What a performance Rosey!

I was sitting in the sunshine with Rosey on her balcony late yesterday afternoon. In front of us the beach was busy with bodies in various states of undress taking advantage of a sudden early taste of summer. We were going to the theatre in the evening to support a thespian friend of ours who was acting out a minor role in a travelling play which was currently entertaining the good folk of Eastbourne. Rosey was well into her second glass of ice cold chardonnay whilst I was slowly making my way through a gin and tonic which was actually a gin and soda as Rosey had got her little tins of mixers confused. I looked over my shoulder at the clock in her lounge to see how soon we would be able to go to the theatre bar where I could treat myself to proper G and T. I was horrified to see that it read seven twenty five – the performance was due to kick off at seven thirty!

However my panic was short-lived. In the early hours of tomorrow morning our clocks spring forward one hour to British Summer Time, and as Rosey usually forgets to adjust hers, she decided to do it a day early to make sure she doesn’t get herself into more of her biannual situations of embarrassment.

As I said we were off to watch a play in which our friend Gary – sorry, Gascoigne was taking part. Gascoigne is of course his professional name; he thought Gary didn’t sound very actor-ish even though, as we’d pointed out, it did nothing to hold back the careers of Mssrs. Cooper and Oldman! Since a child Gary had  wanted to act. In his first role, age seven, in the school nativity play, his performance brought the house down, literally, when he leaned on the fragile stable wall and it toppled forwards onto the front row of the audience. Fortunately no one was injured but those who attended that fateful day will never forget the sight of the headmaster's head sticking up through one of the now horizontal windows!

Gary always said that the best way to advance his career would be to appear as often as possible on television and in the papers, and to that end he made a point of listening out for items of news that might attract the attention of the local media, and ensure that he was lurking in the background when cameras clicked and videos rolled. And to this day nothing has changed. The difference is that he now gets paid for it as an extra in a soap opera. Only last Monday and Thursday I spotted him leaning on the bar of The Rovers Return in the UK’S favourite ‘continuing drama’ Coronation Street.

Anyway, last night at the Devonshire Park Theatre he had a speaking part rather than a miming one (that’s apparently what they do in the background scenes on soaps) and as the curtains swept back, there he was under a spotlight in the centre of an otherwise empty stage poised to deliver a scene-setting soliloquy. Rosey in her excitement decided to give him a little encouragement by calling out “Cock a leg Gary” much to the mirth of those around us. Gascoigne however did not appear amused.  Rosey shrugged and gave me a questioning look as if to say ‘what have I done wrong?’ I whispered to her that she should have kept quiet, and in any case the phrase started with ‘break’ not ‘cock’ which sent her off into a fit of stifled giggles.

I have to say the play was a little boring. I couldn’t stop yawning and Rosey actually nodded off at one point, but at the end we joined the audience in warm applause and Rosey gave Gascoigne a tottering rather than standing ovation. Well done Gary!

Rosey's standing ovation

We had all arranged to meet at Starbucks for an infusion of caffeine after a long night at the Bicycle Arms. It was a gorgeous morning so we decided to sit outside in the sunshine and catch a few rays. I was there with Jonno, Claire, Daniel, Charlie (as in Charlotte with her trademark boy’s short back and sides, and rapidly descending baggy jeans), and of course Rosey.  Rosey offered to go inside and order our drinks, an offer none of was going to refuse despite a niggling feeling that things could just go wrong at some stage in the operation. Most of us chose sensible drinks, mainly Americano’s with or without milk. Rosey stared into the middle distance and proclaimed that she was going to have a (I think this is right) a Tazo Green Tea Crème Frappuccino, and when quizzed on its makeup she declared that it was a refreshing blend of sweetened macha green tea with milk and ice, topped with sweetened whipped cream. I was somewhat impressed with her knowledge of unusual sounding beverages with odd sounding names, until that is Jonno pointed to a card on the next table plugging the above mentioned liquid concoction, and easily read by Rosey even without her spectacles. Anyway, she refused help and made her way inside to order our drinks.

