four 014

Well, Dick finally arrived. Late Monday afternoon. Took a wrong turn somewhere around Gueret and headed off towards Switzerland. Had a very pleasant Monday soiree reminiscing and quoffing vin rose in the evening sun, followed by a somewhat drunken attempt to knock up a spag bol for supper. Or was it a pork chop or deux? Can't remember.

Memory blanks have been much in evidence throughout this week. No surprise though. After all, we're both on the slow side of soixante. As a result of which we've invented the 'Memory Olympics'. So far, I think I'm in the gold medal position (scores are currently 5-4, I think), having leapt into the lead by remembering the name 'Leslie Phillips'. Or was it wotsisname... thingy out of Fools and Horses? Anyway, no matter.

The game, fierce competition rather, started in Aubusson on Tuesday morning as we sat outside a caff. Neither of us could remember the name of that chap in 'The Magnificent Seven'. Thingy. He of the slight moustache and stocky build who also starred in some film about giving New York yobbos a taste of their own medicine. Decided we weren't going to budge until one of us remembered. Thought we'd be stuck there for hours. Days even. Maybe even weeks. Then, out of le bleu, it suddenly came to moi. Charles Bronson.

Since then, various conversations have come to grinding halts as our geriatric minds have gone totally blank when trying to recall a multitude of names and facts. Scores have been levelled and the lead's changed hands with alarming frequency as our collective grey matter struggled to recall names such as Ivor Cutler, er..., and others that have now slipped my mind. Anyway, as I said, I'm currently winning 5-4..., I think.

Another exercise which is currently taxing our tiny brains is trying to work out the worst record of all time. Dick reckons it's 'My Way', not only because of its over-exposure in thingy bars..., y'know..., wotstheirnames..., er, yodel..., no, karaoke - that's the fella - bars, but also because his Auntie Pam (name changed to protect the innocent) insisted on having it played at her funeral. So it's a good shout. Others he suggested included 'The Birdie Song', 'Two Little Boys' and 'Grandad' by..., thingy..., er..., nah, forgotten - good job Dick's down the garden reading or it'd be 5-5. Clive somebody..., nah it's gone. My front runners include Rolf Harris's 'Stairway to Heaven', Jasper Carrot's infernal 'Funky Moped', Cream's 'Wrapping Paper' (am tempted to provide a You Tube link but it could be dangerous for those of a nervous disposition) and almost anything by Cliff Richard or Barry Manilow. Mind you, I've just remembered the magnificent offerings of Mrs Miller - one of which I proudly present here...

Lastly, whilst on the subject of Dick and I becoming further and further removed from the fine young specimens of homo sapiens that we once were, it's perhaps worth noting our shared ability of nodding off at the oddest moments. For example, we both nodded off the other soiree within the first quarter of an hour of watching the dvd 'Saving Private Ryan'. Then last night I nodded off in the first minute of the England Czecho footy highlights. And I've just spotted that Dick's currently showing no signs of movement while reading a book beneath the apple tree. Hopefully he's nodded off again. Otherwise I'd better phone for an ambulance. Better go check.

P.S. - Not only is Dick 'Bleedin Planet Brain' Davis still alive and kicking but he's just had the temerity to accuse me of spelling 'quoffing' incorrectly. This resulted in a colourful interchange of derisory remarks followed by a quick Googling for a dictionary. Upon entering my version of the word in question, the following jibberish appeared on the screen: No such word. Did you mean 'quaffing'?

5-5.

Buggerre.

P.P.S. - Whilst recalling a delicious story of how he rebuilt his old Francis-Barnett motorcycle in our old college classroom (I remember this well), 'Planet Brain' opined that the engine was a mere 125ccs. I naturally reminded the forgetful old duffer that the Fanny-B Plover engine, as everyone in the galaxy knows, was of 150cc cylinder displacement. Or, to be more accurate, 149ccs. This bone of contention has now become the deciding factor in which of us glories with gold or sulks with silver at the 2008 Memory Olympics. It's a nail-biting finish. I shall now consult the internet for further enlightenment...

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