More humour from Mother’s NT connections..

A man walks out to the street and catches a taxi just going by.
He gets into the taxi, and the cabbie says, “Perfect timing. You’re just like Frank.”
Passenger: “Who?”

Cabbie: “Frank Feldman. He’s a guy who did everything right all the time.
Like my coming along when you needed a cab,
things happened like that to Frank Feldman every single time.”

Passenger: “There are always a few clouds over everybody.”

Cabbie: “Not Frank Feldman. He was a terrific athlete. He could have won the Grand-Slam at tennis.
He could golf with the pros.
He sang like an opera baritone and danced like a Broadway star and you should have heard him play the piano.
He was an amazing guy.”

Passenger: “Sounds like he was really something special.”

Cabbie: “There’s more. He had a memory like a computer. He remembered everybody’s birthday.
He knew all about wine, which foods to order and which fork to eat them with.
He could fix anything. Not like me. I change a fuse, and the whole street blacks out.
But Frank Feldman could do everything right.” Passenger: “Wow, what a guy!”

Cabbie: “He always knew the quickest way to go in traffic and avoid traffic jams.
Not like me, I always seem to get stuck in them. But Frank,
he never made a mistake, and he really knew how to treat a woman and make her feel good.
He would never answer her back even if she was in the wrong; and his clothing was always immaculate,
shoes highly polished too. He was the perfect man! He never made a mistake.
No one could ever measure up to Frank Feldman.”

Passenger: “How did you meet him?”

Cabbie: “I never actually met Frank.
He died and I married his wife.”
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
A young man and his date were parked on a back road some distance from town.
They were about to have sex when the girl stopped. “I really should have mentioned this earlier,
but I’m actually a hooker and I charge $20 for sex.” The man reluctantly paid her, and they did their thing.
After a cigarette, the man just sat in the driver’s seat looking out the window.
“Why aren’t we going anywhere?” asked the girl. “Well,
I should have mentioned this before, but I’m actually a taxi driver, and the fare back to town is $25…”
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

For the kids. 1. What keeps a dock floating above water?

Pier pressure.

2. Why didn’t the sailors play cards?

Because the captain was standing on the deck.

3. Why are fast yachts like furniture stores?

Both always seem to have a sail on.

4. Which sailors blow their noses most often?

The Anchor Chiefs.

5. If something ever happened onboard where the water supply had to be shut off I’ll give
you two reasons why you shouldn’t drink the water that’s left in the toilet.

#1 and #2.

6. Do you have time for a joke about the world’s fastest cruise ship?

Don’t worry, it’s a quick one liner.

7. I got my wife tickets to go on a cruise.

It’s no Titanic, but I’m optimistic.

8. Breaking news: Passengers trapped on a cruise ship on the ocean for 4 days.

On the bright side, it’s kind of what they paid for

9. What does one ocean say to the other when they meet?

Nothing, they just waved.

10. A boat carrying red paint crashes into a boat carrying blue paint.
Unfortunately, the passengers and crew were marooned.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
A priest, a rabbi and a lawyer are on a cruise ship that’s sinking
The rabbi yells, “save the kids!”
Followed by the lawyer who responds,
“nah, fuck the kids”
the priest looks at them both and quietly says,

“do you think we have time?”

Thanks, Mother for this one..

As a band of squirrels had become quite a problem,
the Presbyterian church called a meeting to decide what to do about their squirrel infestation.

After much prayer and consideration, they concluded that the squirrels were predestined to be there,
and they shouldn’t interfere with God’s divine will.
At the Baptist church the squirrels had taken an interest in the baptistery.
The deacons met and decided to put a water-slide on the baptistery

and let the squirrels drown themselves. The squirrels liked the slide and unfortunately,
knew instinctively how to swim, so twice as many squirrels showed up the following week.
The Lutheran church decided that they were not in a position to harm any of God’s creatures.
So, they humanely trapped their squirrels and

set them free near the Baptist church.
Two weeks later the squirrels were back when the Baptists took down the water-slide.
The Episcopalians tried a much more unique path by setting out pans of whiskey around their church
in an effort to kill the squirrels with alcohol.
They sadly learned how much damage a band of drunk squirrels can do.
But the Catholic church came up with a very creative strategy!
They baptized all the squirrels and made them members of the church.
Now they only see them at Christmas and Easter.
Not much was heard from the Jewish synagogue.
They caught the first squirrel and circumcised him.