We were so busy chatting that we didn’t notice that Rosey was tottering her way back across the café with a somewhat overloaded tray of cups and glasses. We spotted her just as she was trying to work out how to open the door, and before we could go to her assistance she had already turned around and was opening it by pushing against it with her back. Suddenly a young man was heading toward the door from the street, and rather unwisely pulled it open sending Rosey staggering backwards out onto the terrace and straight into his arms! All we could do was to watch on as steaming coffee shot up into the air and a large dollop of whipped cream landed fairly and squarely on Rosey’s nose.

There was little bit of discussion going on only interrupted by occasional giggles from both of them. Rosey called out that she was going back inside with her new acquaintance to repair the damage done to our long awaited drinks. A few minutes later she was on her way back with a big grin on her face and a refilled tray. We all looked on in part amazement part horror at the green concoction Rosey was about to swallow. She was more interested in telling us about Claude and was obviously quite struck by her new found friend; in fact they’d even swapped phone numbers. She told us how charming he was, and how just for once her parents might approve of him as he’d told her he was a barrister. As she was gushing about him I glanced inside the café to see him tying on an apron and making his way behind the counter. I thought I really ought to tell her that far from being a wig wearing justice of the peace, he was actually a Starbucks Barista. She actually took it very well, and said she still found him very attractive even if he does smell permanently of soggy coffee grounds.

I commented on his rather unusual name; you don’t get too many Claudes these days. That reminded Daniel of an old joke and he asked us what you call the loser in a hissing, scratching cat fight. The answer he said was – Claude! Don’t worry if you don’t get it straight away, I thought about it all day before it dawned on me and I doubt it will ever sink in to Rosey’s brain! Whether Charlie got it or not I don’t know, but she came back with another cat joke; what does a cat do when it stops? Answer, paws. Mmm! Rosey liked that one and suddenly clapped her hands together and said that the answers to those two questions reminded her of a cat joke of her own.

To say that she got in a muddle telling it would be an understatement. I must say, it is quite a tongue twister, but between us we managed to sort it out for her. It goes like this. What is the difference between a full stop and a cat? A full stop is a pause after a clause, and a cat has claws on its paws. We simultaneously broke into a round of applause and stood up to leave. Rosey assumed she was receiving a standing ovation and bowed her head banging it on the table! After the laughter and assorted groans had died down, Rosey tipped her Tazo Green Tea Crème Frappuccino down her throat in one enormous gulp, looked at us with horror-film green lips and bulging eyes, then pulled an agonised face. ‘That was horrid’ she squeaked then let out a thunderous belch! ‘That’s better’ she said, ‘Gone with the wind’. That was the funniest thing she said all day because she was making an amusing reference to the fact we were planning to visit the Vintage Picture Palace later that day to see the Vivien Leigh film of the same name.

‘What colour is a burp?’ called out Claire. ‘Burple’  chuckled Rosey!

Rosey's allotment redsigned

We knew she was up to something. All of us were barred from visiting Rosey’s allotment. The general consensus was that she’d got bored with it and didn’t want us to see the mess it had become. After all, this time last year, we were constantly being invited to partake of a gin and tonic and a help ourselves to as many vegetables as we  could carry.

I was at a loose end yesterday, and I knew that Rosey was away visiting her friend in Piddletrenthide. No doubt she would be sitting in the garden of the Chamber Inn on the bank of the River Piddle and having a giggle catching up with all the latest news and gossip. So, I ventured down to the allotment site to take a look at her one-time pride and joy.

I was gobsmacked. Imagine the scene. The Meads Allotments comprises some twenty plots. Most are neat and tidy with rows of salad leaves, vegetables and fruit. Early runner beans sway in the breeze, and tomatoes blush in the June summer sun. Earnest gardeners hoe and dig and harvest their bounty. One or two plots look in need of a little attention, and a couple are overgrown. I expected Rosey’s to fall into the latter category, but I was wrong. I felt as if my eyes were deceiving me because there in the middle of all those bountiful small holdings was a garden! Not a vegetable garden – a proper garden! Gone were the rows of potatoes and peas that graced the plot last time I visited. In their place I found clumps of colourful flowers and plump little shrubs. Between them was a shingle path, chunky pottery tubs  and a wooden picnic bench. The shed sported a fresh coat of pink paint, a wind chime tinkled as a robin pecked at the food on a rustic bird table. There I stood there in an oasis! A few square feet of peace and tranquillity.

