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Humorous Anecdotes. Hi! Colin here, thanks for popping in. I guess we all like a bit of humour and a good laugh. What follows are a few episodes from my life. I think we all (especially (silly) boys of course) have done or been involved in episodes in our life that, at the time, may have not been all that funny, but looking back, it gives us a chuckle. Here's a few of mine, I sincerely hope these give you a laugh also. The Squid | A Hole in One | Knee Deep in Golf | The Flying Scotsman
The Squid Many years ago, when I was in my mid 20's, I purchased my first boat. Typically, it would involve going out with my father and/or two brothers, or variations of that. On this particular occasion, I was out with my twin brother Clive. It was one of those rare balmy, hot and very still summer Perth days, where the ocean is dead flat and you could motor to Madagascar. In view of the superb conditions, we decided to take my boat out towards the continental shelf and fish in around 150 - 200m depth, just to see what we would catch (if anything). After some time travelling at around top speed, we finally reached a depth that what we were seeking. But not before tempers between Clive and I had become somewhat frayed. You see, even at that age, Clive was considerably heavier than me which resulted in the boat listing severely to port (I was always at the helm), even when we were underway and despite me loading up the starboard side to balance out the weight. So on the way, the conversation started like this:
Clive (subtle as ever) - "Shit, this is a crap boat, it leans even when you are not at rest".
Me (in testy reply) - "Nice to have you onboard and glad you really appreciate me taking you out".
Clive ("aggressive" apology") - "No need for sarcasm, not my fault, it's a crap boat".
Me (now I'm REALLY upset) - "Well, if you weren't such a fat heavy bastard, the boat would be just fine".
....as you can guess, exchanges from here on in went down hill and we both had reached the stage of sullen, fuming silence. So when we motored to what I thought was a position with around the right depth, it was a curt "how about here" from me and a just as curt "yeah, whatever' from Clive.
Clive and I had many run ins and heated exchanges, especially when we were younger, but we've always had the ability to set them aside quickly and often laugh about them afterwards.
But we both soon had sent our lines down to the bottom, with not enough time lapsed to quiesce the mood between us, so we both stood on either side of the boat in sullen silence. Suddenly, Clive's mood brightened as he loudly pronounced, "I'm on!". With no action on my side, I loosened the drag of my reel and set my rod in the gunnel rod holder, and stepped over to his side of the boat to see what happened.
That was a REALLY BAD idea!
Sure enough, Clive's line was taught as he slowly reeled up from the depths. But there was no rod tip bounce, just the occasional dip downwards, as whatever was on the other end of the line, pulled slowly. "Weird" announced Clive, "I have no idea what it is", "it's like a dead weight with fairly strong pulls".
A few minutes later, with steady line retrieval, Clive soon had the business end of the line close to the surface. We both peered over the gunnel with rapt curiosity. "Bloody Hell" said Clive, "it's a huge squid", then before I had a chance to react or respond, Clive hauled the beast up over the side of the boat and onto the deck.
Now, before I get to the mayhem bit, I'll mention that due to the hot day, I was adorned in white shorts and a brand new spotless white T-Shirt. BAD idea number 2!
Back to the squid....
As soon as the large squid hit the deck, it let rip with one of it's two defense mechanisms and shot a very impressively forceful jet of water straight in my direction, hitting me fair and square in my groin. I immediately doubled up in pain. Clive on the other hand thought it was hugely funny and doubled up with laughter. As I straightened up, gasping for breath and in considerable pain, it let rip again, with what must have been the second half of it's water reserve. This time with a much broader stream of water that managed to drench me from chest to thighs. But it hadn't finished with me yet!
As I announced "What the....(insert expletive here)", it deployed it's second defensive mechanism, the bloody (very voluminous) ink sack! The squid was obviously not very happy at being dragged on board and let rip with the whole contents - managing to not only completely stain my previously pristine (now very wet) white T shirt but also hit me fair in the face!.
I was NOT happy!
