday; a couple of days ago in fact. Well I was speaking to her a few minutes ago and when I asked her what she did on our big day, she told me she decided to create a bucket list. I asked her what she put on it and she said that only made the decision to do it, and that she hadn't actually done it because she can’t think what to put on it! “Apart from one thing” she said. As no further information was forthcoming I ventured to ask what the ‘thing’ was and she said “Buy a bucket”. So I asked her why she wanted a bucket and she said it was to put her list in. I pointed out that it was only called a bucket list because…then I stopped because it occurred to me that I didn't have a clue!
      So I went on to ask her why she needed buy a new bucket when she’s got a perfectly good one down at her allotment.
      “Two reason” she said. “Firstly there’s a hole in my bucket”.
      “Dear Liza dear Liza” I sang out, and I got one her quizzical looks in response.
      “Yes” she said “I've got a hole in my shed roof too and put my bucket on the floor to catch the drips and when I went back the next day the bucket was empty and the floor was wet. That’s how I know I've got a hole in my bucket”.
      “Dear Liza dear……” I started. She stopped me in my tracks. “You've got a whole lot of holes going on” I said.
     She seemed to ignore my remark and went on to tell me that she wanted a bucket with pink roses on it. I asked why and she said “Duh”. Clearly I was missing something.  “Pink roses. Rosey Pinkerton. Get it?”
      “Got it”
      “Good”
     “About the list” I said.” Have you got any ideas?”
      She said she would quite like to learn golf.
    “And get a hole in one!” I quipped making a reference to our earlier discussion. She said she would like to dress as a man for a day and go to a gent’s loo!
     “And maybe one day go into space” she said.
     “Just be careful you don’t fly into a black hole!” I said. My remark got the silent treatment so I put on my serious face and suggested that a few of us should  meet up at The Bicycle Arms for a  brainstorming session and that’s what we’ll probably do next weekend.
      Suddenly she remembered a joke about a hole. As I've told you before, when she tells a joke she often doesn't understand it herself which makes it all the funnier for the assembled audience. This one however she seems to have got as she giggled all the way through it. She said “A man walked past a hole in a wall. He heard a voice going ‘Eight eight eight….’ He looked through the hole to see where the voice was coming from and got a poke in the eye. ‘Nine nine nine…’said the voice.

Say a prayer for Rosey!

      I saw my friend Rosey last Sunday. She told me she thought she’d picked up a disease of the feet!      “Look” she said as she slipped off her Crocs. “I've got lots of big brown spots”.
      I pointed out that the big brown spots formed perfect patterns and they bore a remarkable similarity to the circular cutouts on her Crocs. Then it dawned on her. “Sun tan?” she said.
     “Yep” said I.
      The reason I met her was to take her to church. I’m not a great churchgoer myself, but Rosey hasn't been for years, apart from when she has been with the children from her school for their carol services and things. I can’t remember if I told you, but the school where she works as a classroom assistant is a church run school. Normally to get a job there you need to be a regular at St Peters or another local church. Rosey is not! But Rosey’s parents are. They are pillars of the community and go to the church every Sunday. They also raise funds and are greatly valued by the Reverend ‘lets-pray’ Lester. Need I say more?
      Well, this week she has to take a group of kids to communion as part of their RE studies. Normally this is the duty of head teacher Miss Grossman but she is indisposed. Rosey was worried that she wouldn't remember what to do, so I said I’d take her for a dummy run so to speak. Incidentally she got into a bit of trouble with Miss G after she told the kids during assembly she was taking them 'God bothering'!
      Anyway, apart from sitting when others stood, and standing when other sat she did pretty well. At one point she nudged me in the ribs and pointed out on the service sheet that gluten free communion bread was available which for some reason tickled her. She then put her hand to her mouth and asked me in a hushed whisper what ‘Sanctified’ wine was; was it like Sancerre? I think she was joking but with Rosey you can never be sure. My biggest fear was that when we went forward to receive communion she would ask if they had any chardonnay! Happily she didn't.
      Well, we got through it and as I write this she is at St Peters with her charges. I’ll call her later and see how it went.