So Rosey, your secret is out! Why you kept it so quiet I know not. I can only assume you were waiting for the right time to invite us all over for a garden warming! I have to congratulate you on creating something completely different, but then you were 

never one to court convention!

Shipwreck!

I don’t know if you remember but back in January I told you about Rosey and her unfortunate incident in her rowing boat – if not, you can find it here. Ever since that fateful day we have referred to it as Rosey’s shipwreck! So when an exhibition came to our local art gallery with the one word title Shipwreck, we felt we had to drag Rosey along to show her what a lucky escape she had in comparison to the tragic events in marine history past.

So off we went, Rosey chose to wear an outfit of blue and white as she felt it fitted the occasion. We suggested she should have worn a lifejacket as it would have been more in keeping. I have to admit that the pictures were not particularly interesting. Rosey thought that the star exhibit, ‘The Shipwreck' by Turner was pretty dull and certainly not as interesting as his most famous work, ‘The Hay Wain’. I pointed out that John Constable painted the Hay Wain to which Rosey retorted that he should have been promoted to at least a Sergeant by now!

Anyway, we wandered though into the next room where things certainly looked up, for me at least! Gone were the broken boats and crashing waves. Now our eyes feasted upon painting after painting of Rubenesque ladies from the Baroque period. Rosey made a tut-tutting noise and said that it was unfair that all the nude paintings depicted women. I pointed out to her a sign on the wall that said ‘Men’ and off she strutted in the direction of the arrow. One minute later she found herself standing before a row of urinals!

On her way back she spotted a notice on the wall advertising life painting classes, and you’ll not be surprised to learn that she intends enrolling. I for one can’t wait to see the results!   

Rosey and the secret

My friend Rosey was out shopping the other day. Her friend Helen spotted her and weaved her way between the wandering shoppers. ‘Hey, Rosey Pee’ yelled Helen. ‘Moo’ said Rosey. ‘Pardon?’ said Helen with a quizzical expression on her face. ‘Hay’ said Rosey. ‘Hey’ said Helen again, looking a little confused. ‘No thanks’ said Rosey ‘Only moo-cows eat hay!’ She then got a fit of the giggles! ‘Just a joke Helen’ she spluttered, ‘Don’t you get it? Hay, moo, cow!’ Helen shook her head with a big grin on her face. By Rosey standards, that wasn’t a bad joke she thought.


‘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 his mate Allan was talking to his friend 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!’ Rosey 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 – secret - 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 a secret. She said 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. ‘Quick’ 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, because a look of utter amazement spread across her face. 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 Julie. ‘I’m not’ said Rosey, ‘what are you talking about?’ ‘Don’t worry’ said Nicki, your secret’s safe with us.


Rosey’s cell phone suddenly started to warble Nellie the Elephant, her latest ring tone. It was Helen on the other end. ‘Rosey Pee, you dark horse! You let me tell you all about James and Helen and all the time you had a secret of your own!’



Suddenly all the strange behaviour made sense. They all got back to enjoying a drink together. Julie suggested they all play a game. ‘I know’ said Rosey, let’s play Chinese Whispers!’

Rosey's friend jack

Rosey and I went round to Jack’s the other night. I can’t remember if I’ve told you about Jack, but he’s a friend of Rosey from her school days. She lost touch with him when he went to university. He was always something of a musician, and a fairly serious one. Whilst we were all trying to emulate Meatloaf he’d be studying the finer points of Mozart. He came out of uni with a creditable first in what Rosey calls ‘musicing’. As you know Rosey is a teaching assistant at the school she attended as a kid, and when they last did an end of term concert Jack, a fellow ex-pupil, turned up to help bring together the blowing, banging, strumming and squeaking of the school orchestra.