Clive on the other hand was doubled up with laughter, with tears streaming down his face and supporting himself on the gunnel for fear of collapsing in a heap altogether.
In agony, completely drenched and ink stained, in one swift motion, I grabbed a knife from the bait board mounted at the stern, cut Clive's line and tossed said angry squid over the side with the words "Piss that thing off! It's bloody dangerous!".
Clive was in no position to object, still doubled up and useless with laughter, laughing even more so after my statement of disgust and anger.
When Clive and I catch up (he's in Perth) this story often comes up when we discuss fishing, especially with mutual friends who haven't heard the story. It certainly wasn't funny at the time (at least for me), but we certainly have a good laugh about it now.
Golfing Story 1/2 - "A Hole in One" My brother Bryan came bursting through the door! "Hey look what I bought!", he blurted. I looked at the item he thrust out in front of him. it was the oldest most decrepit incomplete set of golf clubs you had ever seen. "Let's go round the corner and try them out, I have a couple of balls", he said with equal enthusiasm. I resisted the obvious Freudian pun. Not waiting for an answer, Bryan turned on his heels and headed for the front door. Not having anything better to do, I though, why not. So, off we went to a vacant stretch of land around the corner of our street. It was a large expanse of bush that had been partially excavated for yellow sand below the top soil. The block sloped upwards from the road. The excavation, therefore, had resulted in a sand cliff rising about 8 feet from the excavated yellow sand floor below. Bryan figured that standing on top of the "cliff" would be an ideal spot to haphazardly launch a couple of high speed projectiles at some hapless wildlife, tree trunk or passing motorists. Bryan doesn't do things by halves. Not the number 7 iron, or NO! Out came the really serious driving equipment, the number 2 wood! I think the set must have been made during second world war, because the head of the club had obviously been re-inforced against accidental run over by any tanks! So there we were, finally on top of the cliff, after some desperate scrambling and a couple of efforts to sling the tatty old golf bag and the contents up the cliff. Only to duck as stray golf clubs rained on our heads! I stood behind Bryan, figuring I was pretty safe there. Bryan carefully placed a golf ball in a tee and pushed it into the hardened top soil at the top of the cliff. Bryan had obviously taken golf seriously and his study of the finer arts was borne out by the expert handling of the club. The big end was near the ball and his chubby little 13 year old hands were clasped around the bindings of the handle. "OK!" he yelled, "here we go then, watch this!" , he announced loudly and proudly. Bryan measured up to the ball, slowly drew the club away from the ball a couple of times, then took a mighty swing! Well, the ball went nowhere, but he DID make contact. WITH MY HEAD! The ball was obviously going to last a lot longer than my skull, as, unlike my head, the ball was free from contact with the club. Bryan, pre-occupied with the poor result of his swing did not initially notice. But as Bryan sized up the ball for the second time he realised something was wrong. Golf balls don't bleed and cover the head of a club with red! Especially golf balls that haven't been hit. So Bryan turned around to see me staring at him in somewhat of a dazed state. Instinctively his hand covered his mouth as he took in the scene of my blood covered face. "Well" I said, "that was pretty damn unexpected". "Shit" Bryan uttered, "we'd better get home and get you off to hospital". So off we went, me walking up front, doing the best I could to stem the flow of blood from an increasing misshapen skull, and Bryan bringing up the rear. Looking anything other than a triumphant golfer. Once Mum and Dad had overcome their initial shock, we were soon on our way to hospital for the obligatory shaving and stitches. Which is exactly what all my school friends were in when we recounted the story to them. I have joined some interesting clubs in my time, but I can assure you, that was not one of them!