They haven’t seen a squirrel since.

2000 Olympic’s Story

My thanks to the Grand Master for this response to my invitation last week for anyone to send me their memories of the Sydney 2000 Olympics.
I do recall how easy it was to get a tad inebriated at the Games. This was a year before 9/11 and a litre bottle of water could very easily contain a litre of ready-made-up Gin & Tonic, and frequently did.. 🙂

“Chimney,

As requested a tale from the Sydney 2000 Olympics.

Frankly and I were fortunate enough to score tickets to a few Olympic events even though we were domiciled in the USA when allocations occurred, but as the old saying goes, “beggars can’t be choosers”. We were well and truly hooked after our first outing to Sydney Olympic Park to view a baseball match where Cuba beat the USA. Our next event was the athletics the following morning, or, so we thought, arriving for a 9:00 am start we entered the stadium only to find someone else in our seats! A quick check of our stubs revealed that we had tickets to the afternoon / evening session, NOT the morning! This was in turn sensational news as Cathy Freeman was running the 400m semi final that evening, an event we’d pined for.

Well that was only the start, as Frankly and I had to retrieve the ticket stub that was handed in at the gate in order to be able to get into the afternoon session, and the ticket collector who had mistakenly let us in wouldn’t hear of it that she could have possibly made a mistake so we had to go through six or seven other pouches before she finally relented and allowed us to check her bag, and, needless to say we were quickly united with our missing ticket stubs.

As the clock had now past 9:00am the events of the day were well underway and scalpers were becoming desperate to offload their tickets, in fact so desperate that at one stage I was holding 3 pairs of tickets from 3 different scalpers! Negotiations complete Frankly and I had tickets to the athletics for the morning session purchased at face value.

We had lucked out with a section of the stadium to ourselves, or so it seemed until the women’s marathon runners entered the stadium at which time about 10 bus loads of Japanese tourists descended upon us with the Japanese runner Naoko Takahashi Naoko_Takahashi eventually winning. Entering the stadium first the Japanese were all on their feet chanting ‘Nipon Nipon Ya Ya Ya’ as she past and not realising their seats had lifted, all fell to the ground amid barrels of laughter only to repeat the same on the following lap!

Having witnessed their countryman’s win the crowd disappeared as quickly as they’d arrived, we assumed on to the blue mountains for a day of sightseeing, in fact leaving before the runner from Laos even entered the stadium, she unfortunately didn’t know that she was required to complete two laps and fell to the ground exhausted after only one lap and had to be coached by officials to complete the second lap as the hurdles for the following event were being set up!

As I said we’d lucked out with a large area to ourselves, and this area was directly in front of a bar which Frankly and I put to excellent use for the entire morning session. As we’d originally thought we’d be in the morning session we’d arranged to meet Bristle and some other friends for a drink between sessions (which seemed like a good idea at the time)!

Fast forward toward the end of the afternoon / evening session Frankly and I were both well and truly inebriated and with Cathy’s run fast approaching I decided to take a quick break for a cigarette and whilst doing so the heavens opened up and the crowd from outside quickly congregated undercover blocking Frankly’s view of Cathy’s run, and, this of course was my fault!

Cathy Freeman won the semi final and Frankly stormed off down the stairs with me chasing apologetically after her when all of a sudden the stairs came to a standstill, eventually I reached the cause of the holdup, it was Frankly lying in the arms of a stranger nursing what turned out to be a broken and dislocated ankle! As fortune would have it the person supporting her ankle was a doctor who kindly stayed with us until the ambulance arrived.

This being a highly organised event all patrons requiring hospitalisation were taken to Westmead Hospital. Arriving at the hospital we were given an earful by staff for being so drunk that they refused to attend to Frankly’s injury until she’d sobered up.

