MY PAL believes a woman's mind is cleaner than a man's only because she changes it more often.
MY PAL believes a woman's mind is cleaner than a man's only because she changes it more often.
That pearl of wisdom was reached during last week's war summit with his wife, The Wicked Witch of the East, as they laid their battle plans for that annual assault on adult senses known as the school summer holidays.
My pal thought his troubles were over when his kids grew up and moved out, but this morning he will have experienced a sobering sense of deja vu.
Today he and The Wicked Witch are press-ganged into guard duty on the grandkids. It will be a long, hot summer, whatever the weather.
After last year's invasion, they considered electrified fences, guard towers, even dobermans - but the grandweans will still get in.
The Wicked Witch says the term working mother is redundant. It should now be working grandmother.
She expects to be busy and is not holding out hope my pal will actually help.
His idea of a gentleman is someone who doesn't swear at his wife while there are ladies present. The Wicked Witch's challenge is getting him to delete the expletives with grandkids present.
As parents know to their cost, kids seldom misquote you. In fact, they usually repeat word for word what you shouldn't have said.
My pal's six-year-old grandson arrived home and confessed to his mum and dad he had broken one of nana and papa's ornaments.
"But you don't have to worry about buying nana another one," he told them.
"Papa said it was *&%$£@* irreplaceable." You can imagine how well that went down.
"I've told you," his mum said, "if I hear you using words like that I'll wash your mouth out with soap."
Talk about hypocrisy!
I remember her turning the air blue when her three-year-old bit her finger.
"What else did your papa say?" she asked him.
"Will I leave out the swear words?" said the boy.
"Of course!" "He said nothing else."
His granddaughter had found papa scattering rubbish from the front door to the wheelie bins when his black bin liner developed a large and terminal tear.
"I hope you didn't listen to papa," said the girl's mum on hearing the tale.
"Papa didn't say anything to me," replied the wee girl, "he just started lifting the rubbish and talking to God."
They were needing divine intervention at the local manse when the petrol mower refused to start.
"I know how to start it," said my pal's grandson, looking over the hedge at the sweating grass-cutter.
"Do you indeed? Well, you can tell me how," said the man as he made another futile pull on the starter rope.
"You have to curse it," said the boy.
"Oh, I couldn't do that," laughed the man. "I'm not saying I've never cursed, but I've forgotten how to after all these years."
The boy assured him: "My papa says if you keep pulling that rope long enough it will all come back to you."
It seems telly viewers are also at the end of their rope. Beeb, they say, has become a four-letter word.
In the biggest audience research undertaken by the BBC, the proliferation of foul language and offensive content was condemned.
Jonathan Ross, Mock The Week and Radio 1 DJ Chris Moyles were all criticised.
Now the BBC is to tone down the amount of swearing - and sex - screened after the 9pm watershed.
There is no watershed for my pal, who was blamed when his granddaughter shouted "damn!" after spilling her juice.
Her mum told her: "I'll give you 20pence if you'll promise never to say that word again."
Deal done, the wee girl arrived home from nana and papa's next day and excitedly shouted: "Mum, I've got a word that must be worth a whole pound."
