Just recently, Scrobs has been subjected to ‘The Edinburgh Position’.
Now most readers would, quite rightly, and knowing that Scrobs is an ardent admirer of the female form, believe that he has been up to some dering-do with Senora O’Blene, and is just crowing from the rooftop!
Well, this is partly right, but as is usual here, a story goes with it…
Scrobs was passing ‘The Bells’ last week, and as is the usual habit, the whiff of Shep’s Ancient Ales drew him inexplicably in the ever-open door to enquire the time of day, and see who is around.
As a bonus, my good and trusted friend, Elias Sagtrouser and his ever-loving wife were partaking of some liquid refreshment and a few nibbles at the bar, and a bear-like arm stretched out with a huge pint of ‘Old Bastard - 8%’ in a glass mug, and the conversation commenced.
“Scrobs, why is your arm in a sling”? Asked Gloriette, as usual the centre of every red-blooded male eye in the county, and possibly a turning point for chaps who may bat for the other side too…
“Well, my Sweet”, I said, turning towards the beautiful buxomness of a favourite girlfriend, the surgeon at Benenden Hospital decided to lop off a few unwanted bits on my paw, and allow me to start again! He knew it made sense!”
A fragrant arm immediately wound its way around my collar and sling, and while it hurt a little, that was nothing to what it was doing to other parts I can tell you!
My friend Elias knows the score here, and I’m the only bloke who is allowed to get to such an advanced stage in a situation such as this, as the others get a baseball bat across the knees, and a requirement for a new MOT on their van!
“It’s the Edinburgh Position, Gloriette - a procedural dressing to accommodate the comfortable healing of a mitt in a relaxed position”!
Now at this stage, the assembled throng in the bar ceased discussion, and looked our way, so I decided to refer to tactic 3d(section 6), to avert mayhem, because Gloriette usually causes a stir just by appearing at the door.
“Here’s the story, if you must know, and knowing you, you must, and if you don’t I’m going to tell you anyway”, I blurted to the lovely lady, who still hadn’t actually let me go from her scented grasp!
“Many years ago, I worked for a Scottish building firm”, I started. Elias knew this so for once kept quiet, although another pint had appeared at my elbow, and Gloriette had inched a little closer, with her accoutrements firmly pointed in my direction…
“Being Scottish, meant that lots of men and women worked there, and they taught me hugely how to get business, and also make money, besides being tempted by many offers of digression which I had to decline, being happily married an’ that”!
“Now, when I was initially introduced to the directors, the MD, who could kill a grown man just by looking at him from behind the Glasgow Bugle, always dared anyone to show desire for his secretary. She was absolutely gorgeous, and totally charming to us English mortals as well, so at least I had one plus-stamp on my card”! She was also his ever-loving wife...
“My situation was that another director came from Edinburgh, and was as posh as you please, but turned into a fabulous friend within minutes, so I was extremely relieved to have reached 10:00am with both knees intact”.
The situation deteriorated from then on… The induction of new blokes to the firm also included a Welshman - Carwyn.
Carwyn was 6’8”, and weighed 22 stone. He was a kindly, gentle man, albeit oversuited by several yards of twill and straps etc, but otherwise, a really good guy, who claimed the record of 42 pints of beer at one lunchtime with an engineer from Ealing Borough Council!
Back then, in the early eighties, a modern dress style for ladies of a certain age, was to wear transparent blouses with intricate under-apparel in full show. The MD’s wife was renowned for such an appearance, and so was her assistant, Shirl. (Short for Shirley, but who would have wanted to make things short - she was as gorgeous as the MD’s wife)!
So, Dave, (see Scrobs passim) Carwyn and I were hunched over a load of drawings of some big project one day, me being slightly overtired after the early flying cattle-truck from Gatwick to Glasgow, and getting spat at by a lousy taxi driver, and Carwyn was suffering from three Chinese takeaways and eight pints of Guinness, partaken of in his car just before he slept, to take the next day’s business in his stride, while stinking of just about everything…
In walked Shills, and the world stood still…
Shills just bristled with transparency, beautiful shining accoutrements, and a satin-encased wiggle which sent Carwyn into a right spin, which at his size, could well have altered the foundations of the building, and maybe the whole of Paisley!
Shills leant over Dave, and gave him some papers, which he placed to one side after a quick glance at the shimmeringness, then a longer more daring one at Carwyn and me. The lady vanished in a waft of Chanel.
After a small period of self-denial, Carwyn piped up in beautiful ringing Swansea tones “Bloody ‘ell, Mun, that‘s given me a huge stalk”!
The silence was extended to several seconds, to become a very uncomfortable few minutes as both Dave and Shills were from Edinburgh on a pretty regular basis, probably in the very room where we were sitting, and Carwyn had blundered in a bit too fast there…
The said position seemed to permeate quite a lot of the business in the whole office block too. Blimey, a friend up there with me from London once got in the lift, and by the time he’d got to the third floor, he’d propositioned a gorgeous lady from another firm! That evening, a call came out over the Tannoy (remember them), would George please come to meet his guest in Reception!
George looked at all of us in turn, picked up his pint of Heavy, and left us bemused, until we all started to gibber and take bets, mine being a middle of the road three times, while the estimator, a usually cautious man, stuck at one. (The eventual outcome was actually five, and only won by the draughtsman, who had the room next door, and didn’t get a wink of sleep all night either)!
“So, my friends, that’s part of the story, and perhaps one day, when this sling is taken off, I’ll remember a few more details, you know, for the record like…”!
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Elias slowly grinned, and I half wondered if perhaps a short break in Scotland’s capital city was on his mind as Gloriette’s gaze returned, so I sank my pint and left them to it!
14 comments:
a cheering read.
Thud, is that all you can say when our little brave soldier worked his heart out typing his latest blog with one hand and obviously suffering (or so it seems) the after-effects of sedation. If he'd asked me I'd have warned him not to have any alcohol for a month including Singapore Slings, but sadly the various mixtures of imbibed tinctures took him back to his old stamping ground thus revealing previously known facts in more detail than one would ever have imagined. I am left with one thought which is: what was HIS secretary like?
Thanks Thud!
I always tell it as it happened of course...
Depends which office, Goosey...
I'll try to find one from the eighties (when Scrobs was less grey), as they were the formative years of course...
Goosegirl...yes.
Thanks for your terse comment Thud. When you next need a "cheering read" remind me not to write it on personally-tanned vellum and then send it to you, as it can be rather irritating when the myopic postman shoves it through what he thought was a letter-box when all the time it was you trying to find out how to put on a thong you ordered from a certain high-street shop. I can only recommend some sort of colonic irrigation to alleviate your pain and suffering. At least you won't need a sling!
BTW, I sincerely hope your weather is better than what we have here. Currently the rain's pi**ing down, the wind is like a Tyrannosaur's f**t after a very hot curry, and the sky is the colour you get when you inadvertently wash a white vest with new black trousers. In other words it's PANTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Sounds more like an injury sustained while arm-wrestling with Gloriette. Not only her muscles but her fragrant proximity, the magnificent view and those wicked nails make it a very dodgy proposition.
AK you just might have something there! Taking on Gloriette in excelsis duo is asking for trouble, especially if she was in a bad mood due to having no sleep the night before when she found Carwyn slumped over the steering wheel in her newly-bought (or possibly given) Mercedes. She wouldn't have minded giving an old pal in dire straits a helping hand, but she drew the line when he'd decided to dump his entire evening's wardrobe into the boot and attired himself with her newly-bought outfit from Chanel. Not just that, it looked better on him than it did on her so she tore it off in a fit of rage thus breaking a newly-manicured nail. Mike, you should know by now not to attempt getting the better of an infuriated woman. You're lucky to have escaped with only one injury; if you'd been playing Strip Poker I dread to think of the possible outcome!
Gloriette just melts everyone, Mr H!
It's hopeless asking her to get the ice creams in...
No, I think you may have muddled Gloriette up with Shills, Goosey...
The MD's wife drone a Jaguar XJS, as well as most blokes wild, Shills usually got a lift, but to exactly where, only the director will know!
And I've given up on infuriating ladies these days, Goosey, it takes far too long, and while the visions of future past still linger, a quick rub down with The Sporting Life just about covers everything!
BTW, I'm considering collecting all the Sagtrouser sagas into one volume, and selling it for a mere pittance, probably a fiver, when I get a publisher! I'll dedicate it to all you good people here!
Typo alert - for 'drone' read 'drove'...:0(
Mike, I'm a little confused. Apart from your usual spelling error which my little beady eye spotted immediately, as Shills drove an XJS why did she usually need a lift? I don't get the impression she was a helpless woman so it must have been a cunning plan on the Director's part to see if his employees were up to the job (so's to speak). Conversations over the dinner table in the evening must have been quite exciting! As for your saga, is it just for aged people or can we read it as well? Have you thought of a title yet? If not may I suggest "For Pantaloonies Only" possibly "Flies On The Wall," maybe "The Gropes Inn. A story of country life as never told before."
GG, the spelling mistake was only a repeat of one made many years ago, but Shills didn't actually drive an XJS, the MD's wife did!
I'm even more confused now, and wondering if the evening really did pan out as described...
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