Long story short I eventually called a cab arriving back in Paddington by 2am and Frankly’s ankle was relocated and splinted after which she was eventually admitted which is the start of a whole new chapter in our year 2000 Olympics story..!“

An excellent tale. Slightly reminds me of my ex-Brother-in-law, who broke his ankle about 10 minutes into the year 2000, on Millennium Night on Las Ramblas, in Barcelona, in the company of my 6 months pregnant sister. He twisted it on a discarded beer bottle as the crowd was proceeding down the famed walkway in their hundreds of thousands. The description of the A&E room at Barcelona at 1.30am that night sounds like Bedlam itself. Fortunately for Frankly and Fetchit their Westmead experience wasn’t quite as bad, but what a great story that was leading up to their visit there by ambulance!
Anyone else got any Sydney 2000 memories to share?

Smoke Signals

It must be confessed that this is being written after a few snifters at the 19th hole. I’m not a golfing man.. being left-handed and having piss-weak hand-eye ball coordination has always been my excuse for not being a golfer.. but for some reason golf courses and golf club houses have always been very much part of my life. My first job was on a golf course, in my home village of Ticehurst, in East Sussex, UK, back in the summer of ’74, aged 15, while the Watergate saga was reaching its apogé in the US. I was a groundsman on the just-newly-converted-from-a-farm Dale Hill golf course, which now, some 46 years later is considered to be one of the best golf courses in England, and I learned to drive, under the tuition of former leading farm hand George, who had a wonderful rural Sussex accent, as I whizzed round the fairways of the course, collecting grass cutting piles that I’d created with the flymo in an old unregistered Austin van. George McRae’s ‘Rock your Baby’, Charles Aznavour’s ‘She’ and the Three Degrees’ ‘When will I see you again?’ were the three Number One records during that summer job, which eventually paid for my first stereo record player, and a few new albums to play on it when I returned to boarding school in September. my Mum was a founder member, and i guess it was a touch of nepotism that got me the job, but it’s an experience I’ve never forgotten, and perhaps those bad habits that led to my Hash name a decade or more later got developed while having a surreptitious ciggy at strategeous spots around the course, and in the barn, where I’d eat my packed lunches. It was therefore not too big a surprise to me to find myself moving to a house next to a golf course in Australia some 27 or 28 years ago, and, give or take a one street move away, I’ve been living near by it ever since, and I’m fiercely protective of it. I’m referring to Royal Marriqueville Golf Club, and the decades of pleasure that I’ve had walking dogs over it, cycling through it, setting Hash runs through it, watching stars through telescopes from it, meeting friends at the 19th hole at it, studying bats on it, and perhaps a few other activities that shouldnt be mentioned in a family publication such as this, lol! And it’s under threat. The (unwanted) amalgamated Inner West Council are voting on its future on Wednesday : are they going to cut it in half and reduce the club to 9 holes, which will undoubtedly be its death knoll, or is it going to be saved as the fantastic welcoming local facility that it is? We wait to see. last time i was down there was to watch Stringbean’s funeral on the big screen there, and I could honestly hear and feel his presence today. So, 4 schooners later, I’m back up the hill and home after showing my solidarity to the club (of which I’ve been a social member for decades), and attempting to put this newsletter together: sorry for the golfing tangent. It turns out that Stringbean is not the only recently deceased Larrikin to feature in Smoke Signals this week. See the next entry, sent via Mother, for details of how Rover is back in the news (in a good, if sad, way). Okay: enough waffle. There are contributions to come from Fetchit, Phantom, Mother, Berocca and Laundromat, and here are links to Royal Marriqueville and Dale Hill Golf Clubs, respectively, just for the record.. On On, Chimney
www.marrickvillegolf.com.au/
www.dalehill.co.uk/

Run No 2200 Report

Thanks to IXL for producing this run & on-on report.
*(NB: Ed: was it widely publicized that this was an auspicious run number, such as the 2,200th..? Just askin’)*

