Just for once I wrote the blog before the title. Then I found myself stumped, hence the bit above which has no bearing, or maybe a little bit of bearing, on what follows.
I read in the paper of a chap who took his mother on an outing. She died while they were out so he took her back home on the bus. Yes, really! It helped that she was in a wheelchair. For some reason the thought of a guy pushing a wheelchair with a dead body onto a bus just creased me up.
It must be about five or six weeks now. I did mention around then that I had lost my whistle. I had gone to call the dog who had wandered off a bit and when I pursed my lips and blew, all that came out was a feeble "phoo" instead of a "shree". I had thought at one stage that my whistle had come back, but I regret having to report that I still can't emulate the guy who had a hit record of himself whistling. It is really quite embarrassing if I forget my inability and try to whistle while I happen to be with somebody else, dog walking in the park being the social activity that it is. "The Man Who Lost His Whistle": sounds like the title of a novel by Agatha Christie or Alexander McCall Smith, doesn't it?
Anyway, a man was stopped by the police at around 2.00am and was asked where he was going at that time of the night.
The man replied, ‘I'm on my way to a lecture about alcohol abuse and the effects it has on the human body, as well as smoking and staying out late.'
‘Really? Who is giving that lecture at this time of the night?' asked the officer.
‘That would be my wife.'