Golfing Story 2/2 - "Knee Deep in Golf" This is another golfing story, albeit quite some years later. In my late teens and early twenties, my younger brother (Bryan and I) spent quite a bit of time together and with two mutual friends 'P' and 'K' who were also brothers. The four of us used to play a bit of golf together until the last outing put an end to that foursesome activity. Here's a recount of that last outing... Bryan and I had received an invitation from 'P' for another game of golf, by way of a telephone call on the Saturday afternoon of a lovely fine spring Perth weekend. We were to meet at our local golf club at 08:00 am sharp, the following Sunday morning for a full eighteen holes. 'P' advised that, as usual, it would be a foursome, with his brother 'K' making up the fourth player. 'P' was an amiable sort of chap, always ready to have a good laugh. But his brother 'K' was one of those people that wasn't happy unless he was complaining about something, or just otherwise miserable. Not the best of company, but, as usual, Bryan and I accepted out of friendship with 'P'. As organised, we all met in the club car park around 08:00am that morning. 'P' was his bright cheerful self and 'K', true to form, was whingeing about having get out of bed so early on a Sunday morning. Ignoring 'K' we made our way to the first hole and collectively agreed that we'd let 'K' tee off first so we wouldn't have to listen to more whingeing when the rest of us teed off. 'K' hit a fairly respectible 2 wood shot on the par five first hole, landing on the left hand side of the fairway and made his way to the ball, with hired clubs, bag and buggy in tow. As also arranged, I teed off next, not before yelling a loud FORE in 'K's direction because, in the unlikely even that I hit my ball correctly, I felt that there was a risk of hitting 'K' with my ball. 'K' made some rude dismissive arm gesture and stood defiantly in front of his bugy. WHACK! I'd managed to give my ball a fair clout and we three watched it sail gracefully down the middle of the fairway, only to arc left at the last moment and hit 'K' fair in the right knee cap. 'K' sank to the ground amidst a string of expletives that would have made a trooper blush. Us three just burst out laughing. With 'K's ball actually being the shortest, Bryan, 'P' and I made our way to 'K' who was by now standing (albeit precariously) and holding his obviously very sore right knee. "Bloody idiot" announced 'K' in my direction. "Serves you right" said his brother 'P', "Colin did yell out a warning and you stupidly ignored it", responded his brother 'P'. "Anyway", continued 'P', "it'll give you something to whinge about now". Bryan and I just looked at each other surreptitiously and grinned. Deciding to let 'P' front his brother's temper. The remainder of the front nine holes was uneventful, notwithstanding 'K' hobbling and whinging and making snide remarks about how dangerous I was. The scores were pretty close as we walked up to the first hole of the back nine, a short par 3 with a large, wide-trunked tree directly behind the green. "That's it, Colin can tee off first and I'm standing behind you this time" antagonisingly announced 'K'. Bryan, 'P' and I looked at each other, shook our heads and nodded. Now to this day, and after so many years, I can't recall how the following exactly happened, I'm 'fairly' sure I didn't tee off with a number two wood, but.... 'WHACK!........ssssssssssssssssss.......BONK!.........wooooooooooooooooooooooosh....................thump................arrrghhhhh! Unbelievably, my ball rocketed of my tee, shot dead straight down the fairway, hit the tree dead center, and flew straight back towards us. We all ducked, but 'K' was still too obsessed with his moaning and complaining to notice. YOU GUESSED IT. Said errant ball hit 'K' again, yup, in the right knee cap. Bryan, 'P' and I collapsed on the ground with laughter, whilst 'K' collapsed for other reasons, uttering gasping strings of words like I should be banned from golf etc. 'P', Bryan and I continued playing gold, but, needless to say, the original foursome never occurred again.