Run No 2200

Hare IXL

Date 14 Sep 2020

The night   was mild and a great turn out of hashers (30+) set out dead on time. The  run   headed mainly downhill through streets of terraces in Waverton before  crossing   under the mainline railway and past the sadly disused bowling club (the  bowling   club with the best view in Sydney and host to the Larrikins Melbourne Cup  celebrations   some years ago).      The views   of the west flank of Sydney kept on coming as the runners traversed the old   oil tanks site, (now maritime park) and could clearly see the monstrous  profile   of Jamie Packer’s *schlong* as Liz   Farrelly calls it. But I must say I am warming to its architecture. It  certainly   makes a statement and is in keeping with the cavalier nature of Sydney’s   development excesses.       The trail   continued past the Coal Loader to Balls   Head where extraordinary panoramas could be taken in stretching from the  southern end   of the CBD to the full width of the Sydney Harbour Bridge. If nothing else  the   run showcased Sydney’s most famous profiles albeit at night. The run  returned   in a loop via the Coal Loader, then down a fiendishly long set of steps  to Harbour level, and   finally back up an even greater climb past the Wondakiah redevelopment of  the   gas company site in the 1980s.      Back at base four front   running bastards including Tripod, Impi and Rocky returned after only   about 40 minutes and checking their Fitbits discovered the run qualified  for   the shortest in the year.   Tripod was able to pour further contempt on the underwhelming challenge  of Run No 2020 announcing that he had already walked all the way to   Brennan Park from his home in Lane Cove. The Hare was impressed with his   amazing return to fitness and superior running ability. With the benefit  of hindsight it was a great   shame this run was held in darkness. See daytime pix. Bring on time saving  in October.      The hash   repaired to Capos Pizza Restaurant next to Waverton Station . Capos had  taken the hash   booking seriously by setting up extra tables. The thin crusted pizzas were  to   die for and the writer intends to return before too long.

IXL

One more from Mother: it’s a good un! :-)

One day a man decided to retire… He booked himself on a Caribbean cruise and proceeded to have the time of his life, that is, until the ship sank. He soon found himself on an island with no other people, no supplies, nothing, only bananas and coconuts. After about four months, he is lying on the beach one day when the most gorgeous woman he has ever seen rows up to the shore. In disbelief, he asks, “Where did you come from? How did you get here?” She replies, “I rowed over from the other side of the island where I landed when my cruise ship sank.” “Amazing,” he notes. “You were really lucky to have a row boat wash up with you.” “Oh, this thing?” explains the woman. ” I made the boat out of some raw material I found on the island. The oars were whittled from gum tree branches. I wove the bottom from palm tree branches, and the sides and stern came from an Eucalyptus tree.” “But, where did you get the tools?” “Oh, that was no problem,” replied the woman. ” On the south side of the island, a very unusual stratum of alluvial rock is exposed. I found that if I fired it to a certain temperature in my kiln, it melted into ductile iron and I used that to make tools and used the tools to make the hardware.” The guy is stunned. “Let’s row over to my place,” she says “and I’ll give you a tour.” So, after a short time of rowing, she soon docks the boat at a small wharf. As the man looks to shore, he nearly falls off the boat. Before him is a long stone walk leading to a cabin and tree house. While the woman ties up the rowboat with an expertly woven hemp rope, the man can only stare ahead, dumb struck. As they walk into the house, she says casually, “It’s not much, but I call it home. Please sit down.” “Would you like a drink?” “No! No thank you,” the man blurts out, still dazed. “I can’t take another drop of coconut juice.” “Oh, it’s not coconut juice,” winks the woman. “I have a still. How would you like a Tropical Spritz?” Trying to hide his continued amazement, the man accepts, and they sit down on her couch to talk. After they exchange their individual survival stories, the woman announces, ” I’m going to slip into something more comfortable. Would you like to take a shower and shave? There’s a razor in the bathroom cabinet upstairs.” No longer questioning anything, the man goes upstairs into the bathroom. There, in the cabinet is a razor made from a piece of tortoise bone. Two shells honed to a hollow ground edge are fastened on to its end inside a swivel mechanism. “This woman is amazing,” he muses. “What’s next?” When he returns, she greets him wearing nothing but some small flowers on tiny vines, each strategically positioned, she smelled faintly of gardenias. She then beckons for him to sit down next to her. “Tell me,” she begins suggestively, slithering closer to him, “We’ve both been out here for many months. You must have been lonely. When was the last time you played around? She stares into his eyes. He can’t believe what he’s hearing. “You mean…” he swallows excitedly as tears start to form in his eyes, ! “You’ve built a Golf Course?”