As I said we popped round to Jack’s pad the other day; Rosey wanted me to be there to lend moral support as she felt a little inferior in the company of the maestro. His apartment couldn’t be more different from Roseys. Everything is neat and tidy. On his wall he proudly displays his degree certificate alongside a photo of himself in mortar board and gown. The centrepiece of the room is a magnificent glossy black Steinway baby grand piano. After a glass or two of very fine wine and some very expensive nibbles (we were not exactly sure what they were but we made all the ooh and ahh sounds to show our appreciation) we felt we ought to ask him to play us something suitable for the occasion. Actually Rosey asked him to ‘bash out a tune on the ‘ole Joanna’, her turn of phrase causing Jack to wince just a little. Anyway, he put up no argument, and a few seconds later we were being entertained by his rousing rendition of someone-or-others’ piano concerto. Apparently it was in A minor, but Rosey whispered to me that it sounded B flat.

Once over, we applauded and as Jack got up from the stool Rosey shot across the room and plonked herself down at the piano. Jack muttered something about being gentle with his beloved instrument, but Rosey was already poised to open part two of the evening’s entertainment. You’ll remember no doubt that Rosey only plays one tune, Chopsticks. I say ’play’, but that is something of an exaggeration. She is as good atplaying Chopsicks as she is at eating with them. Only the other night she managed to poke one right up her nose whilst doing battle with a plate of chop suey in the Poo Ping Chinese eatery.

I must say that Jack was very generous with vino, and before we knew it we’d passed the witching hour and beginning to wonder how we were going to get home. Driving was clearly not advisable given the state of minor inebriation we found ourselves in, and the last bus was tucked up safe and sound in its garage for the night. Jack to the rescue. He said one of us could have the spare room for the night and the other could get their head down on the sofa. A coin was duly tossed to establish who would get the bed. I said to Rosey ‘heads I win tails you lose’ which she accepted and I duly got the spare room. As I said goodnight to her I could see that something about the way the decision was made was worrying her.

It was about 4.30 in the morning when we heard Rosey scream. Jack and I stumbled down the stairs and into the lounge where we saw Rosey in half light sitting up on the sofa a giggling. Apparently she was having a dream, at least she thought she was, and suddenly she saw this monster in a dark corner of the room with its enormous mouth open, baring an alarming set of gappy teeth. A second or two later she realised it was no more than Jack’s piano.

When morning properly arrived Jack asked us if we’d like to join him for a cup of  Nicaraguan Maragogype elephant bean coffee with scrambled free range eggs and McGilvray smoked salmon, followed by one of his specially imported hand crafted pain au chocolat from his ‘little man’ in the Bohemian quarter of Paris. We declined his invitation and headed off to Greg’s Greasy Spoon for a full English breakfast washed down with a mug of his famous stewed tea! And guess what was playing on the radio in the background – yep, Piano Man!

Rosey's big secret

My friend Rosey was out shopping the other day. Her friend Helen spotted her and weaved her way between the wandering shoppers. ‘Hey, Rosey Pee’ yelled Helen. ‘Moo’ said Rosey. ‘Pardon?’ said Helen with a quizzical expression on her face. ‘Hay’ said Rosey. ‘Hey’ said Helen again, looking a little confused. ‘No thanks’ said Rosey ‘Only moo-cows eat hay!’ She then got a fit of the giggles! ‘Just a joke Helen’ she spluttered, ‘Don’t you get it? Hay, moo, cow!’ Helen shook her head with a big grin on her face. By Rosey standards, that wasn’t a bad joke she thought.


‘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 his mate Allan was talking to his friend 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!’ Rosey 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 – secret - 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 a secret. She said 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. ‘Quick’ 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, because a look of utter amazement spread across her face. 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 Julie. ‘I’m not’ said Rosey, ‘what are you talking about?’ ‘Don’t worry’ said Nicki, your secret’s safe with us.

Rosey’s cell phone suddenly started to warble Nellie the Elephant, her latest ring tone. It was Helen on the other end. ‘Rosey Pee, you dark horse! You let me tell you all about James and Helen and all the time you had a secret of your own!’


Suddenly all the strange behaviour made sense. They all got back to enjoying a drink together. Julie suggested they all play a game. ‘I know’ said Rosey, let’s play Chinese Whispers!’