Why anyone should feel the need to wear faux leopard print ear-warmers in bed is completely beyond me.
But I suspect those of you routinely compelled to purchase loosely-termed innovative items of a personal nature from catalogues will know the answer to this baffling question.
Aunt May paid the price with her addiction to the darn things. She'd still be with us today had she not sustained a fatal crack to the temple during a sack-race style stagger to the lavatory in one of those machine-washable snuggle suits.
Without catalogues, no-one would ever have purchased clip-on bra extenders, banana protectors, portable urinals or those creepy headless terriers that one occasionally sees plonked on lawns and garden borders.
I see a great many curious things in my role as a parish pump correspondent. But yesterday’s visit to the Marches
The SatNav was leading me on yet another merry diversion so I stopped at a farmhouse in the hope of confirming my route.
Without the roll-top galoshes and milking coat, the elderly woman who met me wearing the aforementioned leopard print ear warmers would not have looked out of place at a Daktari actors reunion.
Was Clarence the cross-eyed lion hiding behind the Welsh dresser in the hall-way, I wondered.
“You’ll have to shout,” she said, cheerfully. “I’m deaf as a dodo this morning.”
“It might help if you removed your mufflers," I roared, extricating my new friend’s bobbly white curls from the ear-warmers which were clamped around her head.
“Blow me,” she exclaimed. “My son’s wife ordered them from her catalogue because she knows I won’t wear a hat. I put them on in bed last night and forgot about them.”
The work of the devil, I tell you.
No comments:
Post a Comment