The Flying Scotsman At 15 years of age, before I really had discovered girls, cars, music and surfing (not necessarily in that order), my prime weekend activity was horse riding at (Norm) Divine's, the local 'hack hire' establishment. Norm and his wife, together with his staff were lovelly people and, no matter how many people turned up, always took time to check into your riding ability and experience. Most riders, including us at this stage were very inexperienced, therefore the horses were used to getting their own way and disrespecting their riders. Unfortunately, the horse's belligerent attitude also stemmed from some idiot riders mistreating and/or over exerting the horses. On this particular day, there was us three (brothers) and 'T', at 15, he was a jovial and very 'round' 15 stone Scotsman. As we walked into the yard where all the horses were kept, Norm sauntered over and assessed us each in turn. "Not much experience" said Bryan and I honestly. "Yeah, I'm pretty good with horses" lied Clive immodestly. Norm picked out three horses accordingly and then turned to 'T'. "Hmmmm, lad" Norm said cautiously and diplomatically, "you'll need a good sturdy horse, Moose will do I think" and brought out an absolute Monster of a horse. "Yes, he's a big horse, but very stable and steady, and should willingly follow the other three horses, especially Clive's horse, who is the leader in these four and will take some handling and an experienced rider" looking meaningfully at Clive and not fooled by his earlier boast. "Clive, be careful of that horse of yours, he has a wicked habit of trying to unseat the rider once you get to the trees and under NO circumstances come up behind him and touch his hind quarters, otherwise he'll pig root you" ", said Norm warningly. Clive was doing his best to look confident and not showing nervousness, but failing miserably. I'm sure Norm walked off with a wicked grin on his face as he winked at 'T', Bryan and I. With effort and the assistance of a step ladder and a number of willing hands, we finally got 'T' seated on his horse and Bryan, Clive and I were soon seated on ours with the four of us walking our horses out of the yard, heading for the adjacent pine plantation (the trees that Norm referred to earlier). As Norm advised, Clive's horse (an ex racer) assumed the lead position, with 'T's horse 'Moose' behind, followed by Bryan and I on ours. True to form, Clive's horse was flighty, taking the errant galop into the trees, attempting to unseat said rider on overhead branches, accompanied by expletives from the rider. "That'll teach you for being a smart arse" said Bryan and I in unison to Clive. Finally, Clive's horse had enough 'fun' and settled down, with the four of us giving the horses their heads as we set off on a gallop down one of the fire breaks, trying to dodge the holes left by small removed trees and whooping with delight as our steeds sped down the trail. Things were going smoothly and we were having great fun! The horses had settled into a nice easy gallop, the sun was shining and the wind was whistling through our hair. Great stuff, what could go wrong? We were about to find out! Suddenly, and without warning, Clive's leading horse stopped dead in it's tracks when both forelegs landed in holes left by small trees removed to make the (fire) trail we were riding. Necessarily, 'T's horse stopped dead right behind it, with Bryan and I's horses following suit. Clive, Bryan and I were experienced enough at least not to loose our saddle position, but 'T' was not so lucky. All that weight HAD to go somewhere giving the sudden change in momentum! It all happened so fast! "Och!".......wayyyyyyyyyyyy......arghhhhhh.......phew........*touch*..........winny...........BOOT!....oooooff!...........woooooooosh.... CRASH! Drawn by 'T's loud initial announcement (in a fine thick Glaswegian accent), Clive, Bryan and I watched in surreal amazement as 'T", upon his horse stopping dead, sailed out of his saddle, executed a perfect summersault and landed on his feet directly behind Clive's horse. That seemed the end of the proceedings. Then Tom stumbled slightly forward and both hands JUST lightly brushed the hind quarters of Clive's horse..... Oh! Oh! Out came the hind legs and BANG! both were planted in 'T's generous midriff with an amazing amount of force. Even 'T's weight couldn't withstand that and poor 'T' went sailing through the air once again, only to land heavily in some bushes at the end of the trail - an impressive three meters away. For what was probably only a few seconds, Bryan, Clive and I looked at each other in stunned disbelief, then (literally) fell out our saddles, totally useless with laughter. 'T' reappeared, nursing his generous stomach, but, it seemed, otherwise non the worse for ware. "Och! It's nae foony!" announced 'T' indignantly. That, of course just make us laugh until our sides hurt. Looking back at this event, 'T' was very (un)lucky, had he been a thinner person and/or the horses had been shod, then the outcome might have been different. |