For I Haven't Got A Clue

Yesterday there was a lot of freak activity in the atmosphere.

The freakishness began was when the Husband was flicked on the forehead with a condom by a 12 year old girl, passing us in the street with her group of mates. Flicky, was playing with a condom impressing her group of likely lad friends, as we walked past she demonstrated her Non-Educated Delinquent status by attacking gobsmacked husband with a prophylactic. Needless to say we were stunned, the Husband’s immediate reaction was to shout, “Oy, you little F$*@kers!” Probably not the most adult response, as this compelled Flicky to shout “Go shite yourself Grandad!”

The Husband and I adultly (new word) chose to forget the Unspeakable Contraceptive Incident with the help of a pint in the local pub. On our way back from our swifty we passed a poster stuck to a shop window. “Hello?” Lionel Richie’s face peered out from the shop frontage asking, “Is it me you’re looking for?” His song lyrics continued in tear off strips at the bottom of the poster. Feeling this was a message from the Universe I tore off “for I haven’t got a clue” and put it in my purse.

That evening the sister-in-law wrangled a babysitter and convinced us to go out. We don’t go out much as the Husband gets a little overexcited. We landed up in a small Folk bar having gained, Dandy Ben, an old friend of the Husband’s. Things were a little dull in the ‘Old Oak’ bar so Dandy Ben and I played guess the name, where you select patrons in the bar and guess their names:

Me: Grey haired man with goggle-glasses?
DB: Barnaby. African man making clicking sounds, standing at the bar?
Me: Ezekiel. Bald man, looks like a bruiser?
DB: Bob. Man apparently suffering from giganticism, over in corner?
Me: Tiny.

And so we continued, it’s a great game once you get into it. The Husband seemed to think our game was rubbish and so started talking to the lone girl next to us, drinking whisky and reading a Gig Guide. We thought she looked like an Iona. The Husband’s opening gambit was truly something to observe:

Husband: [Leans over to consult Iona’s gig guide] I believe the soup of the day is Parsnip and Tomato.

Iona: [Totally baffled] What?

Husband: The soup of the day, Parsnip and Tomato. I believe it’s rather good.

Iona: Eh? [Gesturing to gig guide and speaking slowly as though talking to the hearing impaired] THIS-IS-A-GIG-GUIDE.

Husband: No, I said Parsnip.

Poor Iona looked like a frightened deer in the headlines. Who was this crazy man? Not one to give up easily, despite the fact that his bizarre sense of humour had gone right over Iona’s wee heed, the Husband continued a conversation about the whisky Iona was drinking. In the middle of this discussion about the malty merits of this particular spirit the Husband cupped Iona’s elbow in his hand and in his best peek-aboo voice said, “I’ve got your elbow. I’ve got your elbow.” And then resumed his conversation about whisky.

Truly freak behaviour, I think Lionel was right, ‘for I haven’t got a clue’.