A Noel Guthrie Acrylic on canvas

A Noel Guthrie Acrylic on canvas
The Cockabully Hunters --- from an original painting by Noel Guthrie

Tuesday, 1 April 2014

Sherry Lovin Granny

Sherry Lovin’ Granny

Jan’s mother was staying over for a few months.  She had moved out from Holland several years ago, after Jan’s dad died.  Until a recent devastating earthquake, she was living in a Rest Home, not far from her daughter and son-in-law.
She enjoyed being near her daughter, but also enjoyed the camaraderie and the social side of Rest Home life, particularly her regular afternoon tipple with friends.

Frank found his mother-in-law demanding.  He tried very hard to make allowances; she was into her eighties after all.  Try as he may, his mother-in-law still got under his skin with her constant critical remarks. 
Much to Jan’s annoyance, he began to visit the local pub, a little more than usual.  Once his mates down at the pub found out where the mother-in-law came from, they were not in the least bit helpful.  They came up with ideas, such as; send her back to Holland as deck cargo on a submarine.  While Frank considered their suggestions hilarious, he dare not mention anything of the sort back home.

On Saturday a rugby match was being played down at the local park.  Frank said he would go to the pub for a while after the game, and that he would be back by teatime. 
Out of mothers hearing, Jan asked him if he would mind getting her mother another bottle of sherry while he was there, she had polished off the last one they kept in the pantry.
Frank gave his wife a peck on the cheek after agreeing to her request, however, come home time, he almost forgot. 
“Last round for me guys,” he said swallowing the last mouthful of beer.  “Oh, I almost forgot, must get a bottle of sherry for the old battle-axe, before I go home.”
“Drinks sherry, does she?”  Bert, smiled at his mate.
“Yeah, loves the bloody stuff.  Jan has got to hide the bottle away somewhere, or she’ll scoff the lot.”
“What does she like most?”
“I don’t know, don’t care either.  Thought I would get her a light pale sherry, the cheapest I could find.”
“Look.”  Bert looked at him with devious smile.  “Tell you what mate, you get her that brand.”  He pointed to a bottle on the shelf behind the bar.  “I can guarantee she’ll enjoy that.”
            “Anything for a bit of peace,” quipped Frank, pulling out his wallet.

It was several days before Frank and his mates got together again at the bar.  “How did the sherry go Frank?”  Enquired Bert.
“Funny thing happened there, y’no.”  Frank shook his head.  “After tea that night, she found the bottle in the pantry.  Whipped the top off and took a swig.  You should have seen the smile.  “Blow the wax out of your ears, that stuff,” she said, fanning her breath, and grinning like a Cheshire cat.
“On the Sunday night,” he continued.  We woke up to all this noise downstairs.  Old biddy had found where Jan had hidden the sherry.  At two o’clock in the morning she had a Blues Brothers C.D. blasting full bore, and she was break dancing in the middle of the lounge, completely naked, except for a pair of her favourite fluffy slippers.”
“Now, would you believe it,” Frank laughed?  “I have to get my flamin eyes tested!” 
Frank cupped his hands to his mouth as if he thought someone might be listening. 
“Hey, you fella’s don’t know when the next submarine’s due in port do